Chapter Text
Dean finds Castiel Novak, of all people, in his creek on a sunny Thursday afternoon.
The day started out normal enough. Dean had finished his morning chores quickly—mucked out the stables with Benny, helped Krissy groom the horses before taking them out to graze and exercise in the field—and all he had to do for the day was repair the fence on the southwest corner of the property. Fastening his tool bag to Baby’s saddle, he mounted and rode out to the rolling field, the wind at his back, the sun on the brim of his hat.
There’s a creek that cuts through the valley, serving as a border between the Winchester Ranch’s acres and the foot of the mountain range. It’s on the Winchester property, always has been, but Dean’s come across people fishing in it once or twice. Sometimes it’s dumb kids, sometimes it’s someone trying to steal the blue-ribbon trout that swims through the creek’s streams. Most locals in the nearby town of Challis know not to trespass, because they either have manners or don’t want to be on the business end of a Winchester rifle—in a manner of speaking, of course. Most of the time.
But Castiel either wasn’t raised with manners or has no sense of self-preservation, because here he damn well is: sopping wet on the riverbank.
At first, Dean doesn’t recognize him. It’s been a decade, after all, and Cas wears the years as much as time has worn down Dean’s memory. Given the situation, Dean jumps right to the conclusion of Castiel being someone come to illegally fish, so his blood is boiling by the time he steers Baby abreast of the creek.
“Hey!” he barks. He hops off Baby, wishing he had his shotgun, but figuring his hammer—originally meant to mend the fence—is the next best thing. He whips it out of his saddlebag, holding it high as Baby nervously dances, hooves kicking up the dirt. “What the hell are you doing here?”
And then Cas turns around and—well. Dean’s heart plummets down somewhere between his stomach and his shoes.
He’s a damn far cry from the skinny teenager Dean remembers. Now he’s got broad shoulders, strong arms. Thick thighs that you could climb like a tree. Eyes so blue that it puts the sparkling creek behind him to shame.
With the way Dean approached him, hammer and all, most people would cower and apologize. But Cas isn’t most people. He rises to his feet and juts his chin up to confidently meet Dean’s gaze, despite the wet hair in his eyes and his sodden clothes making him look like a grumpy cat that just fell in its milk bowl.
“I’m taking a walk,” Cas states, like it’s obvious.
Dean stares, waiting for Cas to go on, but—he doesn’t. The hammer in Dean’s hand lowers an inch. “Into the creek?” he snaps.
“That was clearly a mistake.”
“Well this is private property, asshole,” Dean growls. “Or did you miss the fence?”
Huffing out an impatient sigh, Cas crosses his arms over his chest. He looks way too dignified for a guy that’s soaking wet. “I realize that it’s private property. I grew up around here. I got turned around, and—”
“If you grew up here, then how the hell’d you get 'turned around’?”
Cas’s eyes narrow. “It’s been a while.”
Yeah. Ten whole freaking years. But Dean doesn’t say that, because Cas doesn’t seem to recognize Dean, and Dean’s not about to be the stalker that remembers a high school classmate who barely spared him a glance in the hallway.
Instead, Dean gestures to Cas’s wet clothes. “So, what—you fall in?”
Cas’s glare deepens. “Obviously,” he grits out.
“Why are you lookin’ at me like that?” Dean snaps. “I didn’t put the damn creek in your way.”
“I’m not—” Cas’s shoulders slump as he looks away. “I’m having a bad day.”
Dean appraises Cas, then slips the hammer into his back jeans pocket. “Wearing a trench coat for a hike was your first mistake.”
“The hike was a spontaneous decision.”
Despite himself, Dean runs his eyes over Cas’s body. Under that trench coat is a white dress shirt, which is wet enough that Dean can see the pink of Cas’s skin, contrasted by the dark hair on his chest. Dean’s mouth goes dry at the sight.
Baby whinnies and flicks her tail impatiently behind him. And, yeah—good fucking point. Settle down, Winchester.
“Besides,” Cas continues, wringing some water out of his left coat sleeve, “I have enough self-preservation to steer clear of John Winchester’s ranch. If I’d remembered where the borders were—”
“Wait,” Dean cuts in. “You said you didn’t know where you were. How do you know this is Winchester Ranch?”
