Chapter Twelve

Dean was nervous.

He straightened his tie for the seventh time and ran his fingers through his hair again. He couldn't decide whether he should go for a messy sex-me-up look or for smooth and sophisticated, but he was wearing his best suit and he had picked out a blue tie that matched the colour of Castiel's eyes. He was even wearing cologne. Maybe it was too much, but tonight was important.

As far as he was concerned, this was their first date. He didn't know how their real first date has gone – that memory was lost with all the others. But he wasn't the same person anymore. He was Dean 2.0, and he was going to make this night one to remember.

If he was worried that the date wouldn't measure up to Castiel's past experiences, he wasn't going to let it show. He was going to be suave and confident and he was going to win Castiel over.

He hoped.

Checking his reflection one last time, Dean finally emerged from the bathroom. "You ready?" he called.

Castiel stepped out into the hallway, and Dean's jaw dropped.

He had only ever seen Castiel in his business suit and trenchcoat. He hadn't even realised that he owned any other clothes.

"Damn," he exhaled.

Navy-blue slacks were a snug fit around his hips and perfectly accentuated his long legs. His shirt was crisp white, ironed to wrinkle-free perfection and complimented by silver cufflinks at his wrists. He had forgone the jacket and was wearing a navy-blue vest that unashamedly drew attention to his broad chest, trim waist and strong arms. And he wasn't wearing a tie. He had left the top three buttons of his shirt undone, revealing the column of his throat and the curve of his collarbone.

For a moment, Dean forgot all about their dinner plans. He wanted to start nibbling at the vulnerable skin beneath Castiel's jaw and make his way slowly downwards, removing every obstacle in his path until Castiel was laid out before him, eyes blown wide, legs trembling, moaning his name.

"Dean?"

He licked his lips unconsciously, dragging his gaze up to meet Castiel's eyes. "Huh?"

An amused smile tugged at his lips. "Don't we have reservations?"

"Oh." Dean flushed. "Right. Yeah."

Castiel chuckled. "You don't look so bad yourself, Dean Winchester."

He was sure the tips of his ears were burning a bright red. To hide his embarrassment, he hurried into the kitchen and retrieved the single rose he had bought.

He held it out to Castiel. "This is for you."

Castiel's fingers brushed his as he reached for the stem, sending a tingle up his arm. "Thank you." The look in his eyes was an incredible mixture of surprise and fondness. He gently touched the delicate petals, marvelling at the simple beauty of the rose, and Dean's heart swelled with an emotion he couldn't hope to describe.

"We should go," he said hoarsely.

He led the way and made sure to hold the passenger door open for Castiel before running around to his own side.

"Uh, you want some tunes?"

"I though the driver picks the music?"

Dean shrugged a little. The truth was, he didn't want to accidentally play something that was too out of character, or something that he should have known Castiel hated. "I want to know what kind of songs you like to listen to."

Castiel reached for the radio, flicking through a few stations before settling on one that was playing some gentle jazz. "I like this," he said.

It was something real, something true about his husband that he was actually allowed to know. Dean tucked the precious knowledge away in his mind and started the car.

They wound their way through the town and then headed out onto the open road. It felt right, having Castiel in the seat next to him. The Impala's engine was a soothing rumble beneath them and the night sky above was strewn with stars.

"I love driving," Dean said. "It's like the whole world is stretching out before you. And I don't know what it is, but there's something about this car. It feels like… a part of me, somehow."

Castiel smiled softly. "You and your brother grew up in this car. She's your home."

Home.

Dean glanced in the rear-view mirror, and for a moment he glimpsed two boys in the backseat. The younger had his head resting in his brother's lap and was fast asleep. The elder was gently stroking his hair and humming softly.

"Hey Jude," Dean murmured.

Castiel looked at him in surprise. "What did you say?"

"It's a song. I think… I used to sing it to Sammy while he was sleeping."

There was a long pause. "Yes," Castiel said finally. "It was your mother's favourite Beatles song. She would sing it instead of a lullaby."

