Chapter Four

Someone was watching him.

Dean had been willing to dismiss the incident on Main Street as a combination of stress and wishful thinking, but either he was going crazy or he was being stalked.

Almost every time he left the house (which he was forcing himself to do more often now, since he was due to start at the mechanics next week and didn't know how he was going to cope with the whole human-interaction thing) Dean could feel eyes on him. He would look around, trying to identify the culprit, but the only people around were neighbours or dog-walkers or joggers. At first he thought he was being paranoid, but he happened to glance into the wing mirror of his car and the reflection showed a familiar figure standing on the street corner. Dean pretended to wipe at smudge on his car window while keeping his gaze fixed on the mirror, and the image remained. He even blinked deliberately, giving the mirage a chance to disappear if that's what it was. But there was no change.

The suit and trench-coat were very distinctive. Dean considered the possibility that the man was a random look-alike, but the odds of a random look-alike favouring that particular street corner (which just so happened to be a perfect vantage point for Dean-watching) had to be pretty slim.

Dean was fairly certain that his stalker was Castiel.

It was infuriating.

He was the one who had chosen to leave, so why was he acting like some spurned lover? If he wanted to drop by to see how Dean was doing, all he had to do was knock on the door. Sure, there was every chance that Dean would punch him in the nose for walking out on him in the first place, but then he'd probably let the man in, sit him down and give him an ice pack. Castiel would talk, and Dean would listen, and maybe they could work something out.

Instead, Castiel watched from a distance and vanished whenever Dean caught him in the act.

What the hell was Dean supposed to make of that? Did he care, or didn't he? Did he miss Dean, or did he just feel obliged to keep an eye on him? Did he plan to stay away forever, or was he hoping to come back?

Dean wished he could just ask him. If the answers weren't the ones he was hoping for – well, he'd be disappointed, but then at least he could move on. But if Cas wanted to be with him, they could try. Dean wanted to try. He hated the thought that he had found someone to spend the rest of his life with and some stupid memory loss had stolen their future from them. He wasn't just going to sit back and let that happen.

But he needed a plan.

He decided that the first step would be to lull Castiel into a false sense of security. He pretended not to notice the weight of his gaze on his back and just went about his life as normal. He spent a lot of time working on his car and paid particular attention to polishing her until she shone so he could surreptitiously glance at the reflections in the gleaming metal. Castiel grew bolder now that he thought Dean wasn't aware of his presence; he came closer and stared more openly. Dean memorised the shape of his face, the angle of his nose, the wind-swept appearance of his dark hair, the curve of his lips, the blue of his eyes. He also learned Castiel's habits; where he stood and for how long, what times he tended to come by, the way he would hold himself, how often he would break his stare to glance both ways down the street and how long it would be until he looked back at Dean.

A part of Dean was hoping that Castiel would be the one to end this waiting game. Dean didn't want to have to resort to extreme measures to force Castiel to talk to him. He seemed to be drawn to Dean and was finding it harder to stay away; surely it wouldn't be long before he stopped staring and finally did something.

Which is why, when Dean heard a knock at his door early on Saturday morning, he raced to open it before Castiel could change his mind and flung it open with enthusiasm.

"FINA- oh."

It wasn't Castiel.

The stranger standing on his doorstep raised an eyebrow. "Expecting someone else?"

"Yeah. I mean, no. I mean, ah… Hi. Sorry. Who are you?"

The young man chuckled. "I guess I didn't introduce myself last time. My name is Jeremy Hodge, we met outside the general store last week?"

Dean frowned. He didn't remember – "Oh." The man who had saved him from falling flat on his ass. Dean's cheeks coloured in embarrassment. "Right. Sorry."

"You did seem a little preoccupied," Jeremy allowed graciously. "But I noticed you working on your car yesterday and I realised that we were neighbours. I'm in the house across the road, two doors down."

"Oh." Was that the only word in his vocabulary? Dean flashed back to that book title: 'Conversations for Dummies.' Maybe he should have bought that one, too. He was making a fool of himself. "You've done some nice work with your front yard."

That seemed to have been the right thing to say; Jeremy's face lit up. "Thanks! I've just renovated my backyard, too, actually. I laid down some decking, bought an outdoor furniture set and added a new barbeque as the finishing touch."

