Chapter Nine

Dean was trying very hard not to panic.

He focused on breathing, in and out, in and out. But people kept talking to him, asking questions, standing in his space, looking at him. It took every ounce of his self-control not to give this entire endeavour up as a lost cause and get the hell out of dodge.

"Where are you from originally?" someone asked. Her name was Laura, or Linda, or maybe Lily? Something like that. He should know, she had just told him, but his mind was drawing a blank. His mind was blank. He didn't know the answer - something so simple, but he had no idea where he was born, or where he was brought up, or where he had been living before he came here. He didn't know anything.

"I, uh, moved around a lot," he stammered.

"What happened to your hands?" asked Bill (or Bob?) around a mouthful of hotdog. He had ketchup in his moustache. "They're a right mess."

Dean clenched his fingers around the hideous scar tissue. Yet another thing he didn't know. It looked like layers and layers of cuts and scrapes; there was barely an inch of palm left unscathed. But he didn't know how it had happened. "Work accident."

"What do you do for work?" asked Chris. At least, he was pretty sure it was Chris. Chris brought chips, the two words sounded similar. Dean hadn't realised that it was polite to bring something; they had turned up empty handed.

"I'm a mechanic." Or he would be, starting tomorrow. But he had no idea what he used to do. Something dangerous. Something that had almost killed him.

"How long have you been doing that for?"

Too many names, too many faces. Was it Richard?

"I've always liked fixing up cars." According to Sam, anyway, and Dean thought he was probably telling the truth on that one. Working on the Impala was remarkably soothing.

"Is yours the black Chevy?" Beth asked. She was a pretty brunette, but her smile was alarmingly flirtatious and she kept nudging him whenever someone said something funny, like they were sharing the joke privately between them. "She's a beautiful car. I bet she's a smooth ride, too."

Devon cleared his throat loudly (wasn't he her husband? Dean thought they had been introduced together). "So, why haven't you brought your wife with you, Dean? Worried someone would try to steal her from you?"

The sheer number of people was making it hard to think clearly; the question didn't make any sense. "I don't have a wife."

Rebecca frowned. "But your ring… Oh, I'm sorry. Did she pass away?"

"No, I was never…" He realised where they were getting confused. "My husband is right over there." He pointed to the food table where Castiel was carefully constructing two burgers. Dean wished he would hurry back already.

"Husband?" Beth gasped, side-stepping so that there was much more space between them.

In fact, most of the group had shifted away from him slightly. And everyone was staring.

Dean suddenly wondered if he had made a mistake. Should he not have told them that? He had forced Castiel to put the ring back on, but there was no guarantee that he was actually going to stick around. Maybe these people could tell that there was something off with their relationship. Maybe they didn't seem like a well-suited couple. Maybe they thought that Castiel could do better. Maybe they had noticed that Dean was living alone up until yesterday and assumed the marriage was on the brink of disaster. Maybe they were right. Dean didn't know, and maybe Castiel wouldn't have wanted them to know, and he may have just screwed everything up even further-

"Well, I suppose it's legal now," Rebecca said. "You two must have been happy when the bill passed."

Dean had no idea what she was talking about.

"Did you propose straight away?" Linda asked. "Or – I suppose he might have been the one to propose." She tittered, an uncomfortable little laugh.

Bill snorted. "Are you asking who wears the pants?"

Dean was definitely missing something, and it didn't help that he had no idea which of them had proposed. Had it been romantic? Emotional? Inevitable, or a surprise? He didn't know, and god he was so sick of not knowing. It felt like the memory should be there, like it was somewhere just beyond his reach and if he only stretched for it he could remember, but he kept coming up empty. Everything in his mind was blank, void, and they kept asking questions and he couldn't keep up this pretence much longer-

"Sorry, Dean, I was waiting for the bacon to cook," Castiel said. He slipped in beside Dean and handed him a plate. The burger was stacked high with two slices of cheese, two beef patties and two layers of bacon, positively dripping with grease. It was just how he liked it – and Castiel had known without asking. Because he knew Dean, far better than he knew himself right now. It was amazing and horribly unfair at the same time.

But all Dean cared about right now was taking a massive bite of his burger so his mouth would be obnoxiously full and he couldn't answer any more questions. "Thank you," he said, and then chomped down on the most delicious taste sensation he had ever experienced. His eyes widened, and Castiel smiled at him.

"So you two are married," Beth said. "To each other."

Dean froze, worried about how Castiel would react.

"Yes," he said simply. The shift in his stance was subtle, but Dean felt the gentle pressure against his arm that meant Castiel was leaning into him. It wasn't as overt as putting an arm around his waist or holding his hand or kissing him, but it was a clear statement of comfortable intimacy.

Devon's mouth twisted with disgust. "You're not going to go flaunting it all over the neighbourhood, are you? We don't need rainbow flags and gay pride parades polluting our street."

Dean felt Castiel stiffen and the piece he had been missing from this conversation finally clicked. Gay.

It hadn't seemed odd. Dean had worked out that Castiel was his husband; obviously, he was gay. It hadn't even occurred to him that he might be attracted to women too, because Castiel had been the only person he could think about.

But even if gay marriage was legal now (Rebecca had mentioned some bill that was passed?) apparently it wasn't normal, and apparently some people still had a problem with it.

Dean had no idea how to respond.

"Don't worry, we won't contaminate you," Castiel said icily.

"See that you don't," Devon snapped. "This was a nice neighbourhood before you two fairies turned up-"

"Devon, mate!" Jeremy clapped Devon on the shoulder. "Your turn on the grill."

Devon shot one last glare at them before he stormed off to take Jeremy's place manning the barbecue, muttering under his breath. Beth shifted uncomfortably before she made some excuse about tossing the salad and hurried after him.

Jeremy continued on as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened. "So, Richard, you said you had just opened up a restaurant. How's business?"

Just like that, the tension dissipated and the focus shifted away from Dean and Castiel. Dean gave their host a grateful smile and Jeremy winked at him before asking about the menu choices at 'Rich Flavours'.

"I'm sorry," Castiel said in an undertone. "I should have warned you."

"Are a lot of people like that?"

"Unfortunately. Many of them like to claim their objections are religious, but God is far too busy sitting on a beach somewhere drinking Margaritas to care who marries who. They just can't stand people who are different."

"Did we face this kind of problem a lot?"

"We didn't advertise our relationship in public to avoid it becoming an issue. You didn't want to have to 'beat the crap out of those bigoted bastards'."

Dean smirked and jerked a thumb towards the man at the grill who was glaring in their direction. "You reckon we could take him?"

"Without breaking a sweat," Castiel said.

Dean laughed and Castiel smiled at him. He felt better.

He polished off his burger and found that talking to Rebecca and Chris was easier with Castiel beside him. He seemed to have a strategy that was simple yet effective; Castiel asked them questions which didn't leave much room for them to ask questions in return. It was a relief not to be the centre of attention, and after a while Dean realised he was actually enjoying himself.

"Here, buddy, have a beer."

The voice came out of nowhere and there was cold glass touching his hand. Dean jerked backwards with a startled cry. He knocked the drink and the contents spilled all over him, and he stepped wrong and his knee crumpled and suddenly he was on his ass in the dirt.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry," Jeremy said. He reached out a hand to help Dean stand but Dean could only stare up at him in frozen horror.

The air he needed wouldn't come. His chest heaved but oxygen couldn't get through the tightness in his throat and oh god he couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe. The world was pressing in on all sides and he could feel eyes watching him and it was getting dark, so dark, he couldn't see, he didn't know what was coming but it was going to hurt and he wanted to run but he couldn't, there was no escaping, none, he was trapped here forever-

"-ean! Dean!"

The voice should have been familiar but he couldn't remember who it belonged to and he should, he should remember, god, why couldn't he remember?

"Dean, breathe."

I can't! he tried to say. But no one could hear him, he could scream until his vocal chords bled and no one would hear him.

"Dean, I'm right here. You're okay."

Dean just shook his head helplessly. He was going to die. He was going to die here alone, all alone, and no one would ever find the body...

"Dean, it's Cas. I'm here. We found you. You're safe."

There was a warm pressure on his shoulder. A hand. Resting where a handprint scar used to be.

Dean gasped.

His lungs filled and he started coughing. The darkness cleared and the panic receded, and he discovered that he was sitting in someone's backyard with a crowd of on-lookers staring down at him.

"Dean."

He met clear blue eyes. They were staring, too, but with concern, not curiosity. And Castiel wasn't towering over him, he had crouched down to his level.

"Are you alright?" Castiel asked.

Dean nodded, but he wasn't. He was humiliated and he felt sick.

Castiel took his hands and gently pulled him to his feet. "Let's get you home."

Dean let Castiel make their excuses. He couldn't bear to talk to anyone or even look at anyone; he kept his gaze fixed on his shoes and shuffled behind Castiel as he led the way out.

Their house was silent. Dean winced when the door closed behind them.

"Dean..."

Dean whirled on him. "What the hell is wrong with me?!" He knew he was yelling and he knew it was uncalled for but he was upset and angry and he knew which emotion he preferred.

Castiel's eyes were sad. "You had a panic attack."

"Yeah, no kidding," Dean snapped. "But why? Jeremy just handed me a beer, for god's sake! And now look at me!" He spread his arms, indicating the wet fabric that was clinging to his frame. "I look like a wet dog. A kicked, wet dog."

He felt a surge of nausea and made a break for the sink, hurling up his burger and then graduating to dry heaves.

When his stomach settled, he became aware of the gentle hand that was rubbing soothing circles on his back.

"It's okay, Dean."

"It's really not. I'm freaking out about something I can't even remember."

Castiel dropped his hand. "I wish I knew what to say."

Dean sighed. "Me too."

ooOOoo