"Your burger," Castiel tells him, showing him a brown paper bag.

"What?"

Dean sounds bewildered, and Castiel isn't surprised. He's pretty sure the man was joking when he asked for a burger, but he'd one of the officers go and fetch one anyway. Well, two - he's hungry, because he'd skipped breakfast this morning, and a quick glance at his watch had told him it's now well past lunch.

"Why don't you come in and tell me about whatever it is? Where it's safer, you know?" he asks Dean. "Just the two of us."

"Not going to happen," Dean says, shaking his head.

So he leans out the window and passes the paper bag out to Dean, who takes it gratefully. "Do you mind if I join you?" Castiel asks, showing Dean his own lunch.

"Go right ahead," Dean says through a mouthful of food. "Oh my God – that is good!"

Castiel smiles at him, and carefully negotiates his way out of the window and onto the ledge. He stumbles slightly, and strong arm traps him between it and the building.

"Dude, be careful," Dean hisses in his ear.

Castiel looks at him sheepishly, and realises that Dean had done a quick one-eighty turn on the narrow ledge – now facing the building and hugging the brickwork – in order to help him.

"You have very good balance," he says in amazement, when what he means to say is "Thank you."

Dean grunts, and edges his way around until his back is against the wall once again.

They eat in silence for a minute, or rather Dean eats in silence – Castiel eats while his boss screams in his ear to stop being so stupid.

"Things will get better," he tells Dean, ignoring his bosses order to get back inside now!

"If you can't believe that yourself, how can you expect me to believe that?"

He stares at Dean, not really sure what to say to that. Dean's right, of course, but he didn't think he was that transparent. Certainly his family, nor the people he worked with, never seemed to pick up on his moods. He suddenly realises that two green eyes are still staring at him, waiting for an answer.

"You're right," he says eventually, and his boss starts lecturing him in his ear about protocol and that if Dean jumps now it'll be Castiel's neck on the line – that's if Dean doesn't take Castiel over the edge with him. "I can't expect you to believe something I don't even believe."

But Dean doesn't jump. He just nods as if he appreciates Castiel's honesty and takes another bite of his burger.

"But I have faith," Castiel continues, and it's cathartic being able to talk about how he feels with someone who doesn't know him, or have expectations of him, and who doesn't care. "I used to believe it, and I have faith that I'll believe it again in time. I know how you feel, because I've found myself thinking about this lately."

His boss starts shouting at him in his ear again, and Castiel removes the earpiece with a relieved sigh.

"These make me very happy," Castiel tells him, holding the burger up.

"You're easily pleased."

Castiel smiles.

"Shouldn't you be telling me that nothing's worth throwing myself off a building for, that I've got my whole life ahead of me, and that I should come back inside with you?"

Castiel nods. "Yes."

"But instead you've come out here with me and are telling me that you're suicidal as well?"

"Yes," Castiel says again.

"Good," Dean says, not understanding at all. And neither does Castiel. "Just so we're on the same page, then."

"Dean. Do me a favour. I want you to visualise something positive. If you could be anywhere in the world, what would you be doing? Anything at all."

Dean thinks for a moment, and smirks. "I'd be in bed, underneath a couple of beautiful women."

Castiel's stomach clenches involuntarily. "If it was me, I'd be having dinner at Angelo's," he says quietly.

"Yeah?" Dean says. "Where's that, then?"

"It's this cosy little Italian place on the corner of 9th and West 57th Street. They have live music and their meatballs are amazing – bite-sized and not too herby. Their lasagne is good, too – it holds its shape perfectly without being too dry. And they have the crispiest garlic bread you've ever eaten—"

"It sounds nice," Dean agrees.

Castiel is abashed at how carried away he's gotten. "It is," he says quickly. "You should try it sometime."

"Are you asking me out on a date?"

Castiel blushes. "No."

"Because this thing that we've got going on here, I think we should cool it down before you get into trouble." But then Dean winks at him.

"This 'thing'?" Castiel echoes in confusion, tilting his head to the side. "I don't understand what you mean."

"Damn it, Cas," Dean says, almost to himself, as he rubs a hand across his face. "I'm just looking out for you."

"And why would I need you to look out for me?"

"Well you wouldn't want Mr Ear-Piece to accuse you of getting distracted from the job by my good looks - it wouldn't be good for business if I went over. You know what I mean?"

If, Castiel thinks to himself. Not when, but if.

"Though you should know - just for the record? I swing both ways," Dean adds, when Castiel doesn't say anything.

Castiel swallows so loudly he's surprised Dean doesn't hear him. "Well why don't you come back inside and I'll let you buy me dinner?"

Castiel slaps a hand across his mouth as he realises what he's just said, for that hadn't even been a conscious thought before the words had left his mouth. Dean stares at him, like he can't believe what Castiel has just asked him, but then he smiles and Castiel decides he likes the way his whole face lights up when he does.

"It's tempting," Dean smiles. "But I don't think that's a good idea."

"You have somewhere better to be?" Castiel says boldly, and Dean barks a short laugh.

"No," he admits, and he's grinning now. He scrunches up the burger wrapper and tosses it over the side. "I don't think they're going to arrest me for littering. Did you get pie, too?"

"Yes," Castiel says. "Apple - but I left it inside. I wasn't really planning on coming out here."

"Never mind," Dean tells him.

"Sergeant—"

"Call me Dean. We're getting pretty intimate out here, after all," he says, and has his voice always been this deep and rough?

"Dean, then," Castiel says, trying to ignore the warm feeling pooling in his belly. "I have to ask – why did you ask for me?"

"I saw that your sister died. Figured you and me, we're in the same boat." When Castiel doesn't respond, Dean asks, "What was she like?"

Castiel tenses, and he knows immediately that he's said the wrong thing.

"Sorry."

Castiel shakes his head. "No, it's okay. I just wasn't expecting you to ask me that."

"Why not?"

"Because nobody else has."

"All these people you work with and not one of them has tried to talk to you about it?"

"Balthazar would have."

"Would have?" Dean prompts.

"He died. Two days after Anna. In the line of duty." He chokes back a sob, and a warm hand squeezes his shoulder. "The soldier - Jo - do you feel responsible for her death?"

Dean tips his head back against the wall and exhales loudly.

"We took cover in an abandoned building," he says slowly. "We checked the rooms and it was all clear."

A single tear falls down Dean's cheek, and Castiel can feel his own tears building for what's coming next.

"I fucked up, man. There was a guy in the back room, and I don't know how I missed him. We thought the building was clear, and I was so busy shooting back at those outside while Jo radioed the base that I didn't see him creep up behind us until I heard Jo shout and then there was a shot and..." He trails off, eyes clenched tightly shut. "Every time I close my damned eyes I see her, lying there. When I sleep, I see her mom, Ellen, wailing in grief at her funeral."

"Anna," Castiel says, because they're sharing, now, "was the black sheep of the family. Our parents had cast her out, and her life became very difficult. She was in psychiatric care for a while, but she got better. Then I got a phone call from Balthazar, telling me she'd jumped from the bridge. I wish she'd called me, we could have talked about it. But I hadn't seen much of her in years - not after she left."

"I'm sorry," Dean says, and he means it. It's not the generic, "I'm sorry for your loss," because Dean truly know how he feels. It feels like a weight has been lifted from his shoulders.

"It really is a nice view from up here," Castiel says, changing the subject.

Dean lets him. "Yeah. You almost forget what the world looks like when you're down there."

"I hate the city," Castiel says. He's never realised it until now, but he does. He hates the crowds and the cars and not being able to see trees that aren't in some landscaped park.

"So why do you live here?"

"Because my family do."

"The family who didn't rally around when your sister died? Some family."

"They're all I have."

"You and me, we should get out of here," Dean says. "Go away, and find some small little town in the country. What do you say? I think we both need to just get away from it all."

"You'd have to come back inside, first," Castiel points out.

"Yeah," Dean says. "But I'm going to have to go back inside to get that pie anyway, because if it's as good as that burger I'm not jumping without eating it."

"You're not going to jump?"

"Not today." Dean looks at the sky, now clear and blue with not a cloud in sight. "Maybe only one person died that day after all," he mutters to himself.

"What?" Castiel asks, not quite catching what Dean just said.

"Nothing." Dean shakes his head. "But it looks like that storm broke up after all."

Castiel holds his hand out, and Dean takes it. Three minutes later they're both standing inside when Castiel shuts the window with a thud.

"I told you I'd get you off that ledge alive," Castiel tells him, with a teasing sparkle in his eye.

"You also said something about dinner," Dean reminds him.

Castiel realises then that Dean still hasn't let go of his hand.