Castiel blinks at him a few times. Then: “Like I said, I grew up here.”
Oh. Yeah. Duh. Get it together, Winchester. Dean shifts his weight from foot to foot. “Well, I’m Dean. John’s son.”
Cas nods. “I’m Castiel.”
“Oh. Okay. Nice to, uh—meet you.” In a manner of speaking.
Cas stares. Dean stares back.
Baby huffs and stomps a foot.
“So you said you grew up here,” Dean says.
Cas nods. “Then I moved to the East Coast.”
“And now you’re back,” Dean adds lamely.
“Correct.”
“And falling into people’s creeks.”
With a grumbled word, Cas rubs at his temples. “If you just point me in the direction of the main road, I’ll stop inconveniencing you.”
Dean points out the faded mountain range to the west of the creek. “A few miles that way is Main Street. That’ll lead all the way to downtown Challis.”
Cas’s face twists into a grimace. “A few miles.” He nods. “All right.”
Something in his tone makes Dean examine Cas just a little more closely: the way his left foot isn’t quite taking pressure on the ground, the way his frown is just a step to the left of pain.
Dean sighs, rolling his eyes up to the sky. He wants to just say screw it and leave Cas to his own devices, but Mary Winchester didn’t raise an asshole.
“C’mon,” he says, nodding his head toward his horse. When Cas gives him a confused look, Dean adds, “You’re not gonna get far on that ankle without getting it wrapped.”
“Oh.” Cas gives Baby a wary glance, then shakes his head. “No, I couldn’t put you out like that.”
“Just—get on the horse before I change my mind.” When Cas doesn’t move, Dean huffs out a laugh. “What, you never been on a horse before?”
Cas licks his bottom lip. “I took two lessons in my youth. The second ended abruptly when I was bucked off the horse.”
Dean takes Baby’s reins, leading her toward Cas. “Well, good news is that Baby won’t buck you. Unless you give her a reason to.” He pats Baby’s saddle appreciatively and she tosses her head in reply.
Cas sighs, closing his eyes briefly. Like a soldier marching to his death, he hobbles his way over to the right side of Baby. Dean whistles and shakes his head, gesturing to Baby’s left side. With a grimace, Cas goes around the front of Baby, nodding to her gravely as he does, and puts his foot into the left stirrup. With a grunt, he hauls himself up and swings his leg over, perching unsteadily on the saddle.
“Straight back and heels down,” Dean commands. He points to the horn of the saddle. “And hold onto that for balance.”
Cas nods, taking the horn of the saddle in a white-knuckled grip. He looks a little pale. Baby takes a couple of nervous little steps in place.
“A horse can tell if you’re not confident,” Dean says. “So at the very least just fake it till you make it.” With a click of his tongue, he guides Baby forward. She looks at him like he’s grown a second head, so he chuckles and gives her nose a gentle rub. “Ain’t gonna be for long, sweetheart.”
“How far is your home?” Cas asks, peering around Baby’s mane.
Dean squints into the setting sun that’s drooping in the sky. From here, he can see the line of towering pine trees that surrounds the barn. “‘Bout a mile.”
Cas shifts on the saddle. “Thank you. For helping me.”
Shrugging a shoulder, Dean avoids a dip in the ground, leading Baby around it. “Wasn’t just gonna leave you to the wolves.”
“Metaphorically or literally?” Cas asks.
“Both. Wolves have been a real problem this past year. Frank’s ranch down the road lost some cattle just a few weeks ago.”
“Frank,” Cas repeats. “As in Frank Devereaux? He’s still around?”
Dean nods. “Still kickin’.”
Cas hums in thought at this. “It feels as if nothing’s changed.”
“Yeah, well. It really hasn’t.”
“I was worried I wouldn’t remember any of it. But it’s like a photograph I took ten years ago; everything stayed still.”
Dean’s heard a version of that sentiment before from his little brother. (Nothing changes here, Dean! Doesn’t it drive you crazy?) He scoffs, trying to ignore the painful jab it deals him. “How about that.”
