A/N: IMPORTANT PLEASE READ. So you may have noticed that I upped the rating of the whole story when I added this chapter. Fact is, I never meant for it to get as intense as it does in the second half of this chapter. Warnings for serious drug abuse, and trigger warnings for depression and allusions to suicidal ideation. It's not a huge part of the chapter, but it made me very sad to write so I wanted to warn folks in case you like to stay away from that kinda thing. Uh, anyway, here's the update thanks for reading I love you all I own nothing etc etc.

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"Dad's stopped drinking again," Dean said, determinedly not looking at Cas. They were sitting on the dock at the lake, faces turned up towards the sun, elbows bumping occasionally, listening to the sound of Sam and Jo splashing and racing a few feet away. The sky was clear, the air was warm, and Cas was two inches away from Dean and not wearing a shirt, so it was basically the perfect day. Except, of course, for the hideous pit of anxiety eating up Dean's insides.

It had been growing there for the past week and a half, ever since stupid Jo and her stupid jokes and stupid Sam and his stupid sympathy. It was like every thought Dean ever pretended he absolutely did not have about Cas was dragged to the surface now whenever they hung out. Like how, if they were walking through the park at night and Cas was smoking, Dean would go to tell him off and then they'd walk under a lamp post and he'd get distracted by the shape of Cas' mouth when he exhaled a cloud of smoke and how it was really kinda sexy in this lighting and that was just not okay.

Luckily, he had still managed to avoid saying any of this shit out loud, but that also meant that he'd gotten quiet and awkward and restless around Cas in a way he had never been before. Of course Cas noticed (duh, he'd known Dean for fucking ever), and it clearly worried him. He'd tried everything to get Dean out of his funk: sneaking out more often, hanging out at the Roadhouse almost every day, smoking less, smiling more, just being Cas and being there until Dean was miserable with blue eyes and the sulky teenage angst of unrequited – Dean Winchester did not say love – adoration.

So Cas, being the determined little shit he was, had proposed a day out. Just a day to get the hell out dodge and relax away from everything. So Dean had gotten the day off from Bobby, Cas had wheedled an alibi from a reluctant Ellen, and they had packed the kids into the back seat along with some sunscreen and a picnic lunch that consisted mostly of junk food and soda and drove out to the lake. (Although Jo had complained he couldn't call her and Sam "the kids" anymore since they were technically high schoolers now.) Even the weather – clear and bright and hot as hell – seemed to insist that this was a great idea. Why Dean had to ruin it by bringing up the latest in the saga of his deadbeat Dad's futile attempts at sobriety, he had no idea.

"Considering this has been generally hoped for by pretty much everyone for the last decade or so, you don't sound altogether thrilled about it," Cas remarked, turning to face Dean (so not okay, by the way, because personal space issues and Dean's heart rate didn't mix well right now).

"Well, yeah, it's just – " Dean sighed in frustration, because really, Cas should understand why John's sudden decision to go dry (again) was just making Dean more anxious than ever. "Maybe I'm just tired of him getting my hopes up, you know? Not even me, because I don't expect jack from the bastard anymore, but Sammy – Sammy thinks he's serious about it, Cas."

"Maybe this time he is," Cas said simply, like that's all there was to it, just an easy matter of faith.

"And what makes this different from the other three times, no, four times he's said he was done? How long will he make it this time? To Mom's birthday? Or all the way to November?" Dean couldn't help but be more than a little bitter and jaded about this. "I'm just tired of it, man. I'm tired of getting Dad back for a few months and starting to feel like a damn family again just to come home one night and find him passed out at the kitchen table and Sammy upstairs crying because the old man threw a bottle at him."

"It could be different this time, you know," Cas replied softly, leaning over so that his bare shoulder rested against Dean's, trying to lend comfort in closeness. "He could really do it." He paused for a long moment, giving Dean time to try not to mull over this possibility, but doing it anyway. What Cas said next threw Dean completely off. "Would you stay gone if he did?"

"Huh?" Dean turned and frowned at the wide blue eyes immediately in front of him (geez, Cas, get out of my face). "You lost me there, dude."

"Next year, after we graduate. If John was sober, and you didn't have to worry about Sam all the time, would you be willing to stay gone longer? Away from home?"

"Why, you wanna keep me all to yourself?" Dean joked, because he had to laugh it off, because the possibility that John would man up and be a real parent and Dean could do something for himself for once was just too – Dean couldn't let himself have dreams like that. He had to watch out for Sammy.

Cas, to Dean's surprise, hummed an agreement. "Yes, that's the general idea."

