Castiel doesn't care that it's nearing winter time. It's still about sixty degrees, and that's warm enough to go outside. Misha has been driving him crazy, being as energetic as he is, and Castiel has given up on calming him down. Instead, he puts his guitar in the trunk and heads to the park, where he can play in peace. Now that his tour is over, he can finally get back to playing for fun. He's missed that.

He gets a text a few minutes into his guitar time. He hesitantly pulls out his phone, though he'd like to play his guitar without any distractions.

Dean: Are you free rn? Can we hang out?

His final concert ended yesterday, and it's only been less than twelve hours since he's seen Dean, but he can't complain about too much Dean Bean because such a thing doesn't exist.

Castiel texts him the park name before returning to his guitar. It's a few minutes later that Dean arrives. Castiel catches him out of the corner of his eye, but he doesn't announce his presence, so Castiel doesn't say anything. He wouldn't know what to talk about anyway.

Eventually, Dean says, "This sounds way too good to be the same four chords over and over."

"Five chords and thanks," Castiel replies, finally looking up but still playing the guitar.

"Wait, five?" Dean repeats. "D minor, E minor, C, A minor, and...?"

"E."

Dean facepalms. "Oh, right. It just looks too much like the A minor."

"And here you see someone who doesn't play enough guitar," Castiel says as if narrating a safari.

"I can't deny that," Dean replies. "Especially by your standards. I love how your idea of getting out is exactly what you do inside, by the way."

"Well, Misha was driving me crazy," Castiel replies. "I love him to death, but he can be really annoying."

"Misha?" Dean repeats, though Castiel isn't sure if he's questioning the name or who he is.

"Oh, right, you don't know Misha yet." Castiel glances around, then says, "I'll introduce you two later. I think you'll love him. Everyone does."

Dean raises an eyebrow but doesn't question it. "Okay...?"

"Anyway, what's up?" Castiel asks.

"Nothing, really," Dean replies. "It's pretty boring around here. I don't even have Adam anymore, cuz he's too busy studying." He rolls his eyes, as if a Harvard student shouldn't have to study.

"Sam too, I'm guessing?"

Dean nods. "Yep. Honestly, it was kinda rude of them, both going to an Ivy League school. I feel so left out."

"You poor child," Castiel deadpans.

"Gee, thanks for the sympathy," Dean says sarcastically. "No, but right now, you're basically all I've got, so you better be kinda fun."

"Unfortunately for you, I'm leaving in a few days," Castiel tells him. "What's today? Monday? Yeah, I'm leaving on Wednesday."

"To where?" Dean asks.

"Home."

"Why don't you just stay here?"

"Because I'm living at a hotel. It's kinda boring." Plus, his piano's back home, and he's still trying to teach himself to play it. Maybe he can use it during his tour next year if he gets a bit better.

"Please?" Dean asks. "I need someone to talk to. You could stay at my place if you don't like the hotel."

Castiel pauses. Well, there's really no reason not to. It's not like he has anyone waiting for him back in New York. He kind of regrets moving there in the first place.

"Tell you what," he says finally. "I'm going to Jody's in, like, two weeks. If I can get a flight from here to there, I'll stay."

Dean grins. "Awesome!"

And cue awkward silence.

"Well, don't be a stranger," Castiel says eventually. "You can sit. Or if you want to go somewhere, that's fine, too."

Dean takes a seat on the park bench, careful not to hit the guitar. No one speaks for a few long moments, the only sound coming from people passing and Castiel's quiet guitar.

Finally, Dean says awkwardly, "So... This isn't working very well."

Castiel just shrugs.

"And that's part of the problem," Dean adds as an afterthought. "You have vocal cords. I know this for a fact. Use them."

Castiel rolls his eyes. "Fine. Look. I'm talking," he deadpans.

Dean sighs. "Cas, come on. Are you really going to start this?"

"What?" he says defensively. "What am I starting? I'm just trying to have a good time. I'm not starting anything."

"Okay, can you at least, like, try to drop your guard?" Dean asks. "You've known me over six years now. You can at least kind of relax."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Castiel says stubbornly.

"Like hell you don't. This is exactly why we broke up in the first place. Because we couldn't carry out a civilized conversation for more than five minutes, and now, we can't even get to that. So how about you put the damn guitar down and talk to me? What's going on with you?"

