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Castiel was born and raised on a small farm nestled in the Smoky Hills of Kansas, spending only seven years of his life elsewhere when he left at the too-naive age of nineteen to attend college in Kansas City. Come his twenty-sixth year, he found himself standing on the family farm once again. He couldn’t stay away.
Spending his formative years on the land taught him a few things; most importantly, that so much of the world was outside of his control. He could till, water, feed, and sweat, but that didn’t guarantee results. Sometimes, all his hard work didn’t come to fruition and there was nothing to do about it.
Sometimes, though, he saw miracles on his ninety-eight acres west of the Smoky Hill River. Things he didn’t ask for or know he needed bloomed right where and when he needed them, like a patch of violets on his mother’s grave or rain after a dry spell.
Dean Winchester was one of those miracles.
Frost on the windows, cold hardwood floor under his feet. Wood crackled when Castiel lit a fire, and droplets of water hissed on the stove when he set the coffee pot to boil.
Too cold to put off dressing for a moment longer. Jeans and wool socks, a flannel shirt. He studied a place on the sleeve where the fabric had become threadbare and made a mental note to set it aside that night for mending.
The water was boiling by then so he set about making himself some coffee. Tasting the scorching liquid tentatively, he grimaced. Thirty-two years on Earth and he still hadn’t learned how to make a good cup of coffee. Never could make a decent one consistently, but not wanting to waste the grounds, he drank it anyway to the dregs.
Tucked his hands into his jacket pockets when he trudged to the barn. Opening the doors elicited nickering from the horses, Star Runner and Tex, two chestnut Morgans. He rubbed their noses and filled their feed box before tending to the cows, collecting two pails of milk. The hens had produced a baker’s dozen, and he tucked the eggs into a basket lined with hay.
Warm milk for porridge, reheated on the stove. A few eggs scrambled in a pan. Sat staring at the table for a long moment when done eating. Sighed and rubbed a hand over his face before rising, bringing his dishes to the sink. Needed a shave.
A bucket of swill for the stock hogs, feed and water for the chickens. The sheep commenced rustling and baa-ing when he opened the gate to their pen. The distant horizon glowed with the rising sun as he led them to the fields with the horses. Lowing from the cows when he brought them out to pasture to join the younger calves.
Out to the garden. Broke the sod with a hoe, the work and sunlight warming him enough to shed his jacket. The wheat was doing fine. Had sprung up recently in bright green shoots. Needed to look into getting a new plow for the sowing. Every year prior had used a hand plow and the work was backbreaking. Six years on his own.
Lost track of time sowing potato seeds, only alerted to the passage of the hours by his stomach growling. The sun had passed its apex and his shadow was beginning to stretch over the dirt.
Still several more rows to go. He resolved to finish the rest before fixing himself dinner, then horse hooves caught his attention. Wiping dirt on his jeans, he straightened, and a few seconds later, Dean rode out around the house.
“Morning,” he called, reining his horse in at the corner. A black Quarter Horse Dean affectionately called Old Broad.
“It’s past noon, Dean,” Castiel said, walking to him, rows forgotten.
Tilting his hat back, Dean studied the sky. “Hmm. Guess it is.” He dismounted and Castiel asked,
“‘Bout to start dinner. You eat yet?”
They ate cold sandwiches in the kitchen. Dean had been in town the other day and brought back news that the Curtises were trying to sell their farm.
“Heard they want to move in with their kids out in Springfield. Soon enough the two of us will be the only original owners for miles.”
“My parents knew them,” Castiel remarked, brushing crumbs from his fingers. “Suppose I should tell them goodbye. Haven’t spoken to them in some time.”
Dean nodded and pushed his chair back with a screech. “Where we headed? You said part of your fence came down in the storm?”
They rode to the property line dividing Castiel’s land from his neighbors, the Kelly's. A few trees provided shade as they straightened the fence posts which had tilted or fallen in the storm and wound barbed wire in between the posts.
“Hey, I got a letter from Sam,” Dean said when they took a break. He took a drink from his canteen, then passed it to Castiel. “Skimmed it over and looks like he’s doing well. You’ll have to read it later.”
When he drank from the canteen, water dripped down his chin. Wiped at it with the back of his hand. “You think he’s gonna come visit soon?” Sam used to make yearly or twice-yearly visits, but ever since getting married and his attorney practice taking off, his visits had become less frequent.
Dean snorted. “Doubt it. Seems to be up to his nose in work. Too smart for his own good.” Castiel heard the pride underlying his words. Everyone in town knew plenty about Sam Winchester’s accomplishments, got their ears talked off by Dean’s boasts.
Castiel capped the canteen. “Go visit him.”
“I hate taking the train. Besides, feel like I got two left feet whenever I’m around all his friends.”
“You’re not giving yourself enough credit. You could get along with anyone.”
“Well, reckon that’s true. I got in your good graces, right? If that don’t prove something, I don’t know what does.”
Castiel shoved him and Dean laughed as they got back to work. Sliding his work gloves back on, Castiel thought how strange it was. He’d known Dean all his life; growing up, they’d attended school together and church and town celebrations. But they’d never been close—he didn’t think Dean had ever given him a second glance when they were young. And then John, Dean and Sam’s pa, had died and Dean had dropped out of school and spent all his time on the farm, trying to make enough money to send Sam to college. And Castiel had been busy with his own plans and dreams. Strange, the way you could grow up with someone and not see them for who they truly were.
Occupied with work and talk, they stayed out for hours, the sky growing dusky when they finally returned to the house. Dean cooked up a slab of salt pork he’d brought from his place while Castiel fed and watered the chickens and pulled more water from the well to boil for coffee.
“There’s the letter,” Dean said, pointing to it on the table when Castiel came back inside. The salt pork sizzled when he placed it in a pan.
Setting the coffee pot on the stove, Castiel wiped his hands on his pants and pulled the letter from the envelope.
“Dean, how are you? Feels like ages since we saw each other last,” he started reading, sitting down on the edge of the table. Dean listened as he seasoned the pork with salt and pepper.
Sam talked about his newest clients, the renovations he and Eileen were finishing up in their home. Castiel turned the page over to read the last few lines, “Eileen sends her regards. You said you’d try to write, but we’ve only gotten one letter from you in the past year. Hope everything’s well. Sam.” Folding up the letter, Castiel tucked it back into the envelope. “You should write to him, Dean.”
Dean made a noncommittal noise. “Nothing new to tell. Doubt Sam’s gonna be much interested in how many foals I just bought or sold.”
“It’s nice getting letters anyway,” Coming up behind Dean, he rested his chin on his shoulder and watched the meat browning.
“You hear from any of your siblings recently?”
Castiel shook his head. “No.” His hands snaked their way to Dean’s hips, his waist.
They stood there for a moment, both looking at the sizzling food, then Dean nudged him with his elbow and removed the pan from the heat. “Go grab some plates.”
They ate and talked at the table as the sun set. Through the window, Castiel could see the trees lit up by the last rays of the day. Dean fetched the bottle of whiskey still sitting in the pantry since the last time they’d drank together, and they drained it between the two of them.
“Gotta head back,” Dean said, pushing back his chair.
“You need any help at your place?” Castiel asked, adjusting the kerosene lamp. The flame flickered bright. “I can come over tomorrow.” Though he went over occasionally, Dean’s house was closer to town, and he had more friends and acquaintances who might show up unannounced. They’d never spoken of this; it was only understood.
Dean grabbed his hat from the hook by the door. “Nah, it’s fine. Place is a mess now anyway.”
“Alright.” He followed him out to the barn, watched as he saddled Old Broad. “See you soon?”
“Few days, maybe. Got a coupla orders piling up, need to finish.” Studied the reins in his hands. Seemed about to say something else, but hesitated.
Castiel didn’t wait to hear if he’d speak. Stepping close, he pulled him into a kiss, and Dean complied, gripping his shirt to keep him there.
Then he broke away. “Next time,” he said, patting Castiel roughly on the cheek. He swung up onto his horse.
“I’ll be waiting.”
Dean shot him a grin, then rode away. Castiel went to the doors to see him off, waited until he disappeared behind the trees.
Turning, looked around the barn. Dark corners, shadowy hay loft. Sighed and went about his evening chores.
Brought the horses, sheep, and milk cows from the fields, fastened up the chickens. Milked the cows, warm milk running down his wrist. Hay landed with a thump on the barn floor when he threw it down from the loft. Water sloshed in the bucket he carried to the barn for the horses. Slop splashed against the sides of the trough and the hogs grunted and nudged each other to feed.
Should split more wood, but had to carry a lantern around now to see, and he was bone tired. Would do it in the morning—and probably curse past-him for leaving it ‘til then. But for now, he scrubbed his hands as clean as he could get them and bedded down.
Cold sheets, too much space, it seemed. The memory of Dean kissing him kept him company, though, warmed his blood.
Six years he’d been doing this, he thought, rolling over to the cool side of the pillow. Knew he had six and plenty more to go. Didn’t mind this life he’d made for himself, though. Not on days like these, with Dean.
“Morning, Castiel,” Mrs. Butters called when Castiel stepped inside Odds and Ends General Store. The bell above the door jingled, marking his entrance.
“Morning,” he replied. The afternoon sun through the windows made blocks of light on the slatted floor. “How are you?”
“Oh, the usual. You looking for anything?”
“Just a bag of oats and some nails.”
“Sure, I’ll tell Leroy to fetch the oats.” She went to a door on the back wall and Castiel went to the shelving holding boxes of nails. He spotted Dean at the back of the store and their eyes met. Dean nodded at him shortly before looking away.
Mrs. Butters came back to the counter shaking her head. “I swear, that boy gets lazier every day.” She brightened when Dean walked over. “Get what you need?”
“Yup.” He glanced at Castiel. “Hey, Cas.”
“Hello, Dean.”
Mrs. Butters made a note of the items Dean was buying as Dean fished for his wallet. Leroy came out from the back room dragging the bag of oats behind the counter.
“No, Leroy, over there,” Mrs. Butters sighed. “Castiel is buying it.”
Castiel stepped forward. “It’s fine, I’ve got it.” He grabbed the bag from Leroy and smiled at the kid. Bored expression, Leroy turned to return to the back room.
Mrs. Butters snapped her fingers. “No, Leroy, grab the broom and sweep up in here.”
“See ya,” Dean called, taking his items and leaving with a wave.
“Goodbye, Dean,” she called before turning back to Castiel. “I don’t know what to do about that Leroy.” Took the coins Castiel held out. “Thought maybe he’d take over the store one day, but God have mercy on us if he does. We got a letter from my eldest today. Says she’s thinking about visiting for Thanksgiving. She lives in Topeka, I ever tell you that?”
“I think you may have mentioned it.” He glanced out the store windows to see Dean going to his horse as Mrs. Butters continued on about her daughter and the seamstress business she had started. Castiel sighed. He’d wanted to catch Dean outside, but once Mrs. Butters started talking, she was near impossible to stop.
Finally he made an excuse about needing to finish up chores and got away, hefting the oats onto his shoulder. Stepping outside, he was surprised to see Dean still standing by the hitching post, scuffing his boot into the dirt, glancing down the street.
“How are you, Dean?” he asked, walking over. Casual, as if they'd just run into each other, as if Dean wasn't hanging around waiting for him.
“Fine.”
Felt Dean’s gaze on him as he draped the bag of oats over the back of his saddle and dropped the box of nails into his saddlebags. Across the street, voices rose as someone stopped by the open door of the barber shop and talked to the men inside.
“You still fixing the fence?” Dean asked.
“Yeah.” Fastening the saddlebag straps, he turned to Dean, squinting in the sun. “Guess I should be able to finish it soon.”
“Want any help?”
Of course. Always. “If you don’t mind.”
"Alright." Dean took a step back. “Tomorrow work? Think I can get away.”
“That’s fine.”
“Right, well, see you then.” Castiel nodded and Dean walked off, towards the direction of the saloon. Castiel watched him for a moment before tearing his eyes away and mounting Tex. Thought about joining him, getting a drink together, but Dean hadn’t offered. Hadn’t expected him to anyway. He’d see him tomorrow. Felt more comfortable when it was just him and Dean anyway.
“Morning,” Dean called. Dismounting, he tied Old Broad’s reins to the porch.
Castiel stepped out the front door, drying the plate he’d eaten off of for dinner. “Dean, it ain’t morning. The sun’s been high in the sky for hours now.”
“Hardly. You’re so particular.” But he grinned at him and Castiel stepped back for him to come inside.
“Can’t stay but a few hours,” Dean said, heading into the kitchen. “Just got an order from one Owen Knolt. Owns a farm ‘bout ten miles from here, you ever met him?”
Castiel nodded. “You seem to be taking in more work than usual.”
“Need the cash.” Going to the pot on the stove, he looked inside, then grabbed the stirring spoon and started scooping up food.
“Didn’t you eat lunch?”
“Yeah,” Dean answered around a mouthful of food. “But it’s a long ride.”
“Not twenty minutes.” But he couldn’t hide his amused smile as he put away the plate and picked up another to dry.
“Don’t you ever think about having a woman around?” Dean asked, and Castiel turned to him, surprised. “Just, to help with all the chores. The cooking.”
“Why?” He deflected, “You saying my cooking’s bad?”
“Saying it could be better.”
Castiel snapped him with the towel and Dean jerked away, grinning.
Folding the towel, Castiel placed it on the counter and straightened the jars of canned peaches he’d brought up from the cellar that morning for breakfast. Some summers, thought about getting help for the sowing and harvests, but didn’t have the money to spare. Never had any desire for a wife, though, if that was what Dean was suggesting, though his siblings asked him plenty of times when he was going to settle down. Felt plenty settled now.
He thought the topic had been dropped, but then Dean continued, “Could always hire someone. The Henriksens have a girl come in from town to help with washday, baking, shit like that.”
“‘Cause they got ten kids or something.” He leaned on the counter, crossing his arms. “Why don’t you have someone come to your place?”
“Don’t know.” Dean shrugged, scraped the bottom of the pot. “Thought about it.”
“Oh.”
Resting the spoon in the pot, Dean placed it back on the stove. “Might be nice, I guess.”
“I guess.” Wouldn’t mean anything if Dean hired someone to help with the chores. Made plenty of sense.
The afternoon light through the window illuminated the dust coating the floor. Needed a good sweeping, but hard to find the time in between everything else that took up his days. But he could manage it just fine, on his own.
Dean straightened from the stove, abrupt motion drawing Castiel from his thoughts. “The fence,” he said.
“Right.” Always had some excuse for visiting, some unspoken agreement between them that they find some reason, some task to busy themselves with to justify the other ways they occupied their time.
Grey sky stretching for miles and miles, craggled branches still devoid of any leaves hanging over the fence. Cold so sharp, felt like the branches might snap.
“Gotta get the yearlings in tonight before it snows,” Dean commented, studying the sky when they reached the fallen fence.
Lucky none of the Kelly’s hogs had made their way through the ruined fence to root up his potatoes, Castiel thought, grabbing his cutters to snip the gnarled barbed wire. “How’s training going?” he asked.
“Got a good group this year, prices looking good in Salina.” Dean swung down from the saddle. “That plus all the blacksmithing work should put me in a good place for next winter.”
He straightened the fence posts, knocking them into the hard dirt with a wooden mallet as Castiel wrapped new wire around the splintered wood. Next year, would need to replace the posts, but they’d last for now—barring any trees getting downed in a storm and knocking down their work.