Jo, being the good friend she was, had chosen exactly two moments before this to pull herself out of the water and flop onto the dock, sunning herself. When she overheard Cas, she grinned over at them and shouted, "Aw, how cute! Now, kiss!"

Dean could hear himself spluttering again and he was pretty sure he was blushing which was again just not okay, but Cas calmly got to his feet and walked over to Jo's side of the dock.

"Knock, knock," he said seriously. Jo grinned insolently up at Cas, even though he was coming as close to looming as someone that scrawny could.

"Who's there?"

"John."

"John who?"

"John the Baptist." And before anyone could fully get a handle on whether Cas was making some weird religious joke, he had scooped Jo up off the dock (he was pretty strong for a little nerdy dude) and tossed her in the lake.

She emerged two seconds later, spluttering and laughing and swearing so badly that Sam shouted in a damn good impression of Ellen, "Joanna Beth Harvelle!" and they all cracked up. Shrieking her mock rage, Jo reached back up onto the dock to grab Cas' ankle and pull him in. Dean was still laughing his ass off at the look of complete surprise on Cas' face when he found himself being yanked backwards into the water by Sammy. Unexpectedly soaked, spitting out fishy water, and still laughing fit to split a rib, Dean grinned at Cas treading water a few feet away, and Cas smiled back. In spite of himself, Dean felt the knot in his stomach loosening just a bit, and was forced to admit that yeah, today was pretty perfect.

The evening that followed was less perfect. Well, it wasn't bad, but it was…intense. The ride back from the lake was long and quiet, everyone tired out from sun and laughter. Sam even fell asleep in the back, drooling on Jo's shoulder (Cas snapped a picture with the Polaroid camera Sam had gotten from Bobby and now carried everywhere). By the time Jo and Cas had been dropped off at the Roadhouse, Dean was ready to just get home and crash into bed for the night.

No such luck. Every time John decided he was gonna go sober, Dean spent at least one night with his dad purging the house of alcohol. It was good, to see it all go every time, but it was also stressful as all hell because it meant Dean found out exactly how much of the shit John had stashed around the house. Like, who the fuck hid booze inside the volcano his son had built for the third grade science fair? (Answer: John Winchester, apparently).

The evening was filled with a lot of tense, "Really, Dad?"s and "I know, Dean, I know,"s, but they didn't fight. John said he was sorry a lot, and Dean shrugged it off just as often, but Sam got really into the whole cleaning thing. Dad even asked how the day at the beach was, and if they were still hanging out with Cas or if the kid's crazy uncle had put an end to that; he even seemed genuinely happy that Dean hadn't let Michael keep him and Cas apart entirely, going as far as to say that he was glad Dean had a friend he could rely on. He also asked if Sam was gonna ever ask out Jo, much to Sam's shock and stuttering horror that he and Jo were only friends.

So yeah, it wasn't a bad night, but by the time Dean finally collapsed into bed at eleven, he was friggin exhausted, falling asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow. Because he lived in a cruel world, he was woken less than an hour later by the ring of the phone, ominously loud and jarring in the night silence. Dean woke with such a violent start that he fell out of bed, thumping as loudly as the next ring of the phone.

"Dean," came John's voice from down the hall, and for one terrifying second Dean forgot that Dad was sober tonight, that there was no booze, that even if John was pissed it was probably gonna be just fine. The phone rang again.

Dean stumbled out of his room and downstairs, into the kitchen, followed closely by a clearly irritated John and a sleepy, worried-looking Sam. He managed to fumble the phone off the hook just as it started to ring for the fourth time.

"Hello?" Even though he'd only been asleep for an hour, his voice was still raspy and dry from disuse.

"Dean." Cas. What the hell? "Dean, the world is…that house is loud. I do not like it there."

There was something horribly wrong with the way Cas was talking, thick and vague and far away. Oh no. No no no no no, fuck.

"Cas what's wrong? Where are you?" John frowned, and Sam stopped rubbing the sleep from his face, looking up wide-eyed at Dean.

"I just want to see the stars, but I've lost my way. Will you come find me, Dean? Please?"

"Yeah, Cas, I'll find you," Dean said, barely managing it around the panic in his throat. What the fuck had Cas taken? "Just tell me where you are, I'm leaving now."

"I'm waiting for you where I always wait for you, but you're not here. This is a waiting place, Dean, it isn't real. You have to come and make it real."

"Okay, Cas, just stay where you are, okay? I'll be there in five minutes."

"I'll just…wait here then."

Dean hung up the phone and turned wildly toward the counter, scrabbling for his keys. Shit shit shit shit fuck come on.