"Sounds great," Dean said, even as he wondered why this man was talking to him. "Mowing the lawn is about the only gardening I do." And he rather enjoyed it, for some reason.

Jeremy laughed. "Well, each to their own. I don't know a thing about cars, myself." He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, and Dean began to put the pieces together.

"If you're having car trouble and you wanted me to take a look under the hood, I don't mind."

"Would you? I'd appreciate it."

"Sure. But get in while you can; after next week I'll have to start charging."

"Why's that?"

"I'm starting at Ray's Mechanics, over on 2nd street."

"Guess I know where I'll be going next time I need a tune up, then."

Dean felt distinctly awkward, which made no sense because the man was just being friendly. "You, ah, seem very confident in my skills considering I haven't even looked at your car yet."

"You're driving a 1967 Chevy that still looks brand new," Jeremy pointed out.

Ray had said the same thing during his interview. Of course, he only had Dean's word that he'd owned the car since he was eighteen, and Dean had no idea if Sam was telling the truth about that. He had no idea if the experience listed on his resume was real either – apparently he had worked at 'Singer Auto Self-Service Salvage Yard' in Sioux Falls for a while, but the owner had passed away so he wasn't able to provide a reference. Luckily Ray hadn't questioned it, and Dean's ability to strip an engine and put it back together had earned him the position.

"Anyway, I didn't just come over to beg favours," Jeremy said. Dean realised he must have let the silence drag out a bit too long, but Jeremy hadn't let it bother him. "I'm having a barbeque at my place tomorrow. I'm fairly new around here, too – I thought inviting the neighbours over would be a good way to meet people. You are welcome to come if you're interested."

Dean swallowed. An afternoon spent making small talk with strangers sounded intimidating. But if he didn't go he would become known as a crazy recluse and that would be worse. "I'll be there. Thanks."

"Great! See you then." Jeremy gave him a smile and a wave as he left.

Dean closed the door and leaned against it, exhaling a sigh. He rubbed his temples, willing away a headache. Why, why was this so hard?

The hospital psychiatrist had warned him that people with amnesia often suffered from anxiety, but it was one thing to be told that and another thing entirely to experience it. The conversation had barely lasted five minutes but his pulse was racing and his skin felt clammy and his breathing was all over the place. Ridiculously, the only time he felt safe was when his stalker was watching him – because it felt more like Castiel was watching over him, and that was absurdly comforting.

God, he was so messed up.

It took a while for him to regain his composure, and longer still for him to work up the energy to start his day properly.

Sam had bought him weird herbal teas. Dean hadn't been inclined to try them but coffee wasn't going to do him any favours right now so he decided to give one a go. It tasted strange, but he felt better afterwards. He ate breakfast while reading the newspaper, scanning each news story briefly as he searched for… something. He didn't know what. He tried to puzzle it out and got nowhere, so gave up and read the cartoons instead.

Out of habit, he glanced out the kitchen window in the hopes of spotting Castiel standing on the street corner. He wasn't there this time, but Dean noticed that the flowerbeds in his front yard were getting over-grown by weeds. He had complimented Jeremy's yard, but truthfully most of the houses along this street had well-kept gardens and Dean's looked shabby in comparison. He supposed he should probably do something to change that.

He spent most of the morning out in the sunshine, pulling up what he hoped were weeds and watering what he hoped were the plants that were supposed to be there. It was slow going, especially because he couldn't kneel so he had to sit and then shuffle along awkwardly, but after a few hours there was visible improvement.

He was about to head inside for lunch when he felt eyes on him again.

Without looking around, he made a show of struggling to stand up (though the pain in his knees meant there wasn't much pretence involved), hoping that Castiel would come over to help him.

He didn't.

Dean's features darkened into a glare. Enough was enough. This ended now.

He wiped his hands on his trousers and stuck his hands in his pockets. He strode out onto the sidewalk, humming a jaunty tune he had heard on the radio. He walked slowly at first, listening out for the sound of footsteps behind him. When he was sure Castiel was following, he walked a little bit faster. Then faster still. Then he rounded a corner sharply and vanished from Castiel's sight.

When Castiel turned the corner, Dean was nowhere to be seen.

Castiel's steps slowed. He looked around and his expression morphed from confusion to concern. Finally, he stopped walking altogether.

That was when Dean pounced.

ooOOoo