Dean said Christian—a third cousin—had lost his watch in town the other day, late night poker game bet. Wife had gotten it for him as an anniversary present few years ago. Gonna be in the doghouse for weeks. Laughed. “Shoulda seen his face, when Kurt laid down his cards. Almost felt bad for him, but he took twenty bucks from me a month ago, and I’m still sore.”
Castiel nodded, sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve. Didn’t like gambling much, had to scrounge for every penny now, didn’t like the thought of losing any single coin. Maybe, too, because his pa had been a frequent visitor of Lee’s—Lee Sr.’s back then. Lee was his nephew, had taken over the saloon while Castiel was gone at college.
Remembered his ma keeping a coffee can hidden from her husband, behind the flour sacks in the cellar. Change she picked up from the odd mending job.
His pa and Dean’s had gambled together plenty of nights. Weren’t friends, though. Didn’t think either of their pa's were the friend type.
Dean tilted back his canteen to take a drink and Castiel dropped his jacket where Star Runner grazed. Signs of oncoming snow—chill to the air, clean scent, blank sky—yet hard work still heated him enough to work up a sweat. Nothing like in the summer, though. He enjoyed those busier days, but didn’t like that it meant he and Dean wouldn’t get these quiet afternoons, both too busy on their respective farms to get away for a few hours, too tired in the evenings to ride over. Still made time some nights, and for that he was grateful.
“What?” Dean asked, wiping his mouth on his wrist.
“Nothin’.” Castiel nailed the end of the barbed wire to a straightened post. “Thinkin’ you’ll have to head back soon.”
Dean glanced at the sky as he placed the canteen in the shade of a tree. “Yeah.”
Didn’t go to Old Broad and untie her reins from the saddle horn, though. Came up behind him and hooked his thumbs into Castiel’s belt loops. Tugged him back a step.
Knocking back against Dean’s chest, Castiel felt his face heat; after all these years, Dean could still make his heart race.
“Ain’t done yet," he complained. More to cover up his sudden flush than a real complaint.
“Close enough.” Slid his hands around to tug at the button of Castiel’s jeans.
Tossing his hammer to the ground, Castiel turned, snuck his arm around Dean’s neck to pull him into a kiss, knocking his hat off in the process. Stumbled back half a step when Dean slipped a hand down the front of his jeans, butted noses, and pulled Dean to the dirt.
“Using the bed next time,” Dean said. Brushed dirt off his knees.
“Come over in the evening.” Tucked in his shirt. “After chores. Or I’ll go to your place.”
“Nah, I’ll make it over sometime this week or next.” Buttoning his shirt, Dean studied the sky, then nodded, once. “Really gotta go now. You should head back too, gonna snow for sure tonight.”
“I will. Just wanna make sure everything’s secure before snows falls.”
“Okay.” He rubbed his thumb over Castiel’s cheek. “Got dirt on your face.”
Castiel let him wipe it away. Turning red again. With a wave and a grin, Dean left, and Castiel turned back to the fence, picked up his discarded tools and work gloves.
Felt a little unsteady on his feet, took a moment to remember where he’d left off. A brisk wind snuck under his collar, and he buttoned his shirt up higher, skin still warm.
Star Runner snorted where she nosed at stiff grass, her breath forming a white puff, and, slipping on his gloves, he went back to work.
“You ain’t any good at this game,” Dean complained, collecting the cards. “I need real competition.”
Castiel refilled their cups. “Ain’t my fault you’ve spent too many nights at the card tables.” Weighed the bottle in his hand and decided they’d better grab another one from the cellar.
“Is that supposed to be a jab or a compliment of my superior skills?”
Castiel shrugged. “However you wanna take it.”
Resettling in his chair, he adjusted the lamp to keep the glow steady. The stove crackled in the corner. The inch or so of snow that had fallen a few days ago had melted quick enough, but the nights were still bitterly cold. The wheat seemed to be holding up, though, kernels growing heavier.
“You should come play some night,” Dean said, picking up his cup. “You’re still a stranger to half the folks in town.”
“I don’t think they’d appreciate me joining their games.”
Dean rolled his eyes. “Ain’t you they dislike, were your folks and your brothers.”
“Which means me, by association.”
In a rare string of luck, back before he was born, Charles, his father, had won a good deal of money in a late night gambling game. He and his wife Naomi took the opportunity to move out of their cramped Illinois apartment to the wide valleys of the Smoky Hills.
Unfortunately, Charles had considerably less luck on the land than in the gambling halls, and that was saying a lot. Could’ve gotten help from the neighbors, but it didn’t help that, despite coming from a two-room apartment over a laundromat, Charles and Naomi had it in their heads they were city-folk better than the land owners around them. Or that their two eldest, Michael and Gabriel, were troublemakers, causing mischief in church and school.
As the youngest, Castiel had been more or less overlooked. Until he grew up and moved away to become the first in the family to attend college. Worked nights cleaning the academic halls to pay for tuition, scraped by for candles to see at night to study. Didn’t matter in the end. Three years into his accounting career, his parents passed and in his grief he realized he hated the whistling of the factory and the clanking of crank automobiles outside his window. The family farm hovered in his mind like a dream. Barefoot summers, shelling chestnuts in the fall, blankets of snow in the winter. After a series of ill-advised business ventures, Michael had taken after their father and opened a gambling hall in Kansas City with Gabriel as his partner; neither had any interest in taking over the family farm.
And so, Castiel found himself returning home to a farm that looked a lot smaller and worn than he remembered. Still, after years of strained eyesight and cramped handwriting in stuffy classrooms, the smell of freshly overturned soil and the rough rasp of wheat husks against his palms were welcome.
Unfortunately, seemed his going off to college had only further alienated him from the townsfolk who saw his studies as yet another haughty act of the too-good-for-everyone-around-them Novaks. Didn’t help that his parents had bragged about him every chance they got. Dean was one of the first friendly faces Castiel encountered upon his return, helped by the fact that they were in the same boat—bachelors trying to run farms on their own. A relief to be seen for himself, not for his family’s idle boastings and town gossip.
“All someone’s gotta do is spend two minutes with you and they’ll see you ain’t some stuck-up bastard. Not like your brothers. God, your brothers are assholes.” Dean shook his head. “I got in a fight with Michael a coupla times, remember? Bullied Sammy.”
“I remember.” He remembered seeing Dean sitting at the back of class with the other older kids, remembered Sam in the front rows. Hand-me down clothes with patched elbows. Their farm was in disarray, Castiel’s ma gossiped with others in town, a no-good alcoholic father who ended up in the town jail more than a few times, a family much too proud for their status.
“I thought you were gonna be just like him,” Dean said. “We never really talked in school, huh?”
“Way I remember, you weren’t in school very often.”
“No.” Dean started dealing the cards. “Needed to help Pa out.” Swallowing down another drink, he added, “Anyway, you were just Michael’s kid brother. The quiet one.”
“That’s really all I was known for?”
“That and your ears stuck out.” He grinned, evading Castiel’s kick under the table. “Lucky you grew into them.”
“You’re insufferable.”
“I can leave if you want.”
Castiel divided the last of the whiskey bottle into their cups. “Only letting you stay so I can win.”
“Fuck, Dean,” Castiel hissed as Dean groped him over his clothes. Dean sucked under his jaw, along his collarbone, then pushed himself up.
“Clothes off,” he said, demonstrating the point by stripping out of his own undershirt. Castiel stripped off his pants and underwear, the last of his clothes, and tossed them over the bed, reaching up to pull Dean down again to kiss him.
“I wanna—I want you to fuck me,” Dean told him, and Castiel nodded.
After some preparation, turned over, Dean on his knees. Castiel pushed inside him, grabbed his hips. Moved together, jerkily, then slowing down, Dean moving back against him. Done this before, familiar rhythm.
Groans and swears tumbling out of Dean’s mouth, half-articulated, gripping the sheets.
“More, Cas, like that,” he urged, and Castiel thrust harder, relishing the way Dean swore, braced himself on the bed. Tight heat, could get drunk off it, felt dizzy enough.
Never let himself go so with anyone else, always held back. To know how to bring Dean to his edge, to know the way Dean would react. It was a familiarity, an intimacy he’d never had with anyone else.
“Shit, Cas, I’m gonna—” Dean came then, and Castiel kept fucking himself into him, quick and hard, chasing his own release.
Breathing in short gasps, Dean shifted under him. “God, Cas, fuck, no, don’t stop,” and Castiel ducked his head with a groan as he came inside him.
Dropped down next to each other, sheets sticking to Castiel’s skin. One arm flung across Dean’s chest.
Dean shook his head and swore quietly. Took a long breath. “Swear I never had it like this before.”
Castiel glanced at him, surprised at the admission. “Is that a good thing?”
“Fuck, yes.”
Castiel bit back a smile and Dean hit him lightly. “Don’t let it get to your head.”
Laughing then, Castiel sat up, crawled over Dean to grab something to clean himself up. “I never...” Trailed off as he swung his legs off the bed, suddenly fumbling for words. “I mean, you’re the first—not the first I’ve been with, just the first I’ve been with this long.”
The words weren’t coming out right. Dean nodded quickly, avoiding his eyes, and Castiel flushed, thinking he’d said too much. If there was anything he and Dean were good at, it was keeping whatever this was between them strictly casual. That meant not speaking of it.
“Cas…” Dean was staring at the ceiling.
“What?”
Dean’s chest rose in a breath, then he sat up, shook his head. “Nothing. Mind if I stay the night?”
Rare request, but he wouldn’t complain. “I don’t mind.”
After cleaning themselves off and crawling back into bed, Dean asked, “Where’s that book you’ve been reading from?”
“It’s, uh...” Glancing around the room, Castiel spotted it on the chest at the foot of the bed and fetched it. “Can’t remember where we left off.” He flipped through the pages.
Dean turned onto his side, pulling the covers up. “Something about a mountain lion attack, right?”
“Yeah, that’s it.” He turned the pages to find the spot. “Think I like the last one we read better than this one. Way things are going, doubt everything’s gonna end well.”
“Yeah, but this one’s more exciting,” Dean argued. “Doesn’t have all that romance bullshit.”
“Last one wasn’t a romance novel.”
“Coulda been. I swear you like the sappiest stories.” Castiel rolled his eyes. “Anyway, I just like hearing your voice.”
Castiel felt his face heat and fumbled with the pages. Dean knocked his shoulder with the back of his hand. “Stop blushing and start reading.”
“I’m not blushing, you’re only making me self-conscious.” But he found his spot.
Still dark out when habit woke Castiel. He stretched in bed, elbow knocking Dean’s shoulder, who grumbled, burying his face in the pillow. Habit also to rise as soon as he woke, but Castiel thought he could waste a moment. Curled up against Dean relishing the warmth of his bare skin, nose cold above the covers.
“Want breakfast?” he asked, making a fire when Dean returned from the outhouse, closing the door against the dark.
“Nah, I’ll eat when I get to my place. Take some coffee, though.”
“Right.” Shutting the stove door, he stood and checked the pot. “Let me get some water.”
Dean nodded at the stove. “Looking low, you got some more wood ready?”
Castiel didn’t bother to pull on a jacket when he followed Dean outside. Hunched his shoulders when he lowered the bucket into the cavernous well. The logs cracked loudly when Dean split them, making small strips that would fit in the stove. At the door—though the bucket weighed down his arm, sleep-weak—Castiel paused to watch. For a moment, pictured every morning like this, warm bed, quiet words exchanged.
Setting the pot on the stove, he rubbed the cold stiffness from his hands. Dean came in with his arms filled, shutting the door with his foot. Castiel opened the stove door for him.
Finished dressing in silence and Castiel thought he should start his chores, but the room was heating up and Dean was sitting on his bed, rumpled sheets, pulling on his boots. He busied himself sweeping the fine dust from the kitchen floor.
Drank scalding coffee in silence shoulder to shoulder at the counter. Then Dean broke the stillness, said, “I’ll be going.”
The roosters were crowing when they headed to the barn, though the black sky was hardly tinted dark blue at the horizon.
Castiel dragged a stool over to one of the cows, Bessie, while Dean saddled Old Broad. Tinkling of milk hitting the tin pail, musty smell of hay. Bessie whisked her tail back and forth, patiently still.
“Hey,” Dean said, drawing Castiel’s attention, and he looked up to see him leading Old Broad from the stall.
“Ride safe,” he said, pausing in milking.
Dean nodded, coming over to the stall. Didn’t make to leave, though. A fly circled his head and he swatted at it, stepped closer.
“Guess I should tell you... Well.” He took his hat off, rubbed a hand through his hair, put it back on. “I got news.”
Castiel shifted to face him fully, nudging the pail aside so Bessie wouldn’t kick it. “Yes?” Sometimes work took him a few days away to another town. Maybe he’d decided to visit Sam.
Dean’s hand was working in and out of a fist. “I got a woman coming end of this week.”
Castiel stared at him, but Dean didn’t meet his eyes. Hired help? Someone from town, just to help around the house.
Dean brushed a piece of hay from his sleeve, cleared his throat. “I put an ad in the paper and this one woman answered, and we’ve been in correspondence. Finally decided to bite the bullet and ask her to come here, see if things work out.”
An ad. One of those under the “Matrimonial” section he saw at times in the paper. Farmer Seeking Wife.
“How long ago?” he managed.
“What?” Dean met his eyes, then glanced away. “Let’s see.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Put the ad in a few months ago. Asked her to come out… ‘bout a month ago. She’s from Boston. Taking the train in to Topeka, then the coach over here.”
“I didn’t know you were searching for a woman.” It was too obvious a statement. Why hadn’t he known, or guessed? As if Dean would be content with the way things stood now.
Dean shrugged. Glanced at him again, as if awaiting his response. What was there to say, truly?
When Castiel remained silent, Dean turned away, walking off to Old Broad. Castiel watched him adjust her saddle straps, smooth her mane.
His heart was pounding in his chest. A month ago… What had he done wrong?
Dean’s boots crunched on the floor as he turned back, and Castiel ducked his head, fiddled with the tin milk pail lid, trembling fingers.
“It ain’t easy, you know,” Dean said, crossing his arms on the stall divider. After a long moment, he elaborated, “Taking care of the house and the farm all by myself, having to do the cooking, being alone.”
Castiel nodded. You had me, he thought, but it was a foolish thought. Wasn’t anywhere close to the same. He nodded again and stared at the floor. Bessie shifted, udders still full, wondering why he’d paused.
“People talk.” Ah, Castiel thought. “Two bachelors like us, who are good friends. Who knows what rumors spread.”
“Right,” Castiel said, forcing the word out. Straightening, he looked at Dean, who stood tense, his shoulders stiff. “What’s her name?”
“Lisa. Braeden.”
“Does Sam know?”
“He’s the one who suggested I put the ad in.” Stooping, Castiel dragged the pail back under Bessie. “Might not even work out. She seems nice enough on paper, but you never know.”
Castiel forced a smile, met Dean’s eyes. “Well, hope it turns out well.” Dean’s expression was still guarded, and he knew his words might be taken as mockery, but he let them fall. He reckoned there wasn’t much else to say on the subject. To have thought this… relationship between him and Dean was even worth that name, to have thought… He didn’t know what he’d thought. His face reddened as he turned back to Bessie.
“Thought I’d tell you now. Gonna be busy the rest of this week.”
Castiel nodded quickly. Couldn’t look back at him.
“So I might not be able to come around.”
So this is it.
“I understand,” he managed.
The sheep were stirring in the pen next to the barn, could hear them through the walls. “See you around,” Dean said, and Castiel heard him lead Old Broad away.