Castiel glances around, then shakes his head slightly. "I can't do that."

"Why not."

"Because I can't. Drop it."

"You know what? 'Drop it' isn't going to fly anymore." Dean pulls the guitar away from him so he doesn't have the distraction and leans it against the back of the park bench. "Talk to me, Cas. What's going on with you?"

"I really can't tell you," he repeats.

"Then you better have a damn good reason for that."

"I do," Castiel replies.

"Then what is it?"

Castiel hesitates. "Yeah, I can't tell you that, either."

"Then I don't see this working out."

"No, Dean —"

"You not talking to me is what tore us apart," Dean reminds him. "If you're not willing to change that, I'm giving it up now, before I get too attached again."

"Dean..."

"I mean it. I'm done with the monkey dance. Either tell me what's going on with you, or it's gonna be a long couple weeks alone in New York."

"I really can't tell you," Castiel repeats.

"Then tell me why not," Dean replies. "I'm not asking again."

"Because I can't. Because my career isn't about the music — not anymore. It's about the drama. You wouldn't get it. No one really cares about you personally — no offense intended. But I got more attention for our breakup than I did for my last album, and I'm sick of it. I'm sick of fanning that fire."

"What are you talking about?" Dean asks. "What does that have to do with any of this?"

"A-list celebrities don't have any privacy. It seems like there's not a single moment of my life in public these last three years or so that wasn't on video, and I doubt right now's any different. And of course with video comes publicity and with publicity comes the social media backlash and I just can't handle that anymore."

"It can't be that bad," Dean protests.

"You don't get it, Dean. There are more people who hate me than people you've met in your entire life. You don't know what that's like. I can't do anything without people bitching about it. And I've tried to stay out of the celebrity fight club drama, but people will literally take anything to complain about, no matter how hard I try to be the role model that little kids want me to be.

"But I'm not a role model. I'm only 21 years old. I should be in college, going to parties and making friends and trying to figure out what to do with my life." By this point, his voice has broken and he sounds like he's on the verge of tears, which isn't too far off. "I shouldn't be leaving Twitter in tears on a damn near weekly basis because my mentions are flooded with so much hate, I can't even handle it. I shouldn't be going through four or five phones a year because I'll get so stressed or frustrated, I end up throwing my phone at the wall. I shouldn't be so hesitant to see my family because I'm afraid they'll see that I'm breaking more and more every day."

"C'mere." Dean slides closer and puts an arm around him. Castiel buries his head in the older boy's chest, fighting back tears, and Dean rubs his back gently. "I'm sorry, Cas," he says softly.

Castiel doesn't reply. He knows if he tries to speak, he'll start crying, and he won't be able to stop.

"You know you don't always have to be strong, right?" Dean says after a few moments. "You're allowed to take a breather. No one's going to think any less of you." He presses a kiss to the top of his boyfriend's head. Castiel sniffles, not as subtly as he would have liked. "It's okay to cry, Cas. I got you."

And even though he prides himself on his ability to act okay when he's falling apart on the inside, he can't help it. He does cry. But for once, he doesn't really care. Here in Dean's arms, crying doesn't seem like such a big deal.

It's a few minutes later when Castiel finally speaks again. "I'm sorry for being such as ass to you," he says quietly.

"I'm sorry for not being around when it sounds like you could've used a shoulder to cry on," Dean replies.

Castiel sits up again finally and wipes his tears away with the hem of his shirt, not caring that he essentially just flashed his abs to everyone. He sniffles again, then looks over at Dean.

"Well, there goes that whole not-making-a-scene thing," he says as a weak attempt at a joke.

Dean gives him a small smile for his effort. "Look on the bright side. At least you finally started talking to me."

"Yeah, there's that," he agrees. "And who knows? Maybe I'll hire you as my therapist again."

Dean grins. "Awesome."

They lapse into silence again, but it's not an uncomfortable one this time. Castiel rests his head on Dean's shoulder, and Dean wraps his arm around him gently, just as they've done so many times before. Castiel snuggles closer. This is what he's missed these last few months. Even just sitting in silence with Dean is better than a conversation with anyone else.