Chapter Eight

Dean cleared his throat. "Castiel? Can I ask you a question?"

He looked up from his phone and his gaze focused in on Dean. "Of course."

Dean thought maybe that unwavering stare should have been disconcerting, but he found he kind of liked having Castiel's undivided attention. "I was just wondering if… I had any friends. Before. I mean, Sam's my brother, and you're my husband, but was there ever… anyone else?"

Now that Dean knew for sure that the army story had been fabricated, he had come to the uncomfortable realisation that the reason no friends had come to visit him couldn't be because they were 'on deployment'. Coupled with the fact that he seemed to freak out whenever he ventured into a public space, he was beginning to worry that he had been some sort of hermit.

He was hoping that Castiel was going to say 'Oh, no, they just didn't want to overwhelm you with so many unfamiliar faces' or 'Sam asked them not to come because he was worried they would trigger your memories'. But he didn't say either of those things.

"Not really, no." It was blunt and to the point. No sugar-coating. No letting him down easy.

Dean had been a hermit. A friendless loner whose brother had only stuck around because he had to and whose husband had probably only married him out of pity.

Castiel must have seen something in his expression, because he quickly amended, "You used to. But they're all dead now."

"That… doesn't really make it better, you know."

"It was never your fault. You often blamed yourself, but our line of work doesn't leave much room for relationships. The only ones who understand the life are the ones who live it, and very few manage to live it for long."

That was… horrifying. "What is our line of work, exactly?" And why the hell would any sane person choose it as a career if it meant a severely shortened life expectancy?

"I can't tell you that."

"Dammit, Castiel, I swear to God if you don't start giving me straight answers-"

"He doesn't get involved in this sort of thing."

"What?"

"I can't tell you, Dean. I have already explained why."

"They're my memories, Castiel, you can't hold them at ransom!"

"I don't want any money from you. And I wouldn't tell you if you did offer to pay me."

"That's not – God, you are infuriating!"

Castiel frowned a little. "You agreed not to use that word. I know you don't have any recollection of why, but I'd appreciate it if you refrained from using God's name in vain-"

"What, are you religious or something?"

"Or something."

Dean growled low in his throat. "Castiel…"

"I know this is frustrating, Dean. But if you would just stop and think, maybe you would realise that we are sparing you from a lot of pain. Right now, you don't feel any grief for those friends you have lost. I could tell you their names, and they would just be names to you. You don't remember what they meant to you or how they died. You don't remember how much harder it was to pick yourself up and keep going every time you lost someone else you cared about. You don't remember the weight you carried. You don't remember the tears you refused to shed, or the agony you felt when the walls around your heart began to crack and the emotion showed through. You don't remember how you tried to distance yourself, or how you couldn't seem to stop caring about people even though it hurt. You don't remember how terrified you were that someday you would lose me too. You don't remember, Dean. You should consider it a blessing."

Dean swallowed. He had naively assumed that the only bad memories he had to worry about were related to physical pain. He had thought he could endure that, if it meant he would remember happier times with his loved ones.

He hadn't thought about grief.

The nightmare about Castiel's death was still fresh in his mind. In reality he barely knew the man – all he really knew was that he was supposed to love him – but the devastation he had felt in that moment when he had realised Castiel was dead… it had been unbearable. It had felt like he was being torn to shreds, like his world was ending, like he would rather plunge that blade into his own chest than accept that Castiel was gone.

That had only been a dream. He tried to imagine experiencing grief like that for all of the other people he must have known and loved throughout his lifetime, and he had the sudden, awful feeling that he wouldn't be able to handle it.

Maybe what Sam and Cas were trying to do was a kindness, after all.

"But… if they meant something to me… shouldn't I remember them? It feels like I'm cheapening their deaths, somehow. They're gone, and I'm living like they never existed. Shouldn't I grieve for them? Shouldn't I respect their memories, rather than callously discarding them for the sake of sparing myself pain?"

"Dean, you don't understand. You can't possibly comprehend how much damage you were carrying before. You made yourself smile because 'you were alive and that was your job', but it hurt, every single day it hurt. You don't want to live like that again. Trust me."

"You're making it sound like my life before was nothing but pain."

"That isn't far from the truth."

"I don't believe it."

"I'm not lying to you, Dean. I won't tell you everything, but I won't lie."

"Then tell me this. Did I love you?"

Castiel stared at him. "Yes," he answered finally.

"And did you love me?"

His voice was quieter this time. "Yes, of course I did."

"Then we were happy."

"Dean…"

"I'm not saying it was perfect. But it can't have been all bad. The pain must have been worth it, or I would have killed myself a long time ago."

Castiel flinched. "Don't say that. You don't know – you don't know how much it scares me. The thought that someday you will remember everything, and it will be too much, and I won't get to you in time."

"Castiel, if it means I remember you, nothing else will matter. I'm sure of it."

"Well I'm not. And I'm not prepared to take that risk."

"I don't see why it should be up to you!"

"Because it is my job to protect you, Dean Winchester, even from yourself."

"Then why didn't you stop this from happening to me in the first place?!"

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Dean regretted them, but it was too late to take them back. He could only watch as they hit Castiel like a freight train.

He looked gutted.

No, it was worse than that.

He looked like Dean had destroyed him.

"I'm sorry," Dean tried. "I didn't mean it."

"No," Castiel exhaled. His eyes weren't focused on Dean anymore; they were somewhere far away. "No, you're right. I should have protected you. But I failed, and you suffered for my carelessness."

Dean shifted uncomfortably. "I'm sure it wasn't your fault."

"You never should have been alone that night, Dean. Everything that was done to you… it could have been prevented, if only I… But I can't change what happened." He looked back at Dean, and there was steel in his eyes. "I can only do my best to protect you now. I will not hurt you."

Dean couldn't argue with him, not when he had finally glimpsed behind that stoic mask to the raw pain beneath.

"I'll… stop pushing," Dean said reluctantly.

Some of the tension eased from Castiel's shoulders. "Thank you."

Dean nodded, even as he felt a lump settle in the pit of his stomach at the thought of being hollow and empty forever.

The silence stretched out until Dean couldn't stand it any longer. "We have to be somewhere," he said. It was why he had brought up the topic of friends in the first place. "Well, it's more that I agreed to go, and I would like you to come with me, but I'd understand if you would rather not-"

"Where?"

"One of the neighbours is having a barbecue. I thought it would be a good way to meet some new people. Uh. Unless I'm cursed?" He didn't want to be responsible for calling down a plague or something, if it was some sort of unwritten rule that everyone who associated with him had to die.

"You're not cursed." Castiel's tone was serious; not a trace of joking in it.

"And I'm not, ah," he flushed with embarrassment but said it anyway, "socially incompetent?"

Castiel cocked his head. "Decidedly not. You were often the 'life of the party'."

Dean's mouth went dry. He couldn't imagine drawing that level of attention to himself in a crowd filled with strangers.

"Alcohol helps," Castiel said.

He sincerely hoped so. "So, do you want to stay here, or…?" He tried not to betray how anxious he felt, but Castiel's expression softened.

"I'll go with you."

Dean's stomach gave a funny jolt at his words. "Thanks."

ooOOoo