Swallowing hard, Castiel tried to continue milking, but his fingers refused to accomplish the simple task. Dropping his hands into his lap, he sunk his head, took a deep breath.
It was cruel, he thought, later, as he led the sheep to their pasture. Dean had known all along, hadn’t even given him the courtesy of knowing last night was their last night together.
The bed wasn’t made, indent in the pillow, and Castiel refused to look in the room as he heated up supper.
Took one spoonful of stew, then lost his appetite.
Turned down the lamp, kicked off his boots. Sat down on the edge of the bed carefully, loathe to disturb the perfect placement of the sheets. Waited for his eyes to adjust, watching the wooden grains of the opposite wall slowly define themselves out of the shadows.
Thought if he’d known last night was their last night, he would’ve asked Dean to fuck him, would’ve stayed in bed this morning, wouldn’t have risen to put on the pot.
Many times in the following week, he thought maybe he’d imagined the words, dreamt them up, would hear Dean’s approach soon, rounding the house, “Need any help?”
But Dean didn’t show.
Many times he came close to riding over to Dean’s house, but in the end always convinced himself to stay away.
Laying in bed at night, he had terrible thoughts. Of a train crash, harsh screech, twisted metal, smoke. Dreamt of Dean riding over and saying simply, “She ain’t coming,” and leaving it at that.
“Afternoon, Cas,” Lee greeted when Castiel walked into the saloon.
“Hey.” Palming off his hat, he set it on the bar. “A whiskey, thanks.”
“What brings you in to town today?” Lee asked, slinging a ragged towel over his shoulder and fetching a decanter of auburn liquid.
“Ordering lumber.”
Lee slid a smudged glass over. “You building something?”
Castiel took a long drink and shook his head. “Fixing up the barn. Been in need of repair for some time now.”
Hearing the saloon doors creak open behind him, he glanced over his shoulder to see Christian Campbell walk in. Turning back to his drink, he rocked the glass back and forth between his hands, soft rattle as it bumped along the uneven wood grain.
“Hey, Lee,” Christian called. He leaned on the bar to the right of Castiel. “My regular.”
Castiel could feel Christian’s eyes on him, but he focused on his glass, finished his drink and fished in his pocket for money. Christian had been one of Michael’s few friends, if you could call it that. They’d fought more often than they talked, to be sure, but Castiel was fairly certain they still kept in contact.
“Dean has a woman, you hear that, Lee?” Christian asked.
“Sure, he’s been talking about her plenty. She living with him already?”
“Yeah, arrived last week.”
Castiel had been about to lay his coins on the bartop, but he hesitated, wanting to hear more. He chanced a glance at them and Lee must’ve noticed his interest because he asked,
“You two live close to each other. You hear anything ‘bout how it’s going? He ready to ship her back yet?”
His throat felt tight, but Castiel shrugged. “I haven’t heard anything. ‘Spect he’s been busy helping her settle in.”
“Hmm, well. Good for him. ‘Bout time he found a woman.” Christian laughed. “Give Rowena’s whores a break.”
Castiel tried to soften the frown that he felt pulling at his forehead. He lifted his glass even though only a drop remained and drained it.
“You want another drink?” Lee asked him.
Castiel began shaking his head, then changed his mind. “I’ll take a bottle.”
Outside at the hitching post, he was stowing the bottle of whiskey in his saddle bags when a familiar voice caught his attention. His head snapped up to see Dean parking his wagon in front of the general store, and his mouth went dry at the sight of a woman sitting next to him. Dean jumped down and took her hand, helped her step down from the wagon.
Lisa, Castiel thought. She was pretty, he could admit it—dark hair tied up, tucked underneath a hat. A dress cinched tight around her waist. Dean pressed a hand to the small of her back as they walked to the store. Someone called his name and he turned to smile and say hello, introduce Lisa.
Turning around, Castiel ducked his head, hoping Dean didn’t notice him watching. Face flushed, he mounted Star Runner and got out of town.
Dean had looked happy enough. Seemed things between him and Lisa were going well. Supposed they’d be getting married before too long. Realizing he was clenching the reins in his hands, he loosened his hold. Had to accept it. Best he got over Dean now, quickly. No sense in holding on; he knew how things stood.
After dinner, he sat at the kitchen table and drank from the bottle he’d bought at the saloon. Across the room, through his bedroom door, he could see Last Ride Over Cascade Range sitting on his nightstand.
Fetching it, he settled back down in his chair. Stared at the cover for several minutes, then swore quietly and tossed it aside. Pressing his head to his hands, stared at the surface of the table, marked and lined from clatter of plates and silverware. He had sanded it when he returned to the farm after college. Meant all the markings were from meals he’d shared alone and with Dean.
Maybe tomorrow he’d drag it into the yard and sand it down again.
The image of Lisa and Dean in town together played before his eyes. The way Dean had touched her and introduced her.
Dug his thumbnail into the tabletop, wiped away the small curl of wood he'd made. Wondered if they were sleeping together, or if they’d decided to wait until they made it official—if they made it official. Always a chance it wouldn’t work out. But if Dean and Lisa couldn’t make it work, then Dean would just find another woman. Way it was.
He didn’t understand how Dean could be satisfied with Lisa. He doubted Lisa could please him—it wasn’t an insult to her. Didn’t know how any woman could satisfy Dean. Not that he thought he could. Dean had gone off searching for someone else, hadn’t he? But he’d known Dean for years now, could sit across the table from him in comfortable silence, pass the hours away in easy conversation, knew the way Dean wanted to be touched, handled, knew the muttered swears that meant he was close, the—
“Fuck,” he muttered and refilled his glass. Torturous, thinking such things. Still, he couldn’t help remembering that sunny day nearly five years ago. Washing up outside after digging holes for new fence posts. He’d scrubbed dirt off his arms and noticed the way freckles stood out along Dean’s nose and cheeks. Water dripped from his hands as he passed the rag over, and Dean’s fingers brushed his.
Kicked off his boots to avoid Dean’s eyes, and when he straightened, they were standing too close.
Breathless pause. There was gold in the green of Dean’s eyes, brought out by the sunlight.
Then Dean’s hands were on him. Breathless, Dean’s mouth on his. Well water-cold fingers touching his cheek, sliding under his shirt. Shivered now, remembering. Sun-flushed skin pressed close and sun-warmed clothing unbuttoned.
They’d jerked each other off against the outside wall of the house and only later, coming down from the high, forehead pressed to Dean’s shoulder, he had realized how foolish they were. Anyone could’ve ridden up, seen them.
He wished Dean had told him when he’d first put in the ad, told him this thing between them would soon be over. But maybe knowing months in advance wouldn’t have made this any easier. Maybe there was no painless way to take the news.
Could still feel Dean's palms on his skin. Didn't want to ever lose the memory of the sensation. Reaching down, he unbuttoned his pants and stroked himself. “Shit,” he whispered and with his free hand downed the rest of his drink, then tucked his head into the crook of his elbow and got himself off to thoughts of times he feared he'd lost forever.
Late next morning, he baked a pie and let it cool on the window sill as he cleared out unused stalls in the barn. Robert would deliver lumber in a few days and then he could work on patching up the back wall. Around one, he ate a cold sandwich and stared at the pie.
Finishing eating, he pushed his chair back to find the cheesecloth. Carefully, he wrapped the pie making sure not to dent the lattice crust, then went to change his clothes. A neighborly visit. Lisa might think him rude if he never introduced himself. He wondered if Dean had mentioned him.
Prairie grass shivered in the brisk air, no worse for the snow that had blanketed it a week ago. Hardy. If he looked behind him, he could see the crushed trail Star Runner was leaving under her hooves. Dusty grass stems picking themselves back up in his wake.
Dean’s farmhouse, he discovered as he rode up the road, had a new addition: a slanted lean-to attached to the right side. A bigger kitchen, from the chimney pipe jutting out through the roof.
“Hello!” Lisa greeted, all smile, appearing at the door when he knocked on the frame, the screen door revealing a neat interior. She was taller than she’d seemed when Castiel had seen her across the street, and he caught the faint hint of perfume. Felt unsteady for a moment, seeing her so close. Real, not someone he’d only imagined.
Composing himself, he offered, “I’m Castiel, I live down that way.” He pointed in the direction he’d come from. “Thought I’d stop by, get acquainted.”
“Oh, of course!” Lisa opened the screen door and stepped back for him to enter. “I’m Lisa. Castiel, you said? Dean’s mentioned you. Says you’ve helped him quite a bit with the farm.”
So Dean did talk about him. “He’s done the same for me. Um.” He held out the pie. “I made this.”
“How sweet, thank you! Dean loves pie, I just learned that.” She led the way past the bedroom. Neatly folded quilt, propped pillows. Damn her. Damn the easy way she fit in Dean’s life. Like she’d inhabited his home, his bed, always. Left Castiel feeling unsteady, wobbly like a newborn foal.
“Funny how that works,” she was saying. “We corresponded by a few letters, you know, for only two months. Hard to really know a person from just their written words, only so much you can say.”
“Makes sense.” So much she didn’t know. Wouldn’t last that way for long. Pained him, the thought of her knowing Dean better than he did.
Taking off his hat, he turned it in his hands, pausing in the doorway to the kitchen which, as he’d suspected, had grown twice its size with the addition. “I hope you’ve been adjusting well.” A new coal stove stood in the extra space, the owner of the chimney pipe.
Lisa followed his gaze. “It’s new. Dean surprised me with it a few days ago, isn’t that lovely? I think he’s trying his best to impress.” She winked at him, and Castiel felt that lurch in his stomach again. Acting as if they were familiar with each other.
“Oh, lovely,” she said, unwrapping the pie. “It’s certainly been an adjustment, to answer your question. I’ve been living in Boston the past few years, staying with my sister. Grew up in an area like this and told myself I wasn’t ever gonna return to farm life again.” Laughed as if to say, oh isn’t it amusing? The way plans change?
“Why’d you move here then?” Ruder than he meant the words to sound. He started to amend his question, but Lisa waved her hand,
“No, it’s alright, I know what you mean. Opportunity just came up, I suppose. Besides, well, my parents passed a few years ago, and all my sisters are married and with children. They were eager, I think, to see me married off as well.”
Castiel nodded and she asked, “Are you married?”
“No.” The back door opening saved him from any more questions. Dean kicked mud from his boots on the back step, then noticed Castiel. His eyes widened.
“Dean! I was about to call you in. Castiel stopped by and brought us a welcoming gift.”
Dean’s eyes flitted to the pie, then back to Castiel.
“Just thought I’d introduce myself,” Castiel said quickly. Urgent need to explain himself. “Being your neighbor and all.” Didn’t mean the words to come out like a confrontation.
Breaking out of his stillness, Dean gave his boots another stomp, let the back door fall shut behind him. “Right, ‘course. ‘Bout time you meet Lisa. You want a drink?” Moving to one of the cupboards, moving too much.
“I’m fine—” Castiel started.
“Have a seat,” Lisa pressed. “And ignore me, I’m just working on supper. You’ll stay to eat, won’t you, Cas?”
“No, thank you.” Despite doubling in size, the kitchen felt entirely too crammed. Heat from the stove stifling. Gesturing with his hat, he took a step back. “I, uh, I should be going. I have some more work I’d like to finish, before it gets dark.”
“Oh, too bad. You’ll have to come for supper one day. I want to get to know all of Dean’s friends.”
“There ain’t many of them,” Dean muttered, pouring himself a finger.
Lisa swatted his arm. “Don’t be modest. You seem to know everyone in town. Isn’t that true, Cas?”
Castiel bristled at his nickname in her mouth. “It’s a small town. Everyone knows everyone.”
Lisa didn’t seem to know how to respond, but Dean laughed. Startled Castiel, made him smile a little. Then he realized he was smiling at Dean and blinked, jabbed his thumb over his shoulder. “I’ll be going now. Nice meeting you, Lisa.”
“You too.”
Dean set down his glass. “I’ll walk you out.”
“You didn’t have to come over,” Dean said when they stepped down the porch steps to where Star Runner stood, nibbling at the grass.
Castiel’s face flushed. “I’m sorry, if you didn’t want me to—”
“No, Cas, no—” Glanced back at the house. “That’s not what I meant. I only meant, if you didn’t want to.”
Castiel shrugged, tucking the cheesecloth Lisa had returned into his saddlebags. Dean untied Star Runner from the porch and when Castiel mounted, handed the reins up to him.
“You still need help with the fence?” he asked.
Been finished for days. Castiel watched him drop his hand to Star Runner’s neck, pat down her mane. “Yes,” he answered.
“I’ll come over tomorrow.”
It didn’t mean anything. “Thank you.”
Nodding, Dean turned back to the house. “Dean,” Castiel spoke up. He didn’t know what he was going to say, but Dean turned, looked at him expectantly.
“I’m happy for you, truly.” The words sounded hollow and he tried to force more sincerity into them. “She’s a nice woman.”
“Yeah, she is. Got lucky, I guess. Was kinda worried I’d get stood up.”
I’d still be here, Castiel thought. “I’m happy for you,” he repeated.
He couldn’t tell if Dean believed him or not from the small smile he got in return. “See you tomorrow,” Dean said, and headed back to the house.
Pale sunlight filtered through the window and gleamed off the coffee pot as Castiel set water to boil on the stove. He hadn’t slept much the night prior. Perhaps it would be better if Dean didn’t come over. As much as Castiel wanted to see him, he didn’t want it to be in these circumstances. Pretending to be happy for Dean, pretending that seeing him interact with Lisa didn’t hurt him to the core.
Crossing his arms, he went to the back door and looked out. The wheat was growing steadily, unperturbed by the short-lived snow flurries they got every few days. In a few weeks, when the weather began to steady, he’d plant tomatoes in the garden—not much of a garden now, of course. Mostly just cold dirt, potatoes hidden under the surface.
A knock on the door made him startle and turn. Hesitating in the doorway for a moment longer, the thought came to him that he didn’t know how to be just friends with Dean, didn’t know how to keep his distance.
When he opened the front door, Dean stood with his hat in his hands.
“You came,” Castiel said, then regretted it. Of course Dean did; they were to act as nothing had changed, apparently.
“Yup.” Dean glanced around the front yard. Met Castiel’s eyes, seemed nervous.
Castiel let him inside. “It’s early, just finished getting the cows and horses out to pasture.”
Dean shrugged. “Figured I’d head over right after morning chores, thought we’d get an early start.” Stopped speaking and just stood there.
Didn’t know what to say, it seemed—they had that in common. Castiel latched the door and crossed his arms. Thought he should say something about the weather, about the fence which didn’t actually need fixing, but the words weren’t coming to mind.
Dean fiddled with his hat in his hands, then he met Castiel’s eyes, and Castiel knew. He stepped forward and Dean met him in the middle, and they kissed.
Just when Castiel was starting to think the past three lonely weeks could be erased by Dean’s lips on his, Dean pulled away. “Fuck,” he whispered, looking stricken. Castiel reached out before he could go too far, grabbed his shirt, held on. Should feel guilty, he supposed, should feel something other than relief seeping through his veins.
Couldn't muster up the effort for regret, and must not've been the only one, because Dean kissed him again, pushing him back against the wall.
Stayed like that until a hissing sounded from the kitchen. “The pot,” Castiel said, breaking away half-heartedly. Let Dean kiss him again, then untangled himself, went into the kitchen, heard Dean following.
He took the pot from the heat, glanced inside at the boiling, steaming water. Dean set his hat on the table. “Did you eat?” Castiel asked.