There must be something in his tone, because Cas quickly says, “I don’t mean in a negative way. I find it comforting.”
“That why you booked it out of here in the first place?” Dean asks over his shoulder. “Because it was too ‘comforting’?”
Cas’s lips form a thin line. He frowns into the distance, toward the mountains looming on the skyline. “I left because I didn’t have any other choice.”
Cas’s tone is as good as a closed door. So instead of prying into what isn’t his business, Dean focuses on trying not to lead Baby into any surprise potholes.
Seeing Cas again like this makes him remember the last time Dean saw him. He wonders if Cas remembers it. Probably not.
“Is it just you on the ranch?”
Dean turns his head toward Cas, frowning at the unexpected question. “Why, you gonna rob me? ‘Cause I’m pretty sure I can take you, even without that sprained ankle.”
Cas’s expression goes flat. “I’m trying to make conversation, in hopes that it’ll distract me from my anxiety and help me, as you put it, ‘fake it until I make it.’” He holds up his hands to do air-quotes around these last words, but quickly puts his hands down again when he loses his balance.
Despite himself, Dean fights a grin as he turns back toward the horizon.
“Yeah. Just me. Sam, my younger brother, went off to do the fancy college thing. Dad’s… somewhere. The end.”
“Your brother didn’t stay to help with the ranch?”
Dean scoffs. “Nah. Sam was like you: left the first chance he got. He’s a bigshot lawyer in downtown L.A., just like he always wanted.”
“Oh. Well. Good for him.”
Instinctively, Dean tenses at the sore subject. It’s like poking his finger into a scabbing wound. “If you say so.” Baby starts to slow, sensing his distress; he clicks his tongue at her. “C’mon, Baby. Almost home.”
“Is that a nickname?” Cas asks.
“Nope. Named her Baby when I got her.” He smiles at the black mare; strong and plain, all but for the white spot on the top of her back. “She’s what we call a complicated horse. I bought her at auction when I was eighteen and wanted to give her a chance.”
John didn’t like it. Gave Dean an earful about it. But he bought Baby anyway, with his hard-earned savings.
Cas shifts on the saddle. Baby huffs at the movement, tossing her head. “What made her complicated?” he asks.
Dean gives Baby a sidelong glance. “Her first owner had a heart attack while she was riding her. Collapsed right off her, miles away from anybody noticing. Took over a day for someone to find them. Horses get traumatized, too. They’re highly emotional creatures. I think some people forget that.”
He’s rambling. He realizes this too late. Glancing back at Cas, who’s giving him a strange and soft smile, Dean feels his cheeks go red. He tips his head forward so the brim of his hat hides his face. “I, uh. Like horses.”
Wincing, he closes his eyes. Seriously? I like horses ? You work on a ranch, Dean. Of course you like —
“I think it’s admirable,” Cas says, in a much more serious tone than Dean ever expected. When he looks back at Cas again, his face is dead serious, too. “You take joy in your occupation. Not a lot of people do.”
Dean gulps. Oh. Okay, hot man riding my horse. Thanks a lot.
He turns away and keeps his mouth shut before he really embarrasses himself.
Thankfully, the stable is only a couple hundred yards away now. It’s one of two buildings on the Winchester Ranch, the other being the homestead that Dean’s Grandpa Henry built with his own two hands and a young John Winchester’s help. The stable is a dull red that’s seen better days, its weathervane on the roof a tarnished gold flying horse that lazily spins in the wind. The house has held up better: a huge multi-level cabin made of rich brown logs. The rest of the property looks tired and ragged and is a literal laundry list of things Dean needs to fix, but the house stands strong and proud, untouched by its surroundings.
In a lot of ways, that house is a gut-wrenching reminder that John did care about the ranch once.
“I got a med kit in the stable,” Dean says, guiding Baby and Cas toward the open stable doors. “And Benny, my ranch hand, was a volunteer EMT for the summer. If he’s still around, he can take a look at your ankle, too.”
Cas shakes his head. “I’m sure it doesn’t need that much attention. All I need is Ibuprofen.”
