Got it.

Dean decided to take Castiel out for dinner. Neither of them wanted to be on campus when the rumors of their sexual activity was running rampant, and both of them needed a well cooked meal and some time away from school and work. Castiel called in sick to his job and they climbed into the Impala and drove away from the college at top speed. Leaning out the window, dark hair flying, Cas pushed his face into the wind and let it whip color back into his cheeks. Dean watched him with sadness and a heaviness in his heart. He drove fast to give Cas a better breeze, cruising around bends and on long dusty roads between a sloping cow farm and a sprawling lake, letting the countryside distract them. The soothing smell of the nature-scented air helped.

They chose an Italian restaurant in the tiny town that everyone gushed over. A Sicilian man owned it, his exotic accent just another flourish to the simple but comfortable little place. Of course, Cas demanded he pay, because Dean's money was from his older life with his dad – stealing and fake credit cards – so Dean backed down and let him. They slid into the chairs of a two-seating table up against the window. It was mostly empty – old men sat at the bars groaning about their farms over beers, and the pregnant waitress was counting receipts.

The owner came over to be their waiter, and gave them menus and took their drink orders. Then he slid away and Cas looked over at his lover with a sigh. "What are we gonna do, Dean?" He asked quietly.

"Nothing, that's what," Dean looked at the menu and picked what he wanted, folding it shut. "We're gonna do what we're doing now. Go to class, do our work, and mind our own business."

Cas shut his menu with a snap. "Dean, they'll rip us apart. We can't just-" He protested angrily.

"Yes, we can," Dean interrupted pointedly, looking up at him. Castiel fell frustratingly silent. "Cas, we're not doing anything wrong. You and me - we're happy. Aren't we?"

Cas blinked rapidly, clenching his jaw and stifling his protests. He nodded in defeat.

Dean returned it. "We don't owe anybody anything except prudish politeness in public. Hell, we don't even owe them that. But the more we react, the worse it'll get." Cas stared at him, irritation itching his skin, and Dean stared back. "We've got nothing to hide; nothing.

"If we just live our lives like we been doing it'll be damn clear we're not ashamed of what we do. And we aren't. If they catch us being weak, it'll be like admitting we think what they do." He reached over and took Cas's hands, squeezing his fingers. "I love you. It's who I am."

Castiel bent his head between bowed shoulders, and squeezed Dean's fingers crushingly. An empathetic nod bobbed from his chin.

Dean clenched his jaw. "Cas, look at me, please," he whispered, and was obliged with stormy blues. "I am here for you. If anyone gives you any more trouble, we will handle it. If anyone bothers me, I will handle it." He softened his tone. "All right?" Cas's lips were pressed into a thin line. The chaos in his strong hands and the grip with which he held fast onto Dean's were conflicted. "Why do we need a plan of attack, or defense, even?" Dean pressed on. "We just need a short explanation. Something to give to everyone and anyone who asks. Short and sweet; something that'll cover everything. That's all we owe anyone at the damn place - and anywhere else, for that matter."

"…Dean." Cas's eyes softened just so.

Cracking a smile, Dean soaked in those baby blues. "We hit it off when I first moved into town, felt something more going on a few months later, and we've been officially together… three weeks. How's that sound?" Castiel just nodded, smiling, and Dean rubbed Cas's knuckles with his thumb. "Good. Don't sweat it, Cas. We can handle the heat together. You and me. To the end of the line."

They ate in peace and split a cannoli at the end of the night, and sat back in their chairs drinking and talking about everything. People came and went. No one gave them second glances. Cas swirled his ice and Dean sat back with his bow legs knocked open casually. Their low tones mixed and morphed. Mostly they talked alcohol and houses and family, and Dean's version of it, and how broken everything was because his mother died. Dean and sighed as he recounted how his entire life had been spent in motels and the back of the Impala. Castiel let it sink in. A man who wanted family but had never had one to speak of. Well, he had. He knew. Cas explained the family dynamic, how well it had worked until his sister died, and how to maintain it; it turned into a very drawn-out topic. Soon they were naming colors they wanted on the walls, and how many rooms, and how many windows in their house there would be.

Slowly, their hesitation – their iron-heavy chains – fell away. Their smiles became natural. Hands moved with emphasis, sparks igniting hope in their battered faces. They tossed back and forth tid-bits of protest against little things as they knocked back the last of their drinks and let their minds wander and their words trail off. Images filled their heads.