Dean shook his head. They stood there for a moment and Castiel knew he could put a stop to whatever was happening. It didn’t feel like a choice, though. He’d known how things would go when they saw each other again.
Grabbing his hand, Castiel tugged Dean to the bedroom.
“She’s nice, real nice.” Dean lay on his stomach, arms crossed under his head. Looked up at Castiel. “Youngest of five siblings. Surprised they let her come all the way out here.”
“Hmm.” Castiel continued threading his fingers through Dean’s hair. Nearly noon already, by the sunlight through the window. He’d dozed off before. Should get up, eat, stop lazing away, but he stayed put. “You two are the talk of the town.”
“Are we?” Dean laughed. “Everyone in this town is so goddamn nosy.” He nudged Castiel’s thigh. “You should put an ad in, Cas. I’m telling you, you might get lucky.”
“Nah.”
“Not gonna last long a bachelor in this town. Everyone’s gonna try and marry you off.”
Did Dean want to see him married? He pushed back the covers. “Wish they’d all just mind their own business.”
Dean rolled over, watching him as he stood and pulled on his jeans. “You really ain’t interested, are you?”
Castiel shook his head. Picked up one of his boots, sat down on the bed to pull it on. How long had Dean been fielding questions about his love life from nosy neighbors before he caved and put in the ad?
Working up the courage, he asked, “Do you go to the brothel often?”
“Well, not now. But before, no, not often, I wouldn’t say.” He trailed his fingers along Castiel’s bare back. “Sometimes, when I was in town and got to drinking. Why?”
“Nothing, no matter.” Stomping on his boots, Castiel stood.
Dean dropped his hand to the mattress, curious expression on his face. “You don’t ever go, do you?”
“No.” Years ago, tried. Realized he wasn’t even enjoying it, the company of women. Wished he could be like Dean, enjoy the company of both sexes. Make everything so much easier.
Dean nodded and sat up, pulling a face as he shifted. “Well, to each his own, right? Nothing wrong with it either way. What food you got?”
They ate lunch without a word about the fence posts that didn’t need fixing. Dean must’ve known, but, like most things, they both implicitly agreed to stay silent on the matter.
“Should head back,” Dean said, glancing out the window as he cleaned his plate, Castiel followed his gaze to see the sun high in the sky.
When Dean led Old Broad out of the barn, he said, “I can stop by again, when you get the lumber for the barn.”
“I’d appreciate it.”
“Great. Well.” Dean patted his face and Castiel felt his somber expression lift for a moment, a smile tugging at his mouth as he swatted Dean’s hand away. “See ya then.”
“See you.” Stood and watched Dean ride off until he disappeared down the road, then back inside to the afternoon-lit house. Pushed the chairs back into the table, changed the sheets on his bed. Dean would be back. Whether it was wise or not, Castiel didn’t know. Well, he knew. But it’d never been a wise arrangement in the first place.
Dean came over a handful of times in the next few weeks, in the evening, after supper. A few hours, then back home. Castiel didn’t know what excuses he gave to Lisa, but he wasn’t complaining, grateful to see him the few chances they got—none the least because Dean seemed eager enough to fuck every time he came over. If Dean’s frequent visits meant anything—if Castiel could be so lucky—maybe they were a sign things weren’t going so well with him and Lisa. Maybe his mail-order bride wouldn’t work out after all.
“Are you two sleeping with each other?”
Dean nodded, rolling a smoke. The bedroom was warm, chirping of crickets from the open window. Castiel kicked a leg out from under the sheets, crossed his hands over his stomach. So. Things going well enough between Dean and Lisa to be intimate. Not lucky enough.
Dean held out his hand and Castiel fumbled for the matchbook on the nightstand, propped himself on an elbow to light the cigarette for him. Leaning back against the bed’s headboard, Dean shrugged, “Both figured if we were gonna give this our best shot, should go the whole way. Act like a married couple.” He grinned. “Don’t tell anyone, though. I’ll have Pastor Jim hounding us to make it official, get married.”
Castiel grabbed Last Ride Over Cascade Range from the nightstand, traced the indented cover of the title. “Will you make it official?”
“If everything keeps going this well, then sure.” Long draw from the cigarette, sweet, acrid smoke.
“She’s pretty happy about the stove,” Castiel commented. Worn cover, faded colors. A western scene—amber hills and dry brush. Vermillion and lavender sky.
“Hope so, gonna be paying in installments through next year for it.”
“You shouldn’t have gone in debt for it—”
“It’s fine, the farm’s doing well. Wanted to do something nice for her anyway. She’s used to better living conditions anyway. Bet she’s missing indoor plumbing something fierce.”
Castiel nodded. Dean’s hand stroked along his thigh. “Go on, read.” Gestured to the book.
Dark outside, their reflections in the window. “Is Lisa gonna be wondering after you?”
“Nah, I told her if it got too late, I’d be staying over.” Tucking an arm under his head, he blew smoke up at the ceiling.
Opening the cover, Castiel turned through the pages and started reading from where they’d left off.
“A new family bought the Curtis farm,” Mrs. Butters said as she packaged his coffee beans.
“Really?” Castiel picked up one of the newspapers that had been dropped off by the mail coach. Though he was doing well enough with supplies, he’d made the journey into town. A small part of him, he suspected, hoped to see Dean here.
No such luck yet. Maybe he’d stop at the saloon after this. It’d been several days since Dean had come by last. Not out of the ordinary, but every night without him stretched on for an eternity, it seemed. Maybe he was foolish to think he could share Dean with Lisa. Maybe Dean had come over for the last time, no more evenings together. Or maybe tensions rose in the Winchester-Braeden household, maybe Lisa was packing her bags now, Dean saddling the horses. Maybe the next stage coach would take her out of town and out of Dean’s life forever.
“They’re from Wisconsin, I think,” Mrs. Butters was saying. She crimped the opening of the brown paper bag and set it on the counter. “They came into town a few days ago, have a daughter about, oh, I’d guess around eighteen years old. She’s gonna get snatched up real quick.” Pointed look as she made a list of his items in her ledger. “You should go over and introduce yourself.”
“It would be the neighborly thing to do.” Castiel tucked the newspaper under his arm to pull out his wallet. “I’ll take the newspaper too.”
Mrs. Butters sighed as she took the coins from him. “I swear, Castiel, you’re impossible. What would your parents say if they were alive to see you still living in that farmhouse all alone? It ain’t right, you need a woman.”
“I get by alright.”
“That’s the problem.” She pointed her finger at him. “You’ve gotten complacent. Go on, talk to April—that’s the daughter’s name. She’s a sweet girl. If you started going to church, you’d meet her.”
He’d stopped going to church when he left for college. Only ever went to please his mother, so once out of her sight, there didn’t seem to be a point in spending half his Sunday sitting in a hot, cramped building on hard, wooden benches. Besides meeting a woman, which he had no interest in.
But he kept those thoughts to himself and smiled at Mrs. Butters. “I’ll think about it.”
The wooden sidewalk creaked under his boots when he shut the store door behind himself, and he squinted as his eyes adjusted to the sun. Started heading to Tex, when he heard someone call his name.
He swiveled his head, looking for the caller, and spotted Lisa waving across the street. A cold dread ran over him, but he headed over, forcing a smile. “Afternoon, Miss Braeden.”
“Afternoon, Cas.” She looked down at him from where she sat perched in a wagon, reins tied to the brake. “Long time no see. And you can call me Mrs. Winchester now.”
His stomach dropped. “What?”
She laughed. “That’s right. Guess I’m stuck here now.”
Stepping closer to the wagon, he adjusted his grip on his paper bag. “When, when did you get married?”
“Only a few days ago. Just a small ceremony.” She pointed at the church at the end of the street, tucked in between a few trees on a grassy stretch. “We had Pastor Jim do it quick. Thought it wouldn’t be right, us traveling together all the way back to Boston without officially being husband and wife.”
Maybe that’s why Dean hadn’t come by recently. Maybe now that it was official… He realized Lisa had mentioned seeing her family. “You’re going to Boston?”
“Dean didn’t tell you? I swear, you boys are the strangest. Too busy drinking and playing cards, I suspect, or so Dean tells me. We’ve been planning a trip for some time; I want Dean to meet my family. Figured we can have a bigger celebration with everyone when we get there.”
“That’s, uh.” Tried to organize his thoughts. The noon sun was too harsh. His newspaper slipped and he grabbed it before it unfolded and drifted to the ground. “That’s wonderful. Congratulations.”
“Thank you.” Her face brightened and she called to someone over Castiel’s shoulder, “The secret’s out, I couldn’t help but tell.”
Irrational, wasn’t it, to feel his heart thump in his chest, anger making his face warm? Forced himself to turn, watch Dean walk over.
Dean smiled—Castiel thought it looked forced. “You’re looking at a married man, Cas. Who woulda ever believed it?”
Lisa rolled her eyes and Castiel tried to match his smile. Equally forced. “When are you leaving for Boston?”
“End of this week,” Lisa said when Dean didn’t answer, loading a crate into the back of the wagon. “We’ll only be gone a week, don’t worry. I know you’ll be missing your drinking buddy.”
Dean took the reins from Lisa when he climbed up into the wagon. “Yeah, you’ll, uh, you’ll keep an eye on our place while we’re gone, right, Cas? Got Christian to take care of the colts and everything, but you know how he is.”
“Of course, I’ll keep an eye out. Enjoy your trip.” Civil, voice steady. Amazed himself, how he could keep up the facade.
Dean nodded and snapped the reins. Lisa waved as they rode off, the wagon creaking noisily, undulating over the uneven ground.
Left standing in a patch of sun, warm for the spring month of May. Still felt cold all over. Blinked when the wagon wheels glinted amidst the dust, turned away from the sight. Where had he been headed? The saloon? Back home? Glare of the white false storefronts made his eyes burn and prickle. Swallowed hard, went to Tex.
Only halfway home before his stomach turned. Just managed to dismount before he was sick.
“Fuck,” he swore, before his stomach seized and he was retching again.
When his stomach had emptied itself, he tried to catch his breath. Angrily swiped at his eyes and picked up his hat from where it’d fallen.
“Goddammit,” he swore and kicked at the dirt. Tex’s ears pricked up, and he swallowed down the lump in his throat.
Seemed his life didn’t take much living. Mostly habitual action, head down in his work, ignoring the clear signs of everything until they hit him in the face. Had to stop living in a fictional world. ‘Course Dean would go looking for a woman, ‘course he’d marry her. Natural progression of things.
Knowing so didn’t prevent him from feeling like shit the whole time Dean was away in Boston. One thing for Dean to be twenty minutes down the road, a whole ‘nother torture for Dean to travel with her, visit her family, get assimilated, congratulated on the wedding, everyone happy, no one knowing what he’d left behind.
If Dean liked it enough out there, might never come back. Hoped to God he was wrong—Dean had the farm to look after, the land. But Sam had left, desired more elsewhere. Dean too might find he wanted more than their small community could give him. Clear he wanted more than what Castiel could give him, anyway.
Castiel’s cellar held a decent store of liquor, supplies for his and Dean’s evening card games. Wasn’t too difficult to open a bottle once a day, twice. Drink himself to sleep, complete his chores in a haze. The barn stayed in disrepair and weeds twisted out of the dirt. God, he’d known it was too good to be true. Growing close to Dean, hooking up on the sly—it’d all been too good.
The wheat was turning golden in the fields, he noticed when he bothered squinting against the sun as he trudged to and from the barn, muscle memory guiding him in keeping the farm running. Soon time for harvest.
Crouching, he opened the stove door and pushed a few pieces of timber inside. Struck a match and tossed it in, and the quick spark of tinder reminded him of his second year alone on the farm.
Early evening, milking the cows, repetitive actions in a long, dry summer. Then, a whiff of smoke.
He’d known, instantly. Knocked over the tin bucket in his haste to get outside. Stumbled to a halt outside the barn doors, heart in his throat. Instead of a dusky blue sky, he’d found swirling dark grey smoke, crisp flames eating up the crop which just an hour ago had stood golden and proud. All his hard work, going up in smoke.
The bucket from the well was too small to make a difference, took too much time to lower into the water, pull up over the edge, carry to the fields. Still, he ran back and forth, water splashing over the bucket’s sides. Despair clenched his chest as tightly as smoke choked his lungs, flames growing higher and higher. Knew he wasn’t making any difference, but couldn’t just stop and watch it all burn. Kept running, kept splashing water onto the flames with a hiss of steam.
Then hoofbeats up the road broke into his franticness and Dean was swinging off his horse, taking the bucket from his hands. Not stopping for a moment, Castiel ran to grab another and they fought the flames, running back and forth from the well to the field, tossing soaked blankets onto the smaller flames. Managed to contain the fire, keep it from the barn, from the house.
His throat burned and his arms ached by the time the fire died down to small, licking flames they could stomp out under their boots. Burnt wheat and crumbling stalks as far as his eyes could travel. Only a patch left untouched, too small to hardly warrant harvesting.
“Shit.” Crouching, he grabbed a blackened stalk and stared at the burnt, flaking kernels once heavy enough to droop towards the ground. Tossing it aside, he rubbed his hands over his face, soot-stained.
“It’s a tough beat.” Dean dropped his hand on his shoulder, left it there, heavy weight. Squeezed gently, callused thumb against his neck.
Lifting his head, Castiel studied the carnage. “Don’t think I’m cut out for this,” he admitted, voice quiet and hoarse.
“Just unlucky this year,” Dean told him. “Happens to everyone. Gotta weather the storms.”
It was a harsh winter that year. Cold coins counted in his palm, rationed supplies. But Dean brought over flour he’d milled in town and they baked bread as snow piled up outside. Coated the thick slices in butter, tucked the loaves under towels to keep them warm. Winter hadn’t seemed too harsh then.
A harsh knock rattled Castiel’s head and jerked him from his sleep. Blinking against the bleariness of his eyes, he untangled himself from his covers, swearing under his breath.
Another knock and he swore more forcefully, stumbled up and went to the door. What day was it? Didn’t bother to pull on a shirt. Had he ordered more lumber to have delivered? His brain felt foggy.
He wrenched the door open, then stopped short.
“Dean,” he breathed.
“Cas, geeze.” Dean walked past him inside. “What’s wrong? You look like shit.”
Castiel stared at him, then realized his chest was bare, the sun above the trees. Must’ve fallen asleep after morning chores. He shut the door, rubbed at his chest. “I… I haven’t been feeling well.” Dean looked into the kitchen and Castiel reddened at the sight of the bottles from last night toppled over.
“I see.”
He followed Dean into the kitchen. “Didn’t expect you back.” So soon, he meant. Dean didn’t seem to notice.
“Only stayed a week.” He righted a bottle. “Good trip. Lisa’s family was nice. Welcoming. Boston’s… different. Not bad, though. You ate yet?”
“No, not yet…” Castiel grabbed one of the bottles. The stove still cold, eggs still in their basket on the table. “I should clean up.”
Dean took the bottle from him. “I got it. Go get dressed. I’ll cook something up.”
“Alright.” Castiel looked around the kitchen, reddening again as he realized he needed to buy foodstuffs. “Thank you. I’ll, um. I should wash up. Feed the horses.”
When he’d returned from the wash pump outside, shivering, Dean set a plate of eggs and bacon on the table with a cup of coffee. He sat across from Castiel with his own breakfast. “You should’ve seen Lisa’s sister’s house. Her husband works in business. Forget what, exactly. He was trying to explain it to me, tell me how I could get involved. All went over my head.”
Shoveling food down his throat, Castiel nodded. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten a proper meal.
“Anything new out here?”
Castiel shook his head. Hadn’t expected Dean to still be here when he returned from inside, had almost expected him to be a mirage, a dream. Dean glanced around the kitchen again, at the empty bottles now standing on a shelf, and, hoping to distract him from asking or wondering at the state of the place, Castiel said, “I’ve never been to Boston. Long trip, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah. ‘Spect it wouldn’t have been so bad if we had a sleeper car, but sitting in those hard seats the whole time, soot coming in through the window.” He shook his head. “Boston was a big place. Guess you’d like it, being accustomed to Kansas City. Lisa was saying, plenty of construction work, factory work out there. Stuff I could do.”
His fork felt heavy in his hand. Lisa wouldn’t do that, would she? Take Dean from here? He knew Dean best in his work boots, smell of hay and earth on his clothing, dirt under his fingernails. “You think you could actually be happy living in a big town, working at some factory?”
Dean shrugged, took a bite from a strip of bacon. “Long as I’m making money. Can’t imagine it’s any more backbreaking than plowing every year.”
Castiel shook his head. “I couldn’t do it.” It wasn’t easy, Dean was right, taking care of the farm, but it was his. He was the only sibling who ended up returning because nowhere else felt right.
“You hear from Sam recently?” he asked because hearing about Boston made his stomach turn. He set down his fork, unable to eat more.
“Yeah, matter of fact, came home to a letter from him. Him and Eileen are expecting. Gonna have a niece or nephew in a few months.”
Castiel smiled, thinking of young, floppy-haired Sam turned into a parent. “Congratulations. You gonna go see him?”
“Once the baby’s born. Gotta save up for another trip. I think Lisa and Eileen will get along well.”
Right, Lisa would meet Sam and Eileen. Castiel remembered a conversation between him and Dean months ago, maybe a year ago. Dean had mentioned wanting to visit Sam and brought up the possibility of bringing Castiel along. It had never come to pass and, Castiel realized, wouldn’t ever happen now. He didn’t mention it.
Finishing eating, he put his plate and cup in the sink, trying to return his home back to cleanliness and normalcy. Already felt right again, not so dismal, with Dean sitting at the table, scooping up the rest of his food on his plate.
“When’d you get back?” he asked.
Dean’s fork clinked when he set it down on his plate. “Last night.”
“You headed over here right away.” It was more a statement than a question, though he looked at Dean for a reply.
Dean shrugged, got to his feet. “Whole week spent having to wear my best clothes, trying to make a good impression. Fucking exhausting, is what it was. Just wanted to come back here and finally breathe.”
Castiel didn’t make a remark that Dean felt comfortable around him, perhaps more so than around Lisa. He touched Dean’s elbow as Dean put his plate in the sink. Straightening, Dean faced him and Castiel ran his hands up his arms. “I missed you,” he admitted, heart pounding.
Dean nodded and Castiel kept his hands on him, waiting for Dean to push him away, tell him they couldn’t do that anymore, not when he was married now. But the rebuke never came, just Dean’s arms around his waist, pulling him closer.
Felt like sinking into bed after a long day when they kissed. He shuddered when Dean’s tongue touched his bottom lip, tentatively. Pressing up against him, he crowded him against the sink. Dean made a quiet sound in the back of his throat and Castiel kissed down his neck, careful not to make a mark, but wanting to feel his rough stubble against his lips, tried to find his pulse with his tongue.
“I thought you weren’t feeling good,” Dean whispered, though his hands roamed up under Castiel’s shirt, callused against his back.
“I feel so much better now, honest.” Castiel murmured against his skin. “It’s like a miracle.”
Laying back on the bed, he watched Dean strip. Settled back, spread his legs so Dean could get between them.
“You can have me,” he told Dean. “Anyway you want.”
Dean crawled over him, kissed him. Didn’t speak. Castiel wanted him to admit it, to tell him Lisa would never be him, that he didn’t want her. Wanted Dean to tell him he could never be satisfied apart, that they were the ones for each other. It was a selfish wish and a foolish one, but he wanted with a force that ached in his chest, felt as if it might cleave him in two.
Dean moved down his chest, tongued over his nipples under Castiel was panting, trailed lingering kisses down his stomach, to his navel. Brushed over Castiel’s cock, making him squirm, but moved to his thighs instead.
Entranced, Castiel watched. Swore under his breath when Dean bit the tender skin of his inner thighs, licked over the red marks. Curled his fingers into the sheets when Dean sucked along the crook of his thighs, rough stubble scraping against sensitive skin.
“More, more,” he panted when Dean finally moved to his cock, taking only the head in his mouth. Wanted more, but wanted it slow, didn’t want this to end.
And maybe Dean felt the same way because he took his sweet time, working him over until Castiel was writhing against the sheets, trying not to fuck up into Dean’s mouth, but hovering so close to his edge.
“Shit, shit, Dean.” Wrapped legs over Dean’s shoulders, trying to draw him closer.
“Love you like this,” Dean murmured, lips brushing Castiel’s cock, and Castiel froze at the words. Lifted his head to look at him, but Dean ducked his head suddenly, taking him deeper, and it was all too much, and he came with a cry, hips jerking upwards, Dean swallowing his release down.
“Fuck,” he swore, when he came back to himself. Dean moved up to kiss him on the mouth, hard cock brushing his hip. Castiel roamed his body, pulled him flush, dug his nails into Dean's ass, made him groan and move with intention against the crook of Castiel’s inner thigh.
Needed him closer, desperate clutches, clumsy movements, felt like he was running out of time. Forced a hand between them, stroked until, rutting up against him, Dean came onto his stomach.
Sweat-sticky, flushed skin, pressed close, not close enough. Castiel wanted to swallow him whole.
“So good for me, sweetheart,” Dean murmured against his skin, and Castiel’s eyes pricked. Couldn’t hear the words without wondering if Dean spoke them to Lisa too.
Nothing more uncomfortable than milling in the congregation outside church after a Sunday Service. Castiel turned his hat in his hands, standing off to the side of the steps, unsure how to fit himself into the clusters of churchgoers greeting each other, shaking hands, smiling. Unsure he really wanted to. Mostly wanted to go home and change out of his too-tight Sunday best, throw on a loose, worn shirt and go into the garden. Pull up some stubborn weeds, break apart sod clumps.
In the shade of a few trees overhanging the hitching post, Dean and Lisa spoke to the Millers. Lisa pat Dean’s arm—quick, effortless gesture. She could do that, in front of everyone. The happy couple.
“Morning, Castiel.”
Pulling his eyes away, Castiel put on a smile for Hannah who came up to him now, one hand shielding her eyes from the sun. “Morning.”
“I haven’t seen you in town recently. Is everything well?”
Easy to lie. “Well enough. I come into town sometimes, to pick up supplies.”
“I guess we’ve missed each other. You should come over for supper sometime. Ma and pa would love to see you. Been a long time.”
“Sure. Love to.” Eyes kept traveling away, to the usurper.
Hannah hung there for a moment, silence growing uncomfortable, then someone called her name and she turned, joined another conversation about the weather, the crops, the sermon.
Castiel took another step back, leaned an elbow on the railing up the church steps. Could take his leave now. Watched, instead, Dean shaking Arthur’s hand. From the snippets he caught, accepting an invitation for lunch. Guiding Lisa to their wagon, calling, “we’ll follow you over.”
Didn’t want to be caught watching, pathetic. Studied instead the lilac flowers planted alongside the white facade of the church—not so white now, been a few years since painted. The dirt looked dry; did anyone ever water the flowers? Or leave that to the elements.
Looked up at the creaking of wagons and carts pulling out from where they were parked. A cluster of young boys raced past, kicking up dust, and he watched them weave through the crowd. Did Dean remember church services when they were young? On a few Sundays, Castiel had taken his turn reading the scriptures at the front of the church. Had he ever told Dean how it felt to stand there under everyone’s eyes, stiff collar tight around his neck? His hands and voice would shake, and he was always fearful of tearing the thin, smooth pages. Could never look up at the congregation; scared someone would stand, point, say, he shouldn’t be up there, he shouldn’t be reading the Word.
A door on the side of the altar opened into a closet for candles and hymnals. He wanted to take Dean there now, away from the thronging churchgoers. Wanted to tuck themselves into the narrow, dusty, cool space and slide his hands up Dean’s starchy dress shirt, and kiss him. His hands wouldn’t shake now.
A lively piano tune and raucous conversation met Castiel when he pushed open the door to Lee’s. Rowena played the piano in the back and two green-felted tables had been pushed into the middle of the room, crowded with players, voices rising in argument and triumph.
Maneuvering among those standing, Castiel found an empty place at the bar and motioned to Lee. His house was feeling too quiet lately and so he’d ridden into town for this, for noise, for company, distraction. Times like these made his chest ache with a desire he couldn’t name. Maybe his house was too big for one person, maybe he was just tired. Maybe he just wanted someone to fall asleep holding and to wake up next to.
A familiar, whiskey-warm voice rose out of the chaos and he forced himself to focus on the bartop. Lee slid a bourbon over and Castiel nodded his thanks. For distraction, and maybe because he’d hoped Dean would be here.
Giving in, he glanced over his shoulder at the back tables to see Dean sitting at one, taunting Christian. Dean couldn’t be over every night to his place, he knew. Had appearances to upkeep. Had a wife at home—but Castiel hated the way she came first. She always knew with surety that when Dean left, he was coming back. Castiel couldn’t ever be sure anymore.
Stood there silently, drinking, listening to Dean play, marking when the game finished by the clinking of chips, chairs creaking as players stood and moved. Then a presence by his side.
“Didn’t expect to see you here tonight.”
Castiel looked to his right at Dean. Had shed his wool coat for just the worn flannel underneath. Castiel recognized it; thought he remembered grabbing it from the floor and pulling it on one night to run out and grab more wood to stoke the fire.
He swallowed hard. “Was bored at home.”
“A whiskey, thanks,” Dean said to Lee, then back at Castiel. “So you decided to come here and have a drink by your lonesome?”
Castiel shrugged. “Guess so.”
Dean took the glass Lee slid him and rotated it on the table, studying the whiskey before bringing the glass to his mouth to drink. Nervous gesture. Castiel remembered him turning his glass around and around on a long quiet night. Maybe a month or two after Dean first started helping on the farm.
Dean had brought over a jug of whiskey and stayed later than he’d ever stayed before. Castiel had drunk too much, and he knew Dean did too. Felt anxious, jittery, waiting for something to happen, for one of them to make a move. Knew they were drinking to excess so that when something happened, could blame the liquor in the morning.
Neither of them had done anything reckless and Dean left when the bottle was dry. Though Castiel worried Dean would break his neck riding back to his house, he hadn’t offered to let him stay the night. Perhaps Dean had been waiting for him to offer, for them both to migrate to the one bed, for an errant touch under the covers to spark something.
Remembered how his heart seemed to sit high in his chest, almost his throat, nearly choking him. He hadn’t been able to get the words out. Standing beside Dean now, felt a little the same way.
Rowena ended her song with a flourish and people clapped. Dean leaned his forearms on the bar.
“How’s everything at home?” Castiel asked. He didn’t know who he was trying to deceive by asking, Dean was the only one listening.
“Fine, the same. Married life is a whole lot less eventful than you would guess.”
“Hmm.”
Someone called Dean and he glanced over his shoulder at the card tables. “You wanna join?” Castiel hesitated and Dean added, “Come on, Cas. Don’t just stand here alone.”
“I’m fine,” Castiel protested, but he picked up his glass. “Alright.”
Sitting next to Dean was exhilarating. They didn’t speak much, but Dean’s arm sometimes brushed his, like striking a match, and looking around the table, Castiel knew that he and Dean had a secret, all their own. When he won a bet, Dean nudged him with his elbow, grinning at him, and Castiel’s smile came easy.
Cards slapped down, dog-eared corners. Refilled glasses, rasp of tulle dresses against wooden chairs, bets called loud, bumped Dean’s knee under the table, oversized shadows on the wall, larger than life.
Booze warm in his stomach, head comfortably fuzzy, felt like he was being drawn from a slumber when Rowena called from the doorway, goodnight! , fur shawl wrapped around her shoulders, and Lee announced it was time for them to get out.
Pushing back his chair with a creak, he stood and looked to Dean. Wanted nothing more than to take him to bed, get between his legs, kiss down the warm skin of his belly. Felt dizzy with the wanting.
But Dean didn’t look at him, was talking to Jesse, and Castiel gripped onto the table.
Goddammit. Every time he got too comfortable, reminded once again that he couldn’t have what he wanted, didn’t work out that way.
Waited a few more seconds, hope still high in his chest. “Goodnight,” he spoke up, and Dean glanced up, waved.
The brisk night air cut through his clothing, and he paused outside the saloon doors, watching his breath float away to the stars. Heard the doors open behind him and turned, too eagerly. Victor and Rodney laughing, leaving. “‘Night, Cas.”
Castiel nodded, stomach sinking.
It isn’t that way, he told himself as he walked to Star Runner. You don’t got Dean all to yourself. Should be happy, content, with what little you do have. Stray touches at the gambling tables that looked like accidents.
Should be. Couldn’t, though. Wanted too deeply, too much. Drowned in it sometimes. Made it hard to breathe. Chest felt tight the whole ride home.
The moon hung low in the sky when Lee shooed them out of the saloon. Dean called his goodbyes and started out of town, Old Broad’s hooves marking a steady rhythm he felt reverberate up to his head.
Watching Cas leave, he hadn’t heard a word Jesse was saying to him. But didn’t want to be seen leaving with him. Didn’t know why he was so careful, no one had reason to suspect anything. He hoped.
At least if he stayed until Lee kicked them out, no one could stay to talk about him behind his back. If only Cas would suck it up and find a wife. No sense in making himself such an easy target.
Lisa was in bed when he came in, and she stirred when he closed the bedroom door soft behind himself.
“What time is it?” she murmured when he undressed and got in bed beside her.
“Don’t know.” Pushing her braid aside, he kissed the back of her neck. She sighed and he slid his hand up under her nightgown, along the warm skin of her stomach, up to her breasts.
“Dean,” she whispered, but didn’t resist when he pulled her closer against his chest. She lifted her hand to his head, carded her fingers through his hair, as he slipped a hand between her thighs.
She hardly made a sound when he pushed into her, but her hand slipped to grip his over her chest.
He wished he’d followed Cas when he left the saloon. He knew Cas had wanted him to, seen the look in his eyes. Wondered how long Cas had waited outside by the hitching post, hoping.
Sometimes he thought of asking Sam, asking someone, if they ever had these urges. If sometimes a woman wasn’t enough.
He buried his face in the nape of Lisa’s neck, soap-clean hair. “I love you,” he said, trying the words out. Lisa didn’t respond and he thought of slipping into Cas’ bed, sliding between his thighs, the way Cas would clutch at him. Rocked into her until his hips stuttered and he came, biting back a groan.
When he settled back down, Lisa stayed still, facing away from him. “You don’t have to say you love me,” she said quietly. “I know you don’t mean it.”
Dean stared at her back, her cotton nightgown, and wished to god he’d never written that ad. Wished to god he’d let things stand how they stood, with him and Cas.
But, at the same time, he knew there hadn’t been any other way. He was always going to end up here.
In the early days of July, they harvested the wheat. A whole community event; neighbors Castiel hadn’t seen in weeks descending on each nearby farm to help. First the binder cutting down the stalks until the fields lay barren, then the thresher separating the wheat kernels. Hard work in the summer heat, distracting.