Dean doesn’t pay him any mind as they enter the barn, the familiar smell of manure and hay tickling his nose. “Hey, Benny!” he shouts into the barn. “You still here?”
“Yeah, what?” barks Benny’s disembodied voice from one of the stables.
“Picked somethin’ up in the creek!” Dean grins up at Cas, whose shoulders sag in an all-suffering sigh.
Benny comes out with a large broom, his green flannel covered with bits of straw and grass. Taco must have thrown him during their exercise time again. “Thought you were gonna mend the fence,” he says, frowning at Cas like he was a fence post turned alive.
“Plans changed when I found this guy,” Dean says, handing Benny the reins.
“Fell in, huh?” Benny asks Cas.
“It was an unfortunately placed rock,” Cas explains flatly.
Dean moves to grab the plastic step stool against the wall and puts it at Baby’s side. When Cas looks mildly offended, Dean just smiles innocently. Despite the help, Cas nearly topples anyway when his foot gets caught in the stirrup, and Dean has to grab his arm before he falls face-first in the dirt. Baby whinnies at the disturbance and shakes her head irritably.
“Give her an apple after you brush her down, she earned it,” Dean tells Benny. “Gonna take care of Humpty Dumpty here in the office. If it’s more serious than a twisted ankle, I’ll give you a shout.”
After Benny’s salute, Dean strides toward his small office in the corner of the barn. Cas hobbles behind him, and Dean only has time to wince at the state of his desk (papers strewn everywhere, a really old coffee mug perched at the edge), before Cas comes through the door.
“Sit there,” Dean says, gesturing to the ripped-up office chair covered in dust. Can’t be helped, being in a barn; there’s layers on every surface, even down to your own skin. Dean showers every night to scrub the dirt off and still somehow finds dust in the morning. Cas is a good sport about it, sinking into the chair despite it threatening to make a mark on those nice dress pants of his.
Dean rummages in the upright cupboard for the bright red med kit. When he turns back around, Cas looks up quickly from the pile of papers on his desk. Dean straightens and tries to push forward, trying to push down the klaxon alarms in his head of what Cas might have seen. “Which ankle is it?”
Cas gestures to his left one. Dean kneels down in front of him, fishing around the kit until he finds a roll of gauze tape. “First thing I’d say is take off your shoe. If your foot swells, it’ll be a bitch to get off later.”
Grimacing, probably in pain, Cas pops off his black wing-tipped shoe. Dean raises an eyebrow. He’s still not buying Cas’s whole “impromptu hike” story—not in this get-up. But he presses on. Clicking his tongue, he wags a finger for Cas to roll up his pant leg. Cas obliges.
“Doesn’t look that swollen,” Dean remarks, frowning at the red and admittedly angry-looking ankle. “I can wrap it for now, but you’ll probably want to get it looked at. Does it hurt?”
Cas nods, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth. “It’s… not pleasant,” he grits out.
“I’ll be gentle.” And because Dean’s a flirt at heart who can’t help himself, he flashes a wink before he bends his head back down to Cas’s leg. As he rolls the ankle in tape, Dean tries very, very hard to ignore every brush of his fingers against Cas’s warm, bare skin.
“I—” Cas clears his throat. “I noticed there’s a new shop in town. The General Store.”
Dean huffs out a chuckle. “Oh, yeah. Jody and Donna came rolling into town a few years ago, opened it up. No one thought it would do well, but they proved everyone wrong.”
“So they’re doing well?”
“Who, Jody and Donna? Sure, if you like people butting into your business.”
Cas hums at this. “There’s a Help Wanted sign in their window.”
“Yeah, for someone to sweep or count inventory. Not for someone who…” Dean gestures at Cas.
Cas tilts his head. It’s not adorable. “What do you mean?”
“Well, you’re dressed up like an accountant, for one thing.”
“I am an accountant.”
“Well, then, my point stands.” Cas opens his mouth, frowning, but Dean ties off the tape and stands. “Why’d you come back here, anyway? Big city to a small town—kind of a downgrade to someone like you, isn’t it?”
Cas narrows his eyes. “Someone like me?” he repeats.
“Yeah, obviously,” Dean says, gesturing a hand at him. