Chapter Ten

The barbecue had been a complete disaster and Dean had half a mind to never leave the house again.

But at half past seven in the morning, Castiel was knocking on his bedroom door.

"Wake up, Dean. You need to start getting ready or you'll be late for work."

Dean hadn't been sleeping. He had spent the first half of the night tossing and turning restlessly, and the second half just staring up at the ceiling.

He was exhausted, and not just physically. The last thing he wanted to do was get out of bed and attempt to socialise with other people again.

"Not going," he said, and turned over to bury his face in his pillow.

He heard the sound of the door opening.

"Dean."

"No."

He felt the bed dip under Castiel's weight as he sat down on the edge. Dean waited, expecting some kind of lecture or inspirational speech.

"What do you want?" he asked instead.

Dean rolled over to look at him. "What?"

"This is your life. I'm not going to tell you how to live it. If you want to stay here, I'll bring you breakfast and find some way of topping up your bank account. But it depends on what it is you really want."

Damn.

Reluctantly, Dean dragged himself into a sitting position. "I know what I don't want. I don't want to have to hide in here for the rest of my life." If he gave up this job opportunity now, he might never get another chance. He would have to live off the money Sam gave him, without any knowledge of where it was actually coming from. And if he didn't force himself to do step out into the world when it was for something important, it would be far too easy to just never try again.

He sighed as he reached the inevitable conclusion. "I have to go to work, don't I?"

Castiel shrugged. "It's up to you. Many people find that having a job gives them a sense of purpose."

"Did I have that, before?"

There was a pause as Castiel debated whether or not to answer him. "Yes," he said finally. "Your job was very important."

"And now that I'm not doing it?"

The silence was heavy. "The world can't ask any more of you, Dean. You have given enough."

Dean considered asking again – who he was, what he used to do, why they were so determined that he shouldn't remember.

But his break from reality yesterday had felt far too much like a flashback, and he had no desire to experience that level of terror again. There was a wordless fear gnawing in his gut at the thought of what other horrors his memories could hold, and maybe he was a coward but he was beginning to think he would rather not face them head on.

Maybe he didn't need to know who he had been before. Maybe he could just take the easy road and be Dean the mechanic. "I guess my life is going to be different from here on out."

"Yes," Castiel said quietly. "I think it is."

Dean swung his legs off the bed. At the warning twinge from his knees, he felt the pessimism settle back in. "Assuming that Ray doesn't fire me within the day," he muttered.

"Why would he?"

Honestly, Dean couldn't work out why Ray had hired him in the first place. "It wouldn't take much. All I have to do is screw something up, or punch him out if he startles me, or have a panic attack in front of a customer, and he'll want me gone."

"You're a good worker, Dean, and you know cars. You've 'got this'." He did air quotes as he said it and something fluttered in Dean's stomach. That gesture felt... familiar, somehow.

"My 'people skills' are 'rusty'."

Dean could almost hear Castiel saying those words, but maybe he was just hearing his own thoughts in Castiel's voice.

"If yesterday is any indication, I'm not very good at the whole interacting with people thing."

"That's not true. You managed to maintain a conversation with almost a dozen people at the same time."

Dean huffed a sarcastic laugh. "Yeah. And then I alienated everyone and turned into a freak show."

"The only people you alienated were the homophobes, and they're not worth your time. Having a panic attack does not make you a freak, Dean. A lot of people have anxiety."

"At the very least it makes me a liability."

"You could always pre-warn Ray that you have PTSD."

Dean didn't recognise the term.

"Post Traumatic Stress Disorder," Castiel elaborated. "Your symptoms are consistent with the condition."

"Great. So now I'm a certifiable head case."

"It is nothing to be ashamed of, Dean. Even the most courageous soldiers can be impacted by PTSD. Ray will understand. Your resume says you were in the army, and most people hold a great deal of respect for veterans."

"I wasn't in the army, though. I don't deserve it."

"Dean Winchester, there is no one who deserves it more."

There was something in Castiel's eyes that caused a warm feeling to spread through his chest. Dean realised it was admiration, not for who he was now, but for the man he had been.

Dean deflated. He wanted to ask if Castiel could be proud of him, too, but his greatest achievement so far was mustering the will to get out of bed. Hardly the stuff of legends.

"I'm going to be late," he said.

Castiel left him to get ready and bid him an awkward goodbye at the door.

"You'll be here when I get back, right?"

Castiel hesitated. "Your brother called. He needs my help with a – work thing."

Dean's hand tightened on the doorknob. "So you're leaving?"

He looked guilty. "I'll come back. It's just – this is important."

"No, yeah, of course. You gotta do what you gotta do." After all, Dean couldn't expect Castiel's life to grind to a halt just because his own had.

"You'll be fine, Dean, don't worry."

He plastered on a smile. "I'm not worried."

"I don't know how long this will take, so do not be concerned if you don't see me tonight. I promise that I will return as soon as I am able to."

Dean felt a cold lump settle in his chest. "Sure."

Castiel waivered, evidently waiting for Dean to leave before heading off himself. "Ray will be expecting you soon."

Dean let go of the doorknob and stepped backwards out onto the porch. "I guess I'll see you, then."

"You will."

Dean wished that he could trust that Castiel was telling him the truth. But this was the man who had left him alone in that hospital room, and who was only here now because Dean had cornered him in an alley. If he let Castiel leave, he might never see him again.

"Good luck with… whatever it is you're doing."

Castiel nodded his thanks. "Have a good day at work."

Dean wondered if they had ever been the sort of married couple that gave each other goodbye kisses at the door.

Instead, Castiel gave him a little wave and Dean's answering smile was more like a grimace. He allowed his gaze to linger for just a few more seconds as he studied the details of Castiel's face and committed them to memory. Then he turned away and reluctantly got into his car.

The purr of her engine wasn't as comforting this time. He couldn't help but glance at the empty passenger seat.

Dean realised belatedly that he knew the answer to Castiel's question.

"What do you want?"

In the end, it was simple. Dean wanted his husband to be there when he got home, every night for the rest of forever. He wanted them to be happy together.

But he hadn't asked the same question in return.

What if what Castiel wanted was to leave and never come back?

There was nothing Dean could do to stop him.

For the rest of the day his hands worked on autopilot; they seemed to know what they were doing more than his head did anyway. Thankfully Ray accepted PTSD as a valid excuse for his pre-occupation – he said something along the lines of "thank you for your service, son" and left him to tinker with the engine of a Cadillac that had seen better days.

He did his job, and afterwards Ray told him he had done well, but his mind was elsewhere, thinking about Castiel and wondering if he was ever going to come home.

Dean didn't see him that night.

He knew that he desperately needed to sleep, but all he could do was pray that his husband would keep his promise. He couldn't remember if he believed in God or not, but it was comforting to think that there could be angels out there watching over him.

He waited. And he hoped.

ooOOoo