Gabriel DiAngelo was what Castiel termed a dramatic depressive, in that, although he would withdraw, keep secrets and internalise every single emotion he had, he would do so in a way that couldn't be seen as anything other than a cry for help. His brother, in a nutshell, was the kind to reach out with both hands, while turning away all the same. He was currently dealing with a prime example of this behaviour.

Gabriel's apartment smelled of alcohol, body odour and cheap take-out that was long past its best. For almost a week, Gabriel had been eating and drinking himself to death, or intending to, while lying to Cas, Sam and Pamela concerning his whereabouts. No one was pleased.

Sam had frogmarched the drunk and unruly Gabriel into the bathroom, leaving Pamela to calm the terrified Murdock, and leaving Cas to attempt some sort of a tidy up. Fetching a roll of heavy duty black plastic sacks from their hiding place beneath the kitchen sink, Castiel began to remove the collection of half empty bottles, prominently displayed throughout the apartment.

"I thought he'd gotten over this sort of behaviour," Pamela sighed, one hand scratching Murdock's ears and the other reaching out to Castiel. "I can't believe he'd do that to Sam."

"He had shown signs of improvement" Cas agreed, "but then, Michael's death is, I think, an understandable cause for such an… episode."

Pamela said nothing, and Castiel didn't invite any further conversation. They needed to focus on the job in hand, and complaining or conspiring would only make things more difficult. It took twenty minutes for Sam to finally emerge from the bathroom and wordlessly pick up another black sack and begin scraping off the film of grime that had accumulated over everything.

"How is he?"

"Wallowing in selfishness," Sam snapped, before clearing his throat and forcing a smile. "Sorry. He's… I know what he's doing. He's trying to push us all away. Talking crap just to make me want to leave."

Cas nodded.

"Gabriel knows how his words can hurt. He isn't in his right mind…"

"When is he?" Sam huffed a bitter laugh. Castiel felt increasingly uncomfortable.

"Sam… If you need to… to talk, about this, or about him…"

"No. It's fine. It's nothing. It's just… I'm kinda tired of it, you know? Of getting screwed at for trying to help. It's like, if he's in a bad mood, it's my fault. Fine. Except, if I'm in a bad mood, it's my fault too. Like, he's allowed to take everything out on me but I can't do anything the same? That's… That doesn't seem right to me. And It's getting tiring."

"You'll work it out." Pamela smiled. "You two are too cute to fail."

Sam didn't seem convinced. Cas continued cleaning in silence, accompanied by the guilty pangs as his thoughts drifted to Dean. This was Gabriel's crisis, and Sam's, and he should be there, helping them. But his mind wouldn't stop drifting. He chided himself and tried to focus on what he might say to Gabriel to help him through this episode, but it wasn't enough to pull his thoughts away from the happy, tender moments he'd shared with Dean.

Why did it always seem to be that, the moment he started having a romantic life worth talking about, it became incredibly tactless to do so?

(-*-)

Dean was sprawled on his bed when his phone rang.

"Hey."

"Dean. No doubt you've heard from Sam already?"

"Yeah… Him and Gabriel, are they… over, now, or..?"

"I don't know. I think they're just giving themselves a cooling off period, but… who knows if they'll ever resolve this. "

Dean sighed.

"And I guess you phoned up to say we should give each other some distance?"

"Dating in secrecy has long since lost the illicit thrill for me, and broaching the subject of our… of us, after today's events… seems uncaring."

"Yeah. It sucks though."

"Yes."

"Cas?"

"Yes?"

"I… I want to say thanks. For, you know, being there."

"Thank you, Dean… there's no reason we can't still speak to one another, even if we're not… physically…"

Cas trailed off, and Dean couldn't help smirking at his awkwardness.

"I could always use someone to talk to. You know me, my issues have issues…. So, other than the whole Gabriel thing, how've you been?"

(-*-)

Steam drifted up from the collected mugs of coffee, pooling around the shaded bulb of Ellen's kitchen.

"This shit won't fly." She shook her head. "They need each other. Who else'd be crazy enough to put up with them?"

Everyone nodded, grumbling agreement.

"Sam's been moping around non-stop." Dean picked up his coffee. "He seems to be the only person who thinks not talking is going to fix whatever the hell's going on with him which, by the way, is a pain in the ass. All the years he's been bleating on at me about talking through my feelings and chick-flick crap like that, now he's turning himself into some sort of zombie…"

"Yeah, he's an idjit," Bobby summarised, "but what are we going to do about it? We can't make 'em talk to each other."
"Yeah you can," Jo sniffed. "Just lock 'em in a room together and don't let them out."

"That's more likely to end in murder, I think." Pamela said, raising her coffee mug to her lips. "For what it's worth."

Pamela had phoned Ellen earlier in the day, having found her number in her list of contacts as "Ellen Cool Chick From Spin Class", proving that it was, indeed, a small world after all.

"So you got any ideas?" Bobby said, before getting a grip on himself "Why am I even… I'm not involved. You ladies meddle to your heart's content, I'm staying out of it. I'm gonna go… fix a car or shoot something."

"Love you, hun," Ellen yelled after him, smiling. "So come on, let's get a plan together."

"Yeah, just… gimme a sec." Dean ran after Bobby, catching up with him just as he went through the front door to the autoyard, "hey, Bobby?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm… I tried to say at Thanksgiving, but I guess I just couldn't. And… I think if I maybe tell you first, I can tell everyone else, at… you know, when it's right."

"Tell me what, son?"

"I'm… I'm gay."

And, if Dean had known he'd get such a smile off Bobby, and such a clap on the arm, he would have told him years ago.

"No shit, kid. But well done."

Grinning like he did when Ellen used to put his report cards on the fridge, Dean went back into the kitchen, and resumed plotting Sam and Gabriel's reunion. Bobby stared out at the cool evening sky, and figured he must have done something right.