Good for him, Castiel thought. Good to focus on the work on hand and not Dean working close by, tanned skin. Good to try, at least.
Lisa was there too, of course. Helping cook and carry out food with the other womenfolk. Seemed to have been accepted as one of their own; Castiel didn’t understand. Even after years, he still struggled to not feel like an outlier. Didn’t know if he’d ever slot in nicely. Maybe all in his head.
He accepted the water Lisa brought out and pretended to be too tired to return her smile. Unnecessarily cruel; she was a good woman. Dean said so. Didn’t have it in him to feign niceties, though. Not when he hadn’t had Dean in his bed in two weeks and he knew Lisa would ride off with him that night, back to the home they shared. Wasn’t fair.
The flurry of harvest soon came to a close and the neighbors went home. Every golden, lush field now chopped close to the ground, brittle and hard. Dean came over alone to help him store the wheat away securely, keeping mice and insects away until he was ready to take it into town, turn the grain into flour.
Worked quietly side by side, movements practiced after years of completing the same task. Unnaturally stilted, though, Castiel felt. Drawn too tight into themselves. Dean left soon as the work was over, declining supper. Castiel swept up the barn alone, whisking stray stalks and kernels out the doors where the wind caught them and tumbled them away. Wondered if Dean had been eager to return home to Lisa. Wondered why his tongue always felt too heavy in his mouth to speak. Hated that Lisa’s presence spread beyond the walls of Dean’s home, impacted the way he and Dean moved around each other, even away from anyone else’s eyes.
Waited another week. The days plodded by. Now that the harvest was over, the anticipation running through his days was gone. Used to be, Dean kept his days light. Always the chance he’d come over. Now, the uncertainty filled his stomach with dread. Might see him, might not. And the might nots would build upon each other until he hadn’t seen Dean for days and wasn’t sure he’d ever see him again—in the way he wanted to. Not in the company of Lisa, others in town. But sitting at Castiel’s table, cooking at his stove, tugging at his wrist to pull him closer. Wanted the comfort that came from Dean inhabiting his space, wanted to know Dean still craved that comfort too.
Star Runner’s hooves marked a steady rhythm on the dirt road and he felt his heart rise up in his chest as he neared Dean’s place. Had passed by earlier on his way into town and the barn doors had been opened. Had entertained thoughts of riding up, but then he’d caught sight of Lisa on the front porch husking corn.
His hands tightened around his reins now, remembering the easy way she inhabited Dean’s home. He hated her with a jealousy that burned his chest. He hated everyone who stopped to talk to her, hated everyone who made her feel at home. Hated the nice weather they’d had today and all season. As if the world was putting its best foot forward. He wanted her to loathe this place with a vengeance, to loathe Dean. To finally have had enough and move back home with her family. Imagined learning of Lisa’s departure in town and riding over to Dean’s house, finding him drowning in whiskey. Maybe he didn’t love Dean, maybe he was selfish. To want Dean to hurt, only so he could be the one to comfort him.
The road curved and Dean’s farmhouse appeared, nestled between a few oak trees, a fence lining the front yard.
And, there, Dean at the gate, working at the hinges. He looked up as Castiel neared, then straightened.
“Hey,” he called, and for a moment Castiel hated the nonchalant way he greeted him, like it wasn’t anything, how long it’d been. Like he hadn’t taken one of the few good things in Castiel’s life and ruined it.
He pushed the feeling aside as he pulled Star Runner to a stop. “Hey.”
“Help me with this, will you? Damn thing’s been hanging crooked for ages.”
Swinging down from the saddle, Castiel held the gate steady as Dean re-fastened the hinges. He glanced back at the house and spotted wisps of smoke from the chimney. Tempted to ask what Dean and Lisa spoke about at the dinner table, how they passed the evening hours. Torturing himself.
“There we go,” Dean said, tossing the screwdriver into the toolbox at his feet. Pushing his hat back, he wiped at his forehead. “You just in town?”
“Yeah.” Star Runner nibbled at the grass, bit and reins jangling.
“Gotta head in myself soon. Looking to order some paint. Fix up the porch.”
He’d thought maybe Dean would ask what he was working on, volunteer to help out at his place. Always used to find some excuse to come over. “I can help, if you—”
Dean was already shaking his head. “Nah, all good.”
There it was again, that anger that had been bubbling under his skin since Dean announced, out of the blue, that he had a woman coming. “Been a while,” he told Dean.
“Yeah.” Casual, gestured to the barn. “Been busy, training the yearlings and all.”
“You don’t.” Castiel adjusted the brim of his hat. “You don’t want to see me anymore?”
Dean glanced back at the house. The wispy white of a curtain peeked through one of the open windows. Too far away for anyone inside to hear, but Dean’s voice was quiet when he said, turning back to meet his eyes, “It ain’t like that.”
“Then what?” Didn’t know why he was pressing; they didn’t ask questions, they didn’t push the subject. It just was what it was.
“Told you, been busy.”
“Been busy before. Always busy out here.” Didn’t know what he was expecting. Had no real tie to Dean. He was just the poor fool that got sucked into a fantasy and believed it could be reality.
“Whaddya want me to say? Got a wife now. Can’t go off every night.”
“Heard you were in town last night. At Lee’s.”
He saw the way Dean shut down, crossed his arms and stopped meeting his eyes. Christian and Rodney had been standing outside the blacksmith shop, talking about a poker game the night prior. He’d never thought himself a jealous man, but god, everything was different now.
“Just wish.” Castiel stared off down the road, where every pebble was casting a shadow. “Just wish I had known. Wish you woulda told me, you were looking for a wife. I coulda…” Done what? Prepared? Snapped back to reality sooner? "Was good, before. Before Lisa. We had a good thing going.”
Dean finally met his eyes. “Wasn’t much of a life, if you ask me, having to hide the fact I was coming over, having to leave in the dark.” He latched the gate, rubbed at a smudge. “Thought you’d know. Wasn’t gonna last forever, what we were doing.”
He should’ve known. Dean stooped to pick up the tool box and all Castiel’s anger deflated. He didn’t want this anger towards Dean, wanted it towards Lisa, wanted it towards whatever in the world made things this way.
“I’m sorry. Don’t want… Don’t want to act this way. Don’t wanna make you choose, shouldn’t have to choose. Ain’t right.” Dean stayed silent, the toolbox hanging from his hand. Castiel crossed his own arms. “Sometimes it just feels too big, you know? Like it’s outside of me, can’t do anything about it. The way I feel. If I never met you, I wouldn’t feel this way.” The words tasted as bitter as betrayal.
A twinge in the muscle of Dean’s jaw. “Won’t come around anymore, then,” he said, turning to the house.
“That’s not—Dean.” Dean turned back to him, tired. Back of his neck red, skin flecked with dirt. “Doesn’t it feel that way for you too?” A hesitant step closer, hesitant hand reaching out to rest on the fence post. “Whether right or wrong, I don’t know. Just can’t get rid of how I feel.”
About you, he meant to say. But he knew by the way Dean’s jaw clenched that he wasn’t gonna agree with him. They didn’t talk about these things. He let his hand fall from the post.
“Lisa’s making supper,” Dean said after a long moment punctuated by chirping from the trees. “Gotta clean up before I go eat.”
“Enjoy your evening,” Castiel said, and Dean walked away.
They didn’t talk about it, but Dean showed up the next night. Knocked on the door in the dusk with a bottle of whiskey. Castiel let him in and they drank at the kitchen table, mostly quiet, then fucked in the bedroom and Dean said, you left your book at the house, left off at page 113. Castiel read aloud and Dean watched him and they didn’t say anything about anything.
But Dean came over to see him, and that should be good enough, shouldn’t it?
“And you know it isn’t easy in those big towns, what with all the competition. Gotta stand out to make a living.”
Castiel thumbed over the two-week old newspaper sitting on the counter. “Mhm.” He was only half listening to Mrs. Butters—a strike in a Topeka factory, temperature drop, acres of verdant land in Idaho—when her next words caught his attention.
“Mrs. Winchester was just here—she’s your neighbor, right? Such a sweet woman. Said Dean’s mending well.”
“Mending—” He looked up sharply. “What happened? Is he hurt?”
“Guess so. Lisa came in two days ago, bought bandaging. Some accident, I suppose—what’s wrong, hun?”
Castiel was gathering up his items, late afternoon languor turned into anxious movements. “I have to go, goodbye, sorry.”
He rode Tex hard to Dean’s house. Six days since he’d seen Dean last—how long had he been hurt?
Swinging off his saddle, not bothering to tie up Tex, he ran up the porch steps and knocked on the doorframe, searching through the screen door into the shadowed interior.
Lisa came to the door, loose strands of hair around her face, her eyes tired. She gave him a small smile and opened the door. “Castiel, hi. What can I do for you?”
“Is Dean alright? I heard, in town—”
“Oh, he’s alright. Hurt his leg while working in the barn. The ladder slipped out from under him and he fell. He’s in the other room, do you want to—”
Castiel was already walking inside. “Yes, please.”
Heading through the hallway into the bedroom, he found Dean sitting on top of the covers, propped up against the headboard, his arms crossed and a defiant look on his face.
“I’m fine,” he started before Castiel could speak. He gestured to his leg stretched out in front of him. “Just a stupid injury.”
“I didn’t know,” Castiel said, coming to the bedside. He glanced over his shoulder, but Lisa wasn’t there. He heard the creak of the stove’s door in the kitchen. “I would’ve come over earlier if I knew. Does it hurt?”
“Not much.” Dean huffed. “Lisa’s just babying me, making me sit here all day.”
“She’s right.” Castiel sat down on the bed and reached out his hand towards Dean’s bandaged leg, then drew it back to his lap. “You should rest, heal up. Did you go to Dr. Seymour?”
Dean rolled his eyes. “Not you too. No. I don’t need to, probably just a bad sprain.”
“You should go, just to be sure—”
“He’s a little outside our price range right now.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
Dean shook his head. “The horses, I thought I’d make more in Salina, but prices went down. And then that trip to Boston—anyway, I’m alright. I would’ve told you what happened, but Lisa won’t let me ride.”
“I’m just glad it’s not something worse. When I heard you were hurt—”
Looking away, Dean nodded sharply. He pointed to a book lying next to him. “Lisa brought this when she moved in. It’s so fucking boring. I’m losing my mind sitting here all day.”
Closest to an invitation he’d get—Castiel latched onto it. “Would you mind if I stayed?” he asked.
Dean ran his thumb over the book’s pages, rough edges. “No. You can stay.”
With a screech, Castiel pulled a chair up to the bed and clasped, then unclasped his hands. The smell of stew wafted in from the kitchen. Felt guilty for the rush of relief. Dean didn't choose to stay away, an accident had contrived to keep him away.
“Sam wrote again,” Dean spoke up. He gestured to the nightstand and Castiel leaned forward, grabbed the envelope. “Said Eileen had the kid. Everything went well. It’s a boy.” He smiled a little and Castiel skimmed the letter.
“Jack. That’s a good name.”
“I would be out there now, but…” He gestured to his leg and swore. “So fucking stupid.”
“Sam says you and Lisa need to have one now, so Jack can have a playmate.” Dean snorted and Castiel looked up from the handwritten pages. “Will you? I mean, do you and Lisa want to have kids?”
Dean shrugged. “Guess we will, eventually.” Inevitable. Castiel set the letter back on the nightstand. “Anything new with you?”
“I got a letter from Anna. Michael might need to sell the gambling house. Turns out he’s not as good a businessman as he pretends.”
“Can’t say I feel bad for him.”
“Me neither. Glad I never took him up on his offer to become a business partner.”
“You ever miss Kansas City?”
Castiel shook his head. “No. It’s… calmer here. Can do what I want, don’t need to sit in an office all day.”
“Only problem is it’s only you on all that land by yourself.”
“I don’t mind.” He tried to smile at Dean, tried to joke, “Wasn’t so bad when you’d visit more often.” Dean’s expression turned pained and Castiel regretted saying it. “Not that—I know you’re busy—” He fell quiet because Dean wasn’t looking at him, twisting the edge of the blankets around his fingers. “I should go.”
“No.” Dean looked up sharply. “You don’t gotta. Stay for dinner.”
“No, no, it’s alright.” He started to stand and Dean grabbed his wrist, stopping him.
“Cas, stay.” Quieter, he added, “I would come over more often, if I could, you know that.”
Castiel wasn’t sure he had known, but it was a relief to hear it all the same. He nodded and Dean let go of his wrist.
Sitting back down, Castiel gestured to Dean’s book. “I, um, can bring over another one, if you’d like. Maybe the one we were reading?”
“I’d like that.”
The afternoon sun cast a warm glow in the room, and Castiel relaxed into the chair as Dean turned the conversation to the yearlings he was training, the latest gossip in town. Easy topics, easy to converse. Easy, now that he knew; Dean wanted him to stay.
Lisa came in with bowls and they ate as the sun set and the lamps had to be lit. Dean laughed when Castiel relayed stories of his own mishaps on the farm, close shaves, near injuries. Stories like that were always told with a smile; had to laugh—still alive to tell the tale. Lisa came in again, said the bandage had to be changed, Dean waved her off.
Took his leave only when he knew he couldn’t put off his nightly chores any longer. Promised Dean he’d return the next day, and Dean said he’d be waiting. Made Castiel smile.
Stars lit the sky. Every time the cool wind brushed over him, rippling his shirt, he shivered. Tex snorted and shook his head, mane tossing. Felt light, like he could float to the stars, and yet grounded in his saddle with a sobering realization.
“I love him,” he whispered, looking up at the night sky. Never known words could bring such relief and cause him so much pain all at the same time.
In the following days, he went to Dean’s whenever he could. Finished up the project Dean had been working on when he got hurt—clearing out old farming equipment from the loft. In the afternoons, sat with Dean, who was beginning to hobble around on his own, and read aloud from Last Ride Over Cascade Range. They were nearing the end, but they kept getting distracted, talking and losing their place. Sometimes, sitting in the bedroom or kitchen with Dean, Castiel forgot all about Lisa. Sometimes he could imagine this was his life—a home with Dean, long, warm afternoons in each other’s company. He was the happiest since Dean and Lisa had married. Sometimes the words rose to the tip of his tongue. Then he’d smell food cooking in the kitchen, hear Lisa’s footsteps in the other room, and remember this wasn’t his home, his place.
A week after learning of Dean’s accident, Castiel spent a few free hours finishing up afternoon chores at Dean’s place. Was feeding the horses when he heard raised voices from the house.
Discreetly looking out the barn door, he saw Dean standing outside, one hand on the back door, speaking to Lisa inside. Couldn’t make out their words, but saw Dean wave his hand in frustration, cutting Lisa off, and shut the door hard. Walked over to the barn, limping a little.
Ducking back into one of the stalls, Castiel busied himself brushing down one of the horses. Dean’s boots stomped inside the barn behind him and Castiel looked over his shoulder to see him grab a broom.
“Let me, Dean,” he started.
“Fuck off,” Dean shot back and kept sweeping.
Castiel sighed but turned back around. Finished brushing the horse down and forked more hay into the stalls. Kept silent, waiting, until Dean propped the broom against the wall and scrubbed a hand over his face.
“She wants to go back to Boston. Her best friend is getting married.”
Castiel nodded and Dean leaned against the stall wall, shook his head. “Keeps talking about all this wedding shit, says her friend is getting married in the family church, has been making a gown for months. I don’t know. I think she wasn’t happy with our wedding. Can’t even call it that, just a quick ceremony.”
“She married you, though, didn’t she? She chose to move here.”
