The diner was filled with warm, inviting smells as Dean walked in, looking around the quaint place. It had clean white walls and tile floors, contrasting against the bright red booths and chairs that surrounded the pale wooden tables. He found Castiel sitting in a booth about middle ways back, wearing his signature trench coat and staring absentmindedly out the window.

"Hey, Cas." Dean greeted, taking a seat in the booth across from Castiel. The bartender slowly removed his gaze from the window and looked at Dean, a soft smile appearing on his face.

"Hello, Dean. How are you today?" Castiel asked, leaning his arms on the table and relaxing.

"I'm doing okay." Dean replied, glancing around the diner once more. He didn't think he could ever truly say he was doing good, but okay was a nice substitute. He was doing neither good nor bad, and hat was always the best day for him.

"I'm glad." Castiel responded, looking at the waiter as he approached. He seemed young, a black uniform on with a name plate across the shirt, the name 'Alfie' stamped across it.

"Welcome, what drinks would you like to start off with?" The waiter asked, his voice polite and even.

"Is coke alright?" Castiel asked, receiving a nod from Dean and looked back at the waiter. "Two cokes please."

"Alright. Here's two menus. I'll be right back to give you your drinks and take your order." Alfie said, giving both of them a red menu with black lettering before leaving. Dean glanced down at the menu, searching through with a curious eye.

"They have good hamburgers and chicken." Castiel said, not opening his own menu. Dean nodded, his eyes searching out the items.

"Alright, can't go wrong with a bacon cheeseburger then. What are you getting?" Dean sled as he closed his menu and set it on the table.

"Just a regular hamburger. I don't eat much." Castiel mumbled in response. Dean furrowed his eyebrows, but he didn't get to respond as the waiter came back, setting their drinks in front of them before pulling out his notepad.

"Are you ready to order?" The waiter asked. He wrote down as each one gave them their order. When he left, Dean turned back to Castiel, furrowing his eyebrows.

"Why don't you eat a lot?" Dean asked, taking a sip of his drink and cooling his throat.

"I was a chubby when I was younger. It got me bulled a lot, so I stopped as much as I did." Castiel replied, shrugging and looking at the table.

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that." Dean replied, a frown crossing his face at the blank expression on Castiel's features. What he wouldn't give to know what he was thinking.

"I can't change my past." Castiel said, glancing up at Dean with a strange look in his eyes. "But it did help me. I can understand what other's are feeling, not matter how hard they hide it, just like I can see you're hurting."

Dean stiffened, keeping his gaze carefully pinned on his drink as he hand tightened around the glass, his knuckled white from the skin being pulled taut. "I'm fine, Cas. Like you said, we can't change the past." Dean responded, careful to keep his voice even. His heart was beginning to race, and he felt the urge to run; to get away before Castiel knocked down his walls.

But even fate itself felt the need to make everything worse.

"Dean?" He heard the soft, familiar voice of a woman, turning his head and seeing Mrs. Hill standing there. His heart sank in his chest.

"Hello, Mrs. Hill. How are you today?" Dean asked, his voice carefully polite though he felt like he was chewing nails. He felt the careful stare of Castiel on him, but ignored it.

"I'm doing fine. I'm actually glad I caught you." Mrs. Hill replied, a small smile on her face, almost apologetic. "I moved your session to tomorrow. I tried calling you, but it went straight to voicemail."

"I must have forgotten my phone at home. Thanks for telling me." Dean responded, annoyance in his features as his therapist gave him a small nod before heading towards a table to a man who he assumed was Mr. Hill.

"Who was that?" Castiel asked, nothing but concern and curiosity in his eyes. Dean looked down at the table, his hands balling into fists.

"My therapist." Dean muttered, glancing up when he heard the sound of footsteps. He met the eyes of the waiter, who placed their plates down with the usual 'enjoy your meal' that every waiter said before leaving.

"What do you need a therapist for?" Castiel asked, not even flinching at the dark glare that Dean sent him.

"I don't want to talk about it." Dean snapped, ignoring the slight shade of hurt that crossed Castiel's features. He began eating in silence, though he no longer felt hungry. Castiel picked at his food, his face stone cold and now unreadable. Dean felt his heart sting with guilt for hurting Castiel, but he's never apologized and he didn't plan on starting now.

Silence fell over them, and awkward tension that could be cut with a knife. Neither of them attempted to speak, but only ate in that strained quiet, casting each other shy glances and broken expressions throughout their meals.

When they finished, the met each other's gaze before Dean leaned to the side, pulling out his wallet and fishing out a ten dollar bill. He slid it to the middle of the table, his jaw clenched as he looked at the dead stare of Castiel.

"This should pay for me. I'll see you later." Dean mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper. He stood, turning away from Castiel's gaze and heading towards the door.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Another shot passed his lips, struggling to ease his already fuzzy mind. He set the empty glass on the counter, purposely avoiding Castiel's gaze as he ordered another.

His session with Mrs. Hill hadn't gone well. She had pressed too far, too hard. He just wanted to forget, even if for a little while.

"Pressed too far on what?" Castiel asked, pulling Dean from his drunken thoughts. He flushed when he realized he had been speaking his mind out loud and looked down, staring at the bar. The female bartender laid another shot in front of Dean, but Castiel snatched it away when he reached for it.

"I think you've had enough." Castiel said softly, not moving until Dean looked up, meeting his gaze. His breath caught in his throat at the concern in the bartender's eyes, pushing away from the bar in an attempt to keep himself from spilling his thoughts right there and now.

A body collided with his, and he turned his head just in time to see a drink spilling all over a man's shirt. The man glared at Dean, letting the glass drop to the floor and shatter around them.

"Look what you did! Watch where you're fucking going!" The man shouted, shoving Dean back. Dean felt his heart begin to race.

Harsh hands, hitting him over and over...

He couldn't move anymore, couldn't breathe. All he could do was stare at the man that was yelling at him, though no sound reached his ears.

A bottle smashing over his head, leaving him winded as he heard his father's harsh, unforgiving words above him....

He wasn't sure when he began shaking, but all he knew was that he was running out of air. He didn't take another breath, in fear of losing the control he was already struggling to hold onto.

A warm hand hand found his, and his feet were finally forced to move as he was tugged out the door of the bar. The cold air forced him to take a gasping breath, coming out in a half sob.

Blood sliding down his face, drops slipping from his nose again and again. The shouts of death leaving his ears ringing...

Dean clasped his hands over his ears, the sound of ringing in his ears. There was a hand on his shoulder and pulled away, the aches of pain coming back and leaving him shaking like the leaf in the wind as he fell to his knees.

"No more..." Dean whimpered, tears streaking his face as he sobbed. It felt too hot and the scent of alcohol and iron left his heart beating so fast he could have sworn he was having a heart attack.

"No more." He felt his consciousness fading, giving into a dizzying blackness as he watched Castiel's eyes change from blue to yellow.