Dean had a fleeting impression of a woman with long blonde hair leaning over his bed to press a gentle kiss to his forehead.

There was a lump in his throat and he had to swipe the back of his hand across his eyes so he could see the road properly.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to remember."

"No… I wouldn't begrudge you those memories, Dean. They're important to you."

Dean glanced sideways at him. You're important to me, he wanted to say. But instead he changed the topic. "We're nearly there."

He had done his research online and found a fancy restaurant on the outskirts of a nearby city. After what had happened with the neighbours, he thought it would be safer to go on a date somewhere where no one would recognise them.

He pulled into the parking lot and rushed around to Castiel's side to open the door for him again.

"You're being very chivalrous," Castiel commented, even as he accepted Dean's offered hand to help him out of the car.

"Is that… okay?"

"Yes, it's fine. Different."

Dean didn't know what to make of that. Castiel had fallen in love with the old him (though Dean had yet to work out why), so Dean didn't know if he would have more luck trying to be like his old self or trying to be someone totally new.

"After you," he said.

The restaurant was almost intimidating in how high-class it appeared, but the pristine table cloths, glistening wine glasses and soft candle-light seemed like the perfect romantic setting. There was even jazz music playing in the background.

"May I help you, sirs?" The waiter was wearing a tuxedo and carried himself with poise. He didn't so much as bat an eyelid at the sight of two men entering the restaurant together.

"We have a reservation for the Winchesters."

"Of course. Right this way."

The waiter practically glided across the floor. Dean found himself concentrating hard on minimising his limp and prayed fervently that his knees wouldn't give out. He could just imagine bringing down a neatly-laid table in a deafening crash of glass and silverware; their date would be over before it began. But they made it to their table without incident. The waiter pulled Castiel's chair out for him before Dean could, so he just settled gingerly into his own.

"May I offer you sirs a drink to begin with?"

Dean's mind went blank. He had learned the names of a few beer brands, but he didn't know wine.

"A bottle of your house red, please," Castiel said.

The waiter bowed slightly and withdrew.

"Have we ever been anywhere like this before?" Dean asked. He felt a little out of place, even though their attire matched what the other patrons were wearing.

"No. You generally preferred back-road diners."

Dean swallowed. "Oh. Is it-?"

"It is lovely, Dean. A new experience for both of us."

Dean smiled at that. This would become a memory that they could both share.

They were quiet for a few minutes as they studied the menu. Dean eventually decided on the eye fillet steak and Castiel chose the salmon. The waiter came to pour their wine and take their orders, and then they were left alone.

Dean cleared his throat. "So, usually this would be the part where we try to get to know each other better. Except, you already know all about me, and there's a lot about you that you're not willing to tell me. So I thought of some really random questions that we could both answer. Should be fun." At least he hoped it would be; he had spent his lunch break doing research for tonight and the 'google' search engine had led him to a list of first-date conversation starters that sounded somewhat promising.

"Alright."

"Cool. Um, so, if you were stranded on a desert island, what is the one thing would you bring with you?"

"With the intention of staying there long-term, or trying to leave?"

"Either."

Castiel thought about it for a moment. "You."

"Me?"

Castiel nodded. "Sam would come looking for you, so we wouldn't be stranded long. And in the meantime, your survival skills would be very useful."

"What survival skills?"

That set Castiel back for a beat, but he recovered quickly. "Ah, well, you have taught me enough that we'd probably be okay. And your company would make the time pass far more pleasurably until our rescue arrived."

Dean felt his cheeks warm and took a sip of his wine to cover it.

"What about you? What would you bring?"

"Oh. I was going to go with 'a boat' but I like your answer better."

Castiel chuckled. "A boat. Very practical."

"What's your favourite way to travel?"

"Flying," Castiel said immediately.

Dean wrinkled his nose. "You're willing to risk your life in one of those-" Dammit, he couldn't remember the name "-those crazy winged contraptions?"

"You never have liked aeroplanes," Castiel said. "Sam told me you only went on one once, and you had to hum Metallica to stay calm."

That much hadn't changed, then. "I don't like the idea of being hundreds of meters above the ground, relying on a man-made metal machine to keep me from plummeting to my death."

Castiel hummed his agreement. "Wings are better."

"If we could have our own wings, that would be pretty cool. I might not mind flying then."

Castiel pressed his lips together and diverted his gaze for a moment. "Your favourite mode of transport is driving."

Dean huffed a laugh. "No surprises there. Okay, what's your favourite animal?"

"All animals are beautiful and amazing. But I like monkeys. They're clever."

"Is it really necessary to test cosmetics on them? I mean, how important is lipstick to you, Dean?"

Dean blinked. Had that been – a fragment of a memory?

"I also like bees. Strictly speaking, they're insects, not animals, but I enjoy watching them. They are a fascinating reflection of the an- of the culture I come from. There are no individuals in a hive, except for the queen. The rest of them work together for the common good. They work hard, they're dedicated, but none of them really have the chance to think for themselves, and breaking away is suicide."

Dean frowned a little, aware that Castiel wasn't just talking about bees. "Sounds like an oppressive environment for a kid."

Castiel shrugged. "I didn't know any different. Until I met you."

"You… gave up your family for me?"

"You became my family. I have never had cause to regret my decision."

Dean didn't know what to say to that. He wanted to ask more, but Castiel's family sounded like a painful topic.

"Uh. So, my favourite animal is probably a lion. Nobody messes with a lion." And lions weren't afraid of anything, unlike Dean. A lion wouldn't have a panic attack over nothing.

"I didn't know that," Castiel said thoughtfully.

Dean tried to think of a more harmless question. "Cake or pie?"

Castiel laughed. "I have to say pie or you will get mad at me."

"I like pie?"

"You love pie."

"Huh. What's your favourite food?"

"I like peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. It's a good combination of flavours."

"Well, here's hoping that the food here measures up, huh?"

Castiel laughed again and Dean decided he loved that sound. He wanted to hear Castiel laugh more often.

Throughout dinner (which tasted amazing), they sipped their wine and Dean continued to ask random questions. He laughed at Castiel's response to what he was bad at ("Interrogating cats") and what food he didn't like ("Spaghetti. No matter what strategies I use, it refuses to stay on my fork long enough for me to get it into my mouth") He enjoyed hearing Castiel's most embarrassing moment (he was kicked out of a brothel) and about his most disastrous attempt at cooking ("I still don't understand how the pancake mixture ended up on the ceiling"). He nearly fell off his chair at Castiel's re-enactment of trying to contain a toddler hyped up on stolen coffee ("You were trying to talk to the mother and she just passed me this child and afterwards I was very surprised that I had any hair left on my head"). The best part was how Castiel became increasingly relaxed as the evening wore on. He smiled more openly, laughed out loud and kept touching Dean in little, affectionate ways.

By the time they finished dessert, Dean realised that loving Castiel wasn't just in his head anymore. He was beginning to understand why he had married him. He wasn't just caring and considerate, he was a delightful mixture of serious and soulful and adorably ridiculous. He was funny without even trying, and when he was trying it was either with sneaky witticisms or the lamest jokes Dean had ever heard. He ate his meal with a look of extreme concentration on his face, like the food was a puzzle he had to solve, but zoned out completely when he tasted the vanilla bean panna cotta. And his eyes. They were entrancing, the way they sparkled with humour or crinkled with fondness, the depth of knowledge and memory they contained, and how they looked at Dean like he was the most important thing in all of creation.

Dean didn't know for sure, but he thought he might be falling in love.

Before long they were the only two people left in the restaurant and they reluctantly decided to call it a night. They paid for their meals with Sam's credit card and headed back to the car.

On the drive home, Dean let his hand rest on the seat between them. Castiel's fingers curled around his own.

And Dean discovered what happiness felt like.

ooOOoo