Chapter Thirteen

Cas felt like he was cheating on his husband.

There were moments that would catch him off guard – Dean would say something, or do something, and Cas would smile. But a second later he would remember, and then he would feel guilty, like he had done something wrong.

This Dean was not the same as his Dean. His Dean was gone, along with everything they had shared together. They had struggled and fought, cut and bled, pushed through and conquered. Their road had been long and painful but worth it in the end. They had fallen in love an inch at a time, and Cas wouldn't trade their story for anything.

And yet here he was, living his life like none of that had ever happened.

His Dean was dead. Cas should have been mourning him. He should have been inconsolable. Dean was his everything and it had all been taken away and if he had truly loved him then he should have been destroyed by his loss.

It was an insult to his memory to just move on. He shouldn't be searching for happiness somewhere else. He shouldn't be falling in love again.

This Dean was different. He looked the same, if a little more scarred, and some aspects of his personality bore a resemblance to who he once had been. But Dean Winchester was the righteous man who had sold his soul for his brother, who had been to Hell and back again, who had given up his chance at a normal life to protect the innocent from monsters that stalked the night, who had sacrificed so much and had lost even more, who was beaten down but always stood back up, who was tired of the fight but never surrendered.

His experiences had shaped who he was. Without those memories, he could never truly be Dean Winchester.

But Cas was falling for him anyway.

Because this Dean was sweet. He was romantic. He went out of his way to do things that would make Cas happy.

One morning he asked Cas how he liked his coffee. Every morning after that there was a fresh cup of steaming black coffee, with two sugars, waiting for him when he woke up.

Every evening, Dean would leave his bedroom door open when he went to bed – an unspoken invitation for Cas to join him if he wanted to. But Cas didn't and Dean never pushed it. He did notice that sleeping on the couch was giving Cas neck and shoulder pain, though. He spent more than an hour one afternoon massaging out the worst of the knots, and the next day while he was at work Cas opened the door to a delivery man who had brought him his own bed. Dean put it together in the study after dragging the large desk out so that Cas could have his own space, and he never objected when Cas closed the door.

On the weekend, Dean took Cas to the local park. Cas could tell that he was tense and anxious with so many people around, but he found a little hideaway in a copse of trees and set out a picnic blanket for them. He had packed lunch – assorted berries, cheese and crackers, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and enormous chocolate chip cookies for dessert. He used a napkin to wipe a trace of jelly from Castiel's mouth and his gaze lingered on his lips before he hurriedly looked away.

There were other moments like that, where Cas could tell that Dean wanted to kiss him but was holding back. During quiet dinners at home, or when they were watching television together, they would look at each other and suddenly find themselves in much closer proximity than they had intended. The world would narrow down to those scant inches of air between them, and Dean would unconsciously run his tongue along his bottom lip as he gazed into Castiel's eyes. It would have been easy to close the distance, to press their lips together and finally feel like they were back where they belonged. But Cas remembered Dean, his Dean, and he pulled away each time. Dean hid his disappointment well, always returning to the conversation or the show they were watching as though nothing had happened.

The little gestures continued. Dean planted bee-friendly flowers in the garden. He kept the radio tuned to a jazz station and played it unobtrusively in the background while they were eating. He ironed Castiel's shirts. He flipped the channel over to a documentary about monkeys when he could have been watching a car show instead. He took Cas out for ice-cream on a hot day and stayed in the little boutique parlour until Cas had finished, doing everything in his power to mask the panic in his eyes when the door kept ringing behind him and the buzz of people became increasingly louder. And he was patient, unfailingly patient, even though he was expressing his feelings with everything except words and Cas remained unreadable.

Without being asked, Dean gave Castiel's car a tune-up. "We don't want you breaking down when you're halfway home," he said. He never offered a word of protest when Cas left to join Sam on a hunt, despite not knowing where he was going or what he was doing or when he'd be back. He just trusted that Cas would return to him.

Strangely enough, the house he shared with Dean was beginning to feel more like home than the bunker did. Cas went back there with Sam sometimes to clean up after a hunt (he didn't want to scare Dean by turning up covered in blood, even if it wasn't his own). Although everything was the way Dean had left it before he disappeared, it didn't feel the same. Cas would go into their old room with the guns displayed on the walls, the memory foam mattress, the photos on their nightstands, the research papers scattered across their desk, and it was familiar but it wasn't home. Not without Dean.

On one such occasion, Cas found himself packing a duffle bag. He took all of his clothes, some of the books he had been reading, his two favourite CDs and a photo frame from his nightstand. Even after all this time living as a human, he didn't have much else. But what he did have he was taking home with him.

When he walked through the door and Dean saw what he carried with him, his entire face lit up.

"You're officially moving in?"

Cas nodded. "I'm here most of the time. This way I don't have to keep going back and forth for my things."

It wasn't exactly a promise that he was planning to stay permanently, but Dean beamed at him as though it was and hopped off the couch. "Come on, you can put them in my closet." He led the way to his bedroom and enthusiastically swept his own clothes aside to make room for Castiel's.

Cas hung up his clothes, put his books on Dean's shelf and put his CDs on the bedside table to take into the lounge later.

He reached into the bag again and his fingers brushed the photo frame.

He hesitated.

Then he zipped up the bag, leaving the frame where it was. "I'll just put this under my bed so it is out of the way."

Dean didn't question it, but Cas could feel the weight of his gaze on his back.

In the privacy of his own room, Cas retrieved the photograph. He sat on the edge of his bed, staring down at it, tracing the image with the pad of his thumb.

It was from their wedding day. Dean had crept up behind him and slipped his arms around his waist. Cas had started in surprise, twisting to face him, and Dean had blown him away with a kiss that made his toes curl. When he pulled away slightly to catch his breath, his cheeks were red and Dean was laughing. Sam had chosen that moment to snap the photo.

They looked so happy. In that moment, there had been nothing weighing them down. They were in love and anything was possible.

His heart ached at the memory.

"I'm sorry, Dean," he whispered. He pressed a gentle kiss against the glass and slipped the frame back into the bag. He carefully stowed it away under his bed.

He was never going to forget, but he couldn't live in the past anymore.

Dean was here, now, and he had been trying his hardest to be everything Cas could need or want.

It wasn't fair to ask him not to remember, but reject him because he didn't. Cas couldn't have it both ways. He was just making them both miserable, holding himself back for the sake of someone who was long gone.

Cas decided that it was time for a new beginning.

ooOOoo