"Dean, what the hell is going on?" John demanded, stepping between his son and the door.

"Dad, come on, move. Cas is…I gotta go get Cas, something's wrong. I – " Dean cut off, looking between his father and his little brother. Sam's eyes were scared and knowing, but John – "He's not feeling well." Sammy would know what it meant, and Dad, well, he didn't need to know about Cas' problems.

"Where the hell is he at this time of night?"

"He's at the corner gas station, it's only a couple blocks from his house." At least, that's where Dean assumed he was; Cas had said he was waiting where he always waited, but he was clearly at a payphone, and that was the one closest to the place Dean always picked him up when they snuck out. He couldn't imagine how Cas had gotten there or what had happened or if his uncle knew he was gone. "Please, Dad, I gotta go pick him up."

John stood there, just staring at Dean, for a good twenty seconds before sighing and stepping aside. "You gonna put some pants on before you go, at least?"

Two minutes later, Dean was out the door, wearing a tee shirt and jeans instead of just his boxers now, firing up the Impala and backing out of the driveway with a screech loud enough that he probably woke all the neighbors. He stayed at pretty much the same level of blind panic, desperately hoping he wouldn't get pulled over as he sped around peaceful residential corners at twice the speed limit. But luck was with him for that at least, and he rolled into the gas station without blipping anyone's radar.

Cas was nowhere to be seen.

The station was closed, the brightly lit parking lot and gas pumps depressingly empty. There was no one standing next to the payphone.

"Fuck," Dean swore, looking wildly around. "Come on, Cas, where are you?"

"Dean?" came a hesitant voice from somewhere in the shadows. Dean shoved open his door and practically leapt out of the car, tripping and almost falling in his haste.

"Cas? That you?"

"Dean, you found me." Cas stepped into the light and Dean heaved a sigh of relief. Dude looked like shit – pale and scared and eyes glazed and bloodshot and looking like they were gonna pop out of his face – but he seemed to be all in one piece. Dean went forward and wrapped an arm around his friend, still in his swim trunks from earlier today. Cas was shaking.

"Yeah, 'course I did, Cas." Cas sighed heavily in apparent relief, leaning into Dean's grip and wrapping his arms around Dean's waist in the world's most awkward hug. "Let's get you to the car, man, okay? Then we can get you home or something."

"No," Cas said, with surprising vehemence, tearing himself from Dean's side and backing away. "No, you can't make me go back, I don't want to go back, Dean, please."

"Okay, man, okay." What the hell had Michael done now? "We'll go to the park or something, alright?"

"Yes." Cas sighed again, visibly calming, and came back over to lay his head on Dean's shoulder. "Yes, let's go to the park. The stars are there. We can breathe there."

The ride over to the park was tense, for Dean, at least. He was worried. He had no idea what Cas had taken (though Dean thought it was probably some cocktail of Lilith's prescriptions), or what had induced him to take it, or how the hell he had ended up at the gas station. None of this seemed to bother Cas, on the other hand, who seemed completely relaxed. Or blissed out. Or incredibly friggin stoned. In any case, he had scooted across the front seat of the Impala so that he could keep his head on Dean's shoulder. He hummed occasionally, something Dean thought was probably Metallica, but he didn't say anything.

When they got to the park, Cas took Dean's hand and dragged him wordlessly toward the large, empty field where they spent a lot of time just hanging out and stargazing and talking out their shit. Cas immediately flopped to the ground, face turned up toward the stars. When Dean didn't join him right away, Cas tugged on his friend's pant leg until Dean lay down just next to him. After a few minutes, Dean spoke softly.

"Cas, what the hell happened tonight?"

Cas just shrugged. "Michael is very loud. I don't like conflict. I don't want to fight anymore."

"What were you fighting about? College again?"

This time Cas was silent for a long time, tracing his finger over invisible patterns through the air above their heads. It started to make Dean nervous, so he snatched Cas' hand out of the air, holding it tightly in his own. Cas seemed surprised, a bit, but he squeezed Dean's hand in return, so Dean guessed it was okay. When he did speak, Dean wasn't sure if Cas was answering his question or just talking.

"I'm…not good, Dean. Michael knows this. I think everybody does. I'm not good. I'm cursed, I think. That's why they all leave. My father, Gabriel, Anna. My mother, she's left too, in her mind. They're all better off without me.

"Sometimes, I want to leave. I want to go, I want to stay gone. It'd be better."

Dean felt like his stomach had dropped out of his body, replaced by a terrible, heavy, cold feeling. He gripped Cas' hand so tight he thought his knuckles were turning white and he was probably cutting off Cas' circulation but he didn't care, because he needed to hang onto something of Cas, to keep him there somehow. His throat felt tight, but he spoke through it, trying to make Cas understand.

"No, it wouldn't. I'd rather have you, Cas, cursed or not." Cas turned to stare at him, drugged eyes widening in appreciative surprise that made Dean's chest ache so bad that he tried to laugh it off. "Besides, man, look at me. Do I seem like good luck to you?"

Cas didn't answer, just gave Dean that look he had – the one that said, don't be stupid, Dean Winchester, you're the best thing that's ever happened to me – the one Dean hated because it always made him scared that Cas thought too much of him, that he was inevitably gonna let him down. Then Cas' face fell back into the blank, glazed look he had when particularly stoned that Dean hated even more.

"I'm tired, Dean," Cas said after a while, but even through the pill-induced haze his tone was more angry than tired. "I'm tired of hiding and lying. I'm tired of wondering and being too afraid to ask, I'm tired of having to ask. I am tired of keeping quiet and of shutting down and I am tired of being afraid, always afraid." He trailed off and turned away to look up the sky. Dean didn't know what to say to the sudden rant, but Cas wasn't done. "Do you think I'm an abomination, Dean? That I'm wrong?"

"What? Cas, no," Dean exclaimed, taken aback. "No."

"Michael does." Cas turned to look at him again, and underneath the vacant expression Dean hated so much was something new, something that made Dean's breath catch in his throat. "Maybe you would, too, if you knew."

"Never, Cas." He paused, frowning, asking before he was sure he wanted to know. "Knew what?"

"What I want." And Cas was doing that thing, the thing Jo always made fun of them for, and Sam and everyone, the personal space thing. Cas let go of his hand, maneuvering himself onto his side so that he loomed over Dean just a bit, his face only inches from Dean's. Dean swallowed.

"What do you want, Cas?"

"This." And Cas was suddenly so up in Dean's personal space that it wasn't personal space anymore and Cas was pressing his lips to Dean's and Dean's heart was thundering in his chest and everything inside of him was screaming, this, yes, this.

But in spite of that, in spite of everything he'd been thinking and feeling for fucking ages now, Dean found himself putting a hand on Cas' shoulder and – pulling him closer I want to pull him closer – gently pushing him away. Cas let himself be pushed, his blue eyes still open, wide and glazed and with the most horribly hollow expression Dean had ever seen.

"You do not want this." It wasn't a question, it was a statement so dully accepting that Dean was horrified to realize that Cas hadn't been expecting anything less. Dean shook his head vigorously, clearing his throat and trying to find his voice, which he seemed to have swallowed in the moment Cas kissed him.

"No," he managed at last, after what felt like forever. "I want – just not like this, Cas." Not when you're stoned, and I can't tell if it's the drugs or if it's you. I need to know it's you, it's really you, that you really want me.

Cas sat up fully, not meeting Dean's eyes. "I think I would like to go home now."

Dean scrambled to his feet, his brain still spinning. No, stay, please stay, I didn't mean it. "Yeah, okay. Of course. It's late, come on, we'll get you home." He held out a hand to help Cas up. Cas ignored it, standing up on his own and starting back toward the car without even glancing at Dean. Shit.

The ride home was more silent than the ride there. Cas sat on the far side of the seat now, curled into the corner against the door, resting his arms on the window frame and sticking his face half out of the car, letting the wind whip his dark hair into an even worse mess than it normally was. He didn't hum Metallica. Dean opened his mouth to say something half a dozen times, but each time, nothing came out. He felt like he had broken something and didn't know how to fix it. He didn't know how to make Cas understand.

Dean dropped Cas off directly in front of his house tonight, because he didn't trust him to get home by himself on whatever it was he had taken, though he seemed to have mostly sobered up now. As soon as they were stopped, Cas opened the door, almost falling out because of how he'd been pressed up against it.

"Cas – " Dean started, but Cas cut him off.

"Thank you for coming to pick me up tonight. I'm grateful."

"Cas, please, just – promise me you're gonna be okay?" When Cas didn't say anything, Dean continued, a feeling of desperation growing in his chest. "Hey, why don't you come by the Roadhouse tomorrow, okay? I'll meet you there around lunchtime or something, and we'll go out to the lake and hang out and – and talk. Okay?"

Cas still wouldn't look at him. "Good night, Dean."

"Cas!" But Cas just closed the door behind himself and walked away, slipping around back to climb the trellis that led to his window without another word.

Fuck. Dean lay his forehead against his steering wheel, trying to will back the stinging feeling behind his eyes. How the hell was he going to fix this?