“Yeah, but now that all the novelty’s worn off, she gets bored out here, away from town. Maybe, maybe we’ll move into town, I don’t know.”
Frowning, Castiel leaned against the opposite stall wall. “You wanna do that? This is your family’s farm.”
Dean shrugged. “I mean, no, I don’t really wanna give it up. But I wouldn’t mind being in town. Maybe I can keep part of the land too…” He stared off into the distance, then shook his head. “Probably not.”
Realization hit Castiel then that Dean would do nearly anything to keep Lisa here. Sudden jealousy rose in him, nearly choking him. “You really love her, don’t you?” he asked.
Dean glanced at him, then straightened off the stall. “I need to get up into the loft, but Lisa will kill me if I get on another ladder, so if you wanna throw down the hay bales, I’ll grab them from down here.”
Feeling numb, Castiel nodded and went up the ladder. As he tossed hay bales down onto the first floor, he wondered how far Dean would go to please Lisa. Wanted to believe he was the one thing Dean would never give up.
“Dean,” he called, and looked over the edge of the loft. Smacking hay dust off his hands, Dean looked up at him. “Part of the fence at my place came down in the storm, and I was wondering if you could help. I know your leg, but, I thought if you were itching to get away from the farm for a bit...”
Held his breath as Dean stared up at him, stray pieces of hay drifting to the floor.
“Sure,” Dean finally said. He picked up one of the hay bales Castiel had thrown down. “Yeah, I can help.”
“Thank you.” Sounded more relieved than he would’ve liked, but he meant it. Stepping away from the edge of the loft, he prayed he wasn’t just biding his time, prayed he could have this always, he just wanted Dean sometimes, it didn’t have to be all the time. He could be content with this.
“Used my momma’s recipe. Hope I made her proud.” Lisa set a bowl down in front of Dean, cuts of meat bobbing in a copper-flecked stew.
“Looks good.” He picked up his fork as she sat across from him, but she shook her head.
“Grace.”
“Right.” Bent his head. Words recited from memory, prayer his ma taught him. Lisa ducked her head across the table and he lost his place, got distracted by the silverware in his hand. Ate supper with Cas here a few times. Glint of sunlight against utensils, Cas’ laugh.
“You seem tired,” Lisa said when he stumbled through an amen. She picked up her spoon and poked at diced potatoes rising to the surface in her bowl. Took a spoonful and frowned. “Not seasoned right.”
Dean shrugged, dipping a hunk of bread into his bowl. Thought Lisa’s ma wouldn’t have any reason to complain, though she might just for principle. Cranky old bitch. “Busy time a’the year.”
“You work too much.”
“Can’t work any less.”
Their utensils scraped on their dishes and when he finished eating, pushed back his chair, told Lisa, “Gotta clean out the stalls.”
Followed a trodden path from the house to the barn; brown, broken stems. Could find his way with his eyes closed—had to do essentially that in the blinding storms that came in the winter. Shivered a little now, picturing being trapped up in the house with Lisa. Days and evenings spent in silence; her at her mending, him trying to not go stir crazy. Last winter, during a light storm, Cas had ridden over and Dean had called him foolish.
“Not too bad out,” Cas had said, brushing snow from his coat. “Couldn’t stay cooped up alone any longer.”
Old Broad nickered when he entered the barn and he paused to rub her nose. Going to the corner, he picked up the rake, but when he went to the pile of hay in one of the empty stalls, all his previous motivation seemed to drain away and he just stood there.
Light chirping came through the open barn doors which framed an orange and rose pink sunset. Birds, black specks in the sky. Watching them, the barn became all dusky shadows in his periphery. Musty smell of hay around him.
The rake weighed heavy in his hand, wooden handle rough against his palm, and that’s all he noticed for the moment, no other thoughts. Wished he could feel like this always, outside of himself. Not a care in the world; whatever happened happened and he didn’t have anything to do with it.
“Dean.”
He looked up to see Lisa standing in the doorway, twisting the apron strings tied around her waist. Wisps of hair around her ears, escaping her braid.
“I got something to tell you,” she said, real quiet.
True to his word—always carried through with his words, didn’t promise much—Dean came over a few days later and helped him with the fence, and Castiel thought he should be getting deja vu, but the sun was too bright and every sound too harsh. Dean, too silent.
He kept thinking up new chores, flimsy excuses—gotta water the horses, gotta bring the sheep in—and Dean went along with it. Had to have been pretending not to know Castiel was stalling. Seemed they were always just pretending not to know things.
“I can make dinner,” Castiel told him when the barn was cleaner than it’d been in months. Worried his lip as Dean glanced at the stall where Old Broad was eating hay, saddle hanging ready on the wall.
“Can stay a bit longer,” he agreed, and Castiel could breathe again.
Went to the cellar and fetched a bag of flour, dried beef. Struck a fire in the stove as Dean washed his hands in the bucket by the door.
Coming inside, Dean sat down at the table with a groan, rubbed at his eyes.
“Leg bothering you at all?”
Dean shook his head. “No.”
“You’re lying.”
Shrugging, Dean rested his elbows on the table. “Can’t do nothing about it.”
Castiel drummed his fingers on the counter, glanced back at the stove, thought he should decide what to cook. Went to Dean’s chair instead.
Dean watched him silently when he sunk to his knees. Under his gaze, Castiel hesitated, heart in his throat, but Dean didn’t tell him no, that’s not why he came over, so he slid his hands up Dean’s jeans to his belt. Unfastened the buckle, undid the button, slid the zipper down. Every action another opportunity for Dean to tell him they couldn’t have this anymore. Part of him thought Dean should tell him to stop because he knew they really couldn’t have this, knew it wasn’t right, but he knew Dean better than anyone—that was still true, wasn’t it? And he had been with Dean for years, and it wasn’t fair that Lisa could just swoop in and take everything from him, when she didn’t know, didn’t love Dean like he did.
Leaning forward, he mouthed along the line of Dean’s cock through his underwear, wetting the fabric with his tongue, feeling Dean grow hard. A sharp intake of breath was the only sound Dean made, but it emboldened Castiel; he wanted to hear that noise again and again, wanted Dean to want him above all else, anyone else, just like he did.
Reaching down, Dean took himself out of his underwear, stroked his length, but Castiel pushed his hand away. Encircling the base of his cock with his fingers, he swallowed down the head, eliciting a quiet groan from Dean. Sucked as Dean’s fingers roamed his jaw, his ear, curled into his hair, gripping harder when Castiel ducked his head to take more of him.
“Shit, Cas,” Dean swore under his breath.
Slowly, Castiel pulled off, let pre-cum and spit drip from his bottom lip. Held there by Dean curling a hand under his chin, holding his gaze, pinning him there.
Hard in his own jeans, wanted Dean so much he was trembling, wanted Dean always, not just now, not just for the night. Didn’t want to see him leave, not ever.
Eyes locked on Dean's, he licked up his length, tongued under the head of his cock, felt Dean shudder, fingers on his jaw. Could stay here forever, Dean’s legs framing him, warm skin against his tongue, heart beating faster at Dean’s every restrained shift, if only Dean would let him, if the world was different and kind to him.
“Is it better with me?” he whispered, meeting Dean’s eyes, and regretted the words as he spoke them.
Dean blinked.
Then he pulled away from Castiel, dazed look in his eyes giving away to something harder, more lucid. “Don’t ask, don’t—” He started to push him away and, desperate, Castiel grabbed his wrist.
“No, I’m sorry, please. Don’t leave, please.” He kissed Dean’s palm, his fingers. “I didn’t say it, pretend I didn’t say it.”
Dean started tucking himself back in, and Castiel got to his feet, something like panic sitting high in his chest. “Don’t leave, please,” he told him again, and Dean let his hands fall to his thighs, looked up at him. Castiel didn’t like the way defeat marked his face.
“I want to be with you,” he told Dean, though he knew it wasn’t enough.
Not enough, but when he held out his hand, Dean took pity on him. (Maybe—he hoped—Dean understood). Took his hand, let him lead the way to the bed. Small mercies.
Pulling him onto the bed, Castiel kissed him, knocked knees trying to get closer, hands slipping under Dean’s shirt.
“Cas,” Dean said, pulling away slightly, and Castiel shook his head, chased his mouth. Didn’t want to hear him speak the truth into existence—can’t have this, can’t ask for more.
Succeeded because Dean kept quiet. Castiel never felt so cruel. But they were good at this. Level ground. Pretending. Pushing reality away. Took a special kind of strength, foolishness, to block out the truth of the matter: once this moment passed, they’d be as distant as ever.
Could pretend, but couldn’t forget. Felt the truth of the matter hanging around them, between them, the air he inhaled when Dean got his hands on him. Couldn’t stop thinking of quiet mornings, waking up cold. Wordless nights, riding home from the saloon alone. Dean was here, moving against him now, and yet the warmth of his skin couldn’t erase the chill.
Thought if he ignored it all and focused on Dean here, now, this moment would stretch forever.
Never got what he wanted; the world, it seemed, didn’t work that way. Too soon, the pressure building in him, thrumming under his skin, released, too soon Dean came over his stomach, swearing low, and then he was pulling away, and Castiel was trying to catch his breath, and he felt emptier than before, a wide, cavernous emptiness in his chest.
Dean leaned over the edge of the bed to find something to clean themselves off, and Castiel tried to chase the fleeting thing. Took Dean’s hand, kissed down the knob of his wrist, over the veins of his forearm, to the crook of his elbow. To his waist, his hip.
“Hey,” Dean said, touching his face, fingers light over his cheek, his ear. Stilled him.
Pulled him up to lay face to face. Held his gaze, and for a moment, Castiel felt breathless again.
Cupping his face, Dean ran the pad of his thumb over Castiel’s lips. Castiel didn’t dare move. Trembled under the feather-light touch.
“The things you do to me,” Dean whispered, and Castiel knew what he meant.
For the third night in a row, Dean sat at one of the green-felted tables in the back of the saloon. It was either sit here, or stay home and feel like a stranger next to Lisa, or go to Cas’… but he couldn’t go to Cas. Not after seeing that look on Cas’ face. Not that it had been a surprise. He knew how Cas felt, known a long time.
Victor was speaking about land in California, opportunity, lush acres. “Gonna be too crowded,” Jesse said with a shake of his head. “Heard Arkansas’s nice this time of year.”
“Not you too,” Lee complained, leaning on the bar. “Who’s the original owners out here?” Pointed. “Me. Dean, keeping his Pa’s legacy.”
“Cas,” Dean spoke up. “Lost some acres, but still most of what his folks had.”
“That Castiel,” Arthur said, trying to un-crease the corner of a six of spades. “Strange fella.”
“He’s not so bad,” Dean said. “Once you get to know him.”
“You’ve talked to him much?” Christian asked, looking up from his chips.
Too many eyes on him. Dean shrugged. “We live near each other, I’ve helped him out with a few things around the farm. I’m too busy with the missus now to be helping out much.”
Arthur shook his head. “Strange though, isn’t it? Moved out, went to college, all just to come back. Doesn’t even have family here no more.”
“It’s his business,” Dean said. “‘Spect he likes it better out here than in a big town.”
Arthur abandoned the creased card, shuffled it back into the deck. “All the same, makes you wonder. What happened that he came back here. Parents sure made it seem like he was gonna do big things. And never talking to anyone, always keeping to himself. Just saying.”
Dean noticed others at the table nodding in agreement. “What? What are you saying?”
“Nothing, nothing. Just, there’s been rumors.” Arthur looked at the others. Hit the stack of cards on the table to set them all in line. “Don’t think he’s half the man he pretends to be.”
Someone snickered and Dean clenched his glass. Then he stood and punched Arthur in the face in one movement.
With a clatter and a yell, Arthur fell back in his chair. The others at the table jumped to their feet, and Dean shoved off Christian’s warning hand.
“What the fuck?” Arthur cursed, blood streaming from his nose. He started to get to his feet, fury in his eyes, and Dean kicked him in the chest, sending him back down.
“Hey, woah!” Lee called from behind the bar. “Stop fighting!”
“Ain’t no basis for any of those rumors,” Dean spat. Everyone was watching. “Cas ain’t done nothing wrong.”
Arthur raised his hands. “Shit, didn’t know you thought so much about the guy.”
Dean’s heart was pounding. “I hardly know the man, alright? But I know he’s a good guy. Lisa thinks so too. Helped me out when I got hurt, helped me out plenty. Just because he’s private don’t mean anything.”
“Do I gotta kick you out, Winchester?” Lee asked, coming out from behind the bar.
Hands still in fists, Dean glared down at Arthur. Show of confidence, learned from his pa. Don’t stand down, don’t let them see you shake. “I’m good. If he is.”
“Fine, fine,” Arthur mumbled and got to his feet, stumbling a little. Dean righted his own chair which had fallen over, and sat back down heavily. The eyes on him burned his skin and he wondered if they were all listening to his heart pounding. His knuckles pulsed from the hit.
“We gonna keep playing or not?” he asked.
He left with his wallet lighter than when he arrived and an unsteady feeling making his head light. His home—his and Lisa’ home, now—sat a few yards from the road, the windows dark. He could just catch a sheen of white from the bedroom window when the moonlight caught the curtain.
He kept riding.
The barn doors at Cas’ place creaked when he led Old Broad inside. It took a long minute for the front door to open when he knocked, but for some foolish reason, the thought of leaving never crossed his mind.
Cas looked surprised when he opened the door, but the look quickly faded into something like relief. Stepping back, he let Dean inside.
“Hey, Cas.” Dean hung his hat on the hook by the door.
“Hey.” Cas seemed about to say more, but he stayed silent as he led the way to the kitchen. Dean followed. Used to be he could tell what Cas was thinking, used to be he didn’t feel such a large gap between them. His fault, he knew. Everything had changed the moment he sat down to write an ad in the paper—act of weakness, it seemed now. Had to be done, though. Had to be done, right?
Cas turned on the lamp on the table and turned back to him. A frown creased his brow and he took Dean’s hand. “What happened?”
Dean shrugged. “Nothing.”
He watched Cas hold his hand, fingers stroking over his knuckles, careful of the dried blood, the light from the lamp wavering.
“I missed you, I did, but I swear I was trying to stay away,” Dean told him when they made their way to bed.
Cas pulled off his shirt and climbed on top of him. “I thought you were angry with me.”
“No,” Dean grabbed the back of his neck, pulling him down to kiss him deeply. Repeated, “No.”
Cas roamed Dean’s body with his hands, then pulled them away, as if afraid to leave a mark. Dean gripped his hips, pulling him closer until their bodies were flush together.
“It doesn’t matter,” he told him, tugging at Cas’ hair to tilt his head back and bite his collarbone, then kiss it. “I don’t care anymore, I don’t care.”
“Dean,” Cas said quietly, and Dean didn’t know whether that was encouragement or not, but Cas didn’t push him away.
Let Dean shove him onto his back, inhaling sharply when their bodies collided. Drunk on the taste of his still sleep-warm skin, Dean made his way down Cas’ body, took him into his mouth.
No prelude, wanted him now. Relished the way he could make Cas shake in no time, but wanted more.
“Fuck me,” he said, pulling off. “I want you to fuck me.”
His skin heated at the look in Cas’ eyes, the way Cas scrambled up to kiss him, licking into his mouth.
“I thought we’d never do this again,” he murmured, burn of his stubble against Dean’s cheek, his lips, his neck.
Dean had promised himself he wouldn’t come here again—how many times over the years had he promised himself? Risky game they were playing. Wasn’t a game, though, felt real. More real than anything he’d ever had with anyone else. Felt like his whole life had been leading up to the first time he kissed Cas, like nothing had ever satisfied him until then, so he’d know he’d found something special.