Cas saw Dean drinking a beer on the porch, their porch, the light of the sunset dancing over his clothes worn from a day's work around the house. He pictured kissing the line of his jaw flushed in orange glow with a languid affection; the kind bred from contentment, earned from hard work, and determination. He felt the cold steel of a kitchen bowl in his hands and the water running down his hands as he pressed a compress to the forehead of a man heaving with fever and nausea. He felt the sponge bruising his knuckles as he scrubbed away the evidence. The delicacy of the pills rolling around in his roughed up hands as he knelt by his lover and offered him a perspiring glass of water to wash them down. He saw a child wrapped up in bed and crying softly and felt the rush of sadness and love as he sank down beside them and ran his fingers through their hair calmingly.

Dean saw himself building something; a house. A well. A porch. He felt the heat on his shoulders and steeped himself in sweat. Then he dropped his shovel and sank into the steps in the shade and lifted his eyes and looked through the window - of his house – to see his family. His love. His kids. He rubbed the sweat from his face and gripped the handrail of the porch and gripped it so tight they the sweat sponged into the porous wood and he knew then that it was his. All of it. He gripped the porch until his bleeding palms stained the paint. He remembered the slight children; the flunked papers and the tears and the night terrors. He remembered getting his shotgun and pulling a chair in front of their closet and sitting humming Smoke in the Water until they were fast asleep. He imagined falling into warm, rough hands at night and kissing sweet lips goodnight.

And across the table, Castiel reached out and Dean reached out to Dean. They twined fingers loosely in the shadows, cast by the dim figures shifting and creating a low roar of noise around them.

In the car on the way back to the college, Dean's phone rang. He flipped it out as he drove, frowning, and Castiel beside him glanced over in surprise as he pressed it to his ear. "Yeah, Sammy, what's up?"

"Dean, why does everybody suddenly know you and Cas are a couple?"

"Something happened today. We didn't really make it a thing, it was… an altercation." He explained. "Why?"

"An altercation?" Shuffling noises, almost like Sam was moving boxes and opening windows, echoed through the phone speaker.

Dean glanced over at Cas. The memories of the day were blossoming back into in his eyes and drawing the life from them. "Cas had a kid yell at him about it. In the middle of class."

"Wow. Anyone go missing after that?"

"No, no, they both left without fighting and Cas doesn't want me to maim the guy."

"Too bad. You two holding up ok?"

Sighing, Dean cradled the phone with his shoulder and took the steering wheel in that hand, reaching his other over to rest on Cas's thigh. "Yeah, we're ok." Cas's hand settled over his own. "Everybody knows now. But besides that we're peachy."

"Hope it stays that way. It's even become a bit of a thing where I am, too. Keep an eye out for anything weird going on – I'm not sure why, but these guys are getting riled over it."

"Who?"

"The fraternities. Not mine; we're sort of a Christian fraternity, but we don't get involved in anything that would…" He cleared his throat over the line awkwardly, and the shuffling ceased entirely.

The silent pause was unnerving. "Sammy? Involved in what?"

"…Anything that would hurt people," Sam explained. "Hazing. Destroying property. Burning things to the ground. Rough stuff; you know college kids. I don't want to say someone is coming for you guys - but I don't know for sure. I want you to be prepared in case they are."

"Are you saying some guys are so pissed over us coming out, that they wanna gank us?" Dean demanded. Beside him Cas paled.

"Sort of. Maybe not kill you, just scare you guys."

Dean stared out the windshield. "You're not serious."

"Dead serious. They're pissed, Dean, and I don't know why. And scared kids get dangerous."

"Well thanks for the warning, we'll keep an eye out for assholes with spray paint cans."

"Dean, don't take this lightly. These guys don't know what they're doing but they think it's what needs to be done. If you see anything, call me. I'll hitch a ride over there with my pals and help you out ASAP. No exceptions. All right?"

"Yeah, ok. Thanks again, Sammy." Dean replied somberly.

"Watch out for yourselves."

Dean clicked the phone shut and pushed it back into his pocket, reaching back over to rest his hand on Cas's thigh. He sighed. "Sam's college got wind of it, too."

"Damn," Castiel whispered beside him in despair. "What's going on, Dean?"

"The frat brothers think we need a reminder of what's what around here. That or they just hate anything that isn't drinking or hanging off a stripper pole."

"What do we do?"

"Lock ourselves in the room and pray they're not serious."