But Lisa was asleep at home, their home. Cas was sliding a hand down his stomach and Dean felt all too sober all of sudden, and worst of all, he had done this to himself. Because no matter how special, it wasn’t goddamn right, and he’d made a fool out of himself tonight, getting into a fight, and if anyone looked closely enough at him, they’d see right through his charade; always felt like a fraud, always worried others could tell. With Cas, didn’t have to worry, but he was thinking too much now, and whatever he had been chasing tonight was slipping out his grasp. He pushed Cas away.
“What’s wrong?” Cas asked, and Dean scrubbed at his eyes, swore at himself.
Everything they’d been saying about Cas was true about himself: he wasn’t half the man he pretended to be, everyone was gonna find out soon enough. Lisa must know, Cas must see—only reason he didn’t care was because they were both fuck-ups together.
“Fuck,” he swore, making stars behind his closed eyelids, and Cas pulled his hands away, too gentle, cupped his face and kissed him, long and deep.
Dean resisted him, wasn’t right, and Cas pulled away, let his hands trail to Dean’s chest.
Dean stared at a point over Cas’ shoulder. “I can’t.” Whispered because he didn’t want to say the words. “I can’t keep doing this. I can’t.”
Cas seemed to shrink into himself. But he didn’t try to argue, so Dean knew he understood. Both been fooling themselves for a long time. Long before Lisa, they’d been living in some dream world.
Rain pattered on the roof. “I gotta go,” Dean said and snatched up his shirt, got to his feet.
“No, Dean, stay.” Cas swung his legs off the bed, reached for him.
Dean stepped away from his hands. “Shouldn’t have come here tonight.”
Cas dropped his hands to the bed. "Dean, I—" His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, and his fingers twisted into the sheets. “I’m sorry."
“It ain't—" Wasn't Cas, Cas had done nothing wrong 'cept what Dean had. Gotten swept away. "You ain’t got nothing to be sorry about.”
“I know you love her, but I keep asking you to come over, and if it wasn’t for me—”
“I don’t, I don’t love her.” The words struck him as cruel, but he knew suddenly, with an absolute certainty, that they were true. Couldn't ever be any other way. Not that kind of love, not the love he felt filling him to the brim, threatening to spill whenever Cas was close. Couldn't share that love. Didn't know why he hadn't seen it before.
Cas looked shocked. Dean thought he should've known. “What?”
Stooping, Dean picked up one of his boots, heavy in his hand. “I don’t love her. I can’t…” Should feel guilty, shouldn't he? Instead, he repeated, “I can’t ever love her.”
Castiel stared at him and for a moment, Dean waited. For what, he didn't know. The night stretched on, shadows creating illusions along his peripheral, and he realized saying it aloud didn't change a thing.
He finished dressing, pulled on his boots. Cas stayed silent, still, presence weighty in the near dark. Not meeting his eyes, Dean paused at the doorway. He rubbed a thumb over the doorframe, remembered helping Cas paint the trim white, how it shone in the afternoon light.
He cleared his throat. “What am I supposed to do?”
Was truly asking. Wanted an answer, wanted an easy solution that wouldn’t make him feel like a tower of cards on the teetering edge of collapse.
Cas didn’t reply because there was no answer. Never would be one.
Swore no morning dragged out like a Sunday service. Castiel shifted in his seat, trying to find a better position. Doubted there was any possible way to get comfortable. His suit felt too stiff, hung unworn too long in the back of his closet. Hadn’t worn it since his ma’s funeral, but he didn’t want to think about that.
The pew creaked again when he shifted, and Mrs. Elmer sitting to the right of him gave him a dirty look. Wasn’t his fault it was mighty uncomfortable. Think they’d design this place with comfort in mind, seeing as how people sat here for hours every Sunday.
Light streamed through the stained glass windows, two on both sides of the aisle. Heard it’d been a project getting them made. An artisan had to travel in from Topeka. He studied them as Pastor Jim droned on.
Jesus, sitting with a child in his lap, a lamb at his feet. Jesus with a loaf of bread in one hand and a fish in the other, yellow and orange glass triangles mimicking light streaming around his face. Jesus on the cross, empty tomb, and Jesus rising in the sky.
Remembered the stories from Sunday school in his childhood. Sitting on the pews with other squirming kids. Songs ringing in too highly-pitched voices. Washed in the blood.
Only so long he could stare at the irregular glass shapes, the way the colored light dappled the floor and walls. A few pews ahead, Dean was sitting close enough to Lisa that their shoulders were pressed together. She dabbed at her forehead with a handkerchief.
The creaking of pews snapped his attention to the podium where Pastor Jim was gesturing for them to rise. Stood with the rest of the congregation, felt sweat trickle down his back. Piano notes filled the air with song. Pastor Jim’s wife played in a high-necked white dress, hair curling around her ears from the heat. Didn’t have the same lightness and ease as Rowena playing at the saloon, though these keys were all in tune.
He fumbled for the hymn book on the back of the pew, eyed Mrs. Elmer’s open book to find the page number. On his way to page 77, found Are You Washed in the Blood? .
Dean said once his ma died, hardly went to church unless the neighbors stopped by on their way and took him and Sam along. Sometimes would hide when they knocked on the door. Didn’t have the right clothes, torn elbows and hems. Bruises. His pa would get drunk Saturday night and come home, tear up the kitchen, anything he could get his hands on. Sometimes Dean.
Showed him a scar on the back of his knee. Told Castiel his pa took a switch to him over spilled flour in the pantry. Struck too hard, broke skin. Said the line of blood running down his calf scared Sam. Kid went white. Never could stomach much. Soft.
Castiel turned to page 77, eyes trailing over the words, following along with the congregation. Had Dean told Lisa all that? Taken so long for Dean to tell him, didn’t speak of those years much. Castiel wished they’d been close back then. Could’ve escaped their chores, played in the creek. Whispered to each other in the back of the schoolroom. So many years without Dean.
These last five, though. Felt like a lifetime. Felt like he and Dean had always been close. Could picture themselves young. Freckles on tanned skin. Sunlight reflecting off creek water onto Dean's face. Pant legs rolled up, stepping over slippery stones, downwards plunging hands, catching crawdads.
Felt so real. Loving Dean meant he loved all of him. The past they hadn’t shared. The future Dean would live without him.
Because Dean’s future didn’t hold him in it, did it? He watched Lisa duck her head for the prayer. Dean was looking around, eyes drawn to one of the non-stained glass windows. Maybe a sparrow caught his attention, dipping in the cloudless sky. Maybe lost in thought.
Castiel watched him and felt so much love for the man, the spine of the hymnal creaked in his hands. Needed something to cling to, felt dizzy with it.
He loved the boy Dean had once been, scared of his pa. Loved the man before him now, a husband, a farmer, the one who sent his brother to college, who mended Castiel’s fences and told him he’d never had any one better. Loved the line of his shoulders, the calluses on his palms, the warmth in his laughter.
And he loved the man Dean would become, the father of Lisa’s children. Loved him no matter where he went, no matter how far from him. Part of him, the love. The beat of his heart. Couldn’t tear that love from him without changing himself interchangeably. Didn’t want to.
Loved him, all of him, so much, felt as big as the church, holding Dean inside.
“Amen,” the congregation said in chorus and he slid the hymnal back in place behind the pew.
His tomato plants were blooming. Plump, red fruits pulled their green vines downwards with their weight. In the dusky light, Castiel crouched on the dirt, cool under his bare feet, and picked the ripest ones, placed them in a basket.
Horse hooves caught his attention and he looked over his shoulder, surprised. A rider came around the house and he stood.
“Dean?” He took a hesitant step forward. “What are you doing here?”
Dean dismounted. “Thought I would stop by.” He held his reins in his hand and seemed nervous when he met Castiel’s eyes. “That alright?”
“Of course.” Realizing he was still holding a tomato, he set it with the others.
Dean led Old Broad to the barn and Castiel followed. He touched the stall door as Dean unstrapped the saddle. “Everything alright?”
Dean nodded and pulled a bottle from his saddlebags. “Brought this.”
Inside, Castiel grabbed cups and they sat at the table and drank. Talked for a bit, then Dean fell silent and Castiel grew worried again. He wished they could go back to how it was, before. When conversation flowed as easy as alcohol, when they could share knowing looks across the table without the lingering tension of words left unsaid.
The bottle sat nearly empty and Castiel rested his chin on his folded arms. Outside, through the open door, the yard was dark. The candle on the table made wavering shadows on the table. Dean stared into his cup.
“She’s pregnant,” he said without preamble. He drained his cup, then set it down and buried his head in his hands. Castiel stared. Felt like he was watching Dean from outside his body.
“Should go,” Dean said when they’d made their way through two bottles.
“You could...” Felt like it was too much to ask, knew he shouldn’t. “You could stay.” Feeble request.
Dean’s head was bent, hands resting on the table, folded.
“Ain’t gotta do anything, just stay. One last time. Then don’t…” A breath before forcing the words out. “Don’t come over anymore.” Dean looked up at him, surprised. “It’s killing you, trying to have both. Me or her—and it’s her, I know it’s gotta be her. So we gotta cut it off.”
Dean stared at him over their cups. Castiel tried to look resolute, but he had to blink too much, heat behind his eyes. Ducked his head. Frayed shirt cuffs. He pulled at one of the strings and watched the blue and grey pattern unravel.
Dean spoke, “You gotta know I never wanted it to end this way.”
“I know.” Another deep breath, met Dean’s eyes again. Tried to smile. “I think I always knew, that it couldn’t last. And I’m sorry. Sorry I didn’t let you go earlier.”
Dean looked pained. “Don’t apologize for that. Don’t.”
“I love you,” Castiel whispered. Wished he could have said it earlier in different circumstances. Wished it could change a thing. Wondered why loving someone was such a peculiarly painful thing to do.
Dean rotated his cup on the table. Castiel waited for him to speak, but when Dean looked up, the sheen of his eyes told him all he needed to know.
“Will you stay?”
Dean nodded.
“You gotta promise me something,” Castiel whispered when they crawled into bed, facing each other, Dean draping an arm around his waist, meeting his eyes. “You’re not gonna think about me. You’re gonna stay with Lisa and you’re gonna raise a family with her, and you’re gonna be happy.”
Dean tightened his grip on him, fingers curling into his shirt. “Can’t promise that. Not thinking about you, not possible.”
Castiel reached out between them, traced his fingers along Dean’s cheek. “But you’ll be happy.”
“Wanna be. Try to be.” He interlaced their fingers together. “If you do too.”
Dean was right; didn’t seem possible. Thought of his bed empty, laying here without Dean curled around him. He tightened his hold on Dean’s hand. “I’ll try.”
Without the light from the lamp, had to let his eyes adjust. Roamed his eyes over Dean’s face, hands, taking in every detail, freckle, scar. Took his time.
Lifted his eyes and caught Dean watching him.
“Wish it didn’t have to be like this,” Dean whispered.
That summed it up pretty well, didn’t it?
Lifting Dean’s hand to his lips, he kissed every finger, then tucked it against his chest, against his heart.
Lay there awake a long time, listening to Dean’s breathing, soaking in his warmth. Never felt so close to him.
seven months later
Castiel dug into soil, breaking through rough crust to soft, damp soil underneath. The fence separating his yard from the road gleamed with a fresh coat of paint, and now freshly planted daffodils wavered in the breeze against the wooden slats. His mother would’ve been proud to see the presentation—although, this house didn’t feel like his parents’ anymore. Felt like his. Knew he’d be here a long, long time.
Horse hooves made him look up to see Dean riding over. Giving the dirt around the plant bulbs a few final pats, he stood and waited by the fence for Dean to come closer.
Hadn't seen this sight in months, Dean riding over. Knew what Dean was coming to say. Been waiting for it. Missed him more every day.
“Looks nice,” Dean said, pulling to a stop in front of the fence.
Castiel let his eyes travel over him, taking in the sight of him. Freckles hidden by the shade of his hat, dirt staining his knuckles, gleam of his belt buckle when he shifted in the saddle. “You look well,” he said, meeting Dean’s eyes.
Dean smiled a little and a rush of endearment filled Castiel’s chest, making him smile as well. Keeping himself from reaching over to touch him, he rested his hand on the fence.
“I think I know why you’re here,” he told Dean. “Heard talk in town.”
“Got a place in Boston.” Absentmindedly rubbed the reins between his thumb and forefinger. “Shipped some of our stuff out already. Rest coming with us on the train tomorrow. Move in just in time for the kid.”
“Long time coming.”
“Yeah.” He looked around the yard, at the house. “I, uh.” Returned his gaze to Castiel, lines softening. “I was happy. With you. Want you to know that. Just couldn’t...”
“Just couldn’t be,” Castiel finished.
Dean ducked his head, nodding. Castiel watched his eyes follow the wavering of the daffodils, the petals folding. Could stand there for ages. Silent company.
“Guess this is goodbye, then,” he forced himself to say.
Dean raised his head. “Yup.”
“You—“ His voice faltered for a moment, then he steadied himself. “You take care. You have a good life.”
“I will.” He cleared his throat. “You too.”
When Castiel nodded, Dean took up the reins and turned Old Broad around. He waved and Castiel waved back, then he started riding away.
Just like that, Castiel thought. It seemed he was watching Dean leave outside of himself—then a bird trilled in a nearby tree and it hit him in a rush, a need to say the words aloud again.
“Wait!” he called and chased after him. Dean slowed to a stop, and Castiel stopped breathless at his side.
“I love you,” he told him. Dean swung down from the saddle and Castiel repeated, “I love you.”
Dean kissed him then, long. Framed his face with his hands, and Castiel gripped his wrist, held him there.
When they broke apart to catch a breath, didn’t go far. Dean kept his hands on him, rested his forehead against his.
“Love you too,” he told Castiel, words settling in the space between them. Castiel breathed them in, felt them sink into his chest. Felt right.
Dean kissed his forehead, then pulled away. Castiel caught his hand, kissed his palm, just to hold on a little longer, and Dean rubbed a thumb over his cheek, gentle.
Then he was stepping away, and Castiel was letting him go. Swinging up into the saddle, Dean picked up the reins. His shoulders rose in a breath before he met Castiel's eyes and gave him a small, sad smile.
“Bye, Cas.”
Castiel touched his leg. “Goodbye, Dean.”
Flicking his reins, Dean started off and Castiel stood in the road watching him go.
When Dean reached the turn in the road, he looked over his shoulder. Their eyes met, Dean waved, the sunlight lit up his face, then he disappeared from sight.
Turning, Castiel stared at the yard, at his abandoned tools near the fence. Returning, he collected them and brought them to the barn, put them in their place, headed to the house.
Quiet. He sat down and looked around the room. A feeling swelled in his chest until he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to smile or cry. He loved Dean more than anyone and anything in the world, so much it hurt.
He didn’t know how long he sat there, but when he blinked, shadows stretched long over the kitchen floor and his back hurt from the wooden slats of the chair. His face was wet.
Through the bedroom doorway, he caught sight of the book he’d been reading with Dean and got up to grab it. Settling back down, he flipped through the pages, not really reading the words, just feeling the rough paper against his fingertips. Sparking memories of late nights and kerosene light, cigarette smoke and Dean’s fingers on his skin.
Dean loved him and he might never see him again, and he loved him, would always love him.
Turning to the page where he and Dean had left off, he began reading. Maybe he’d find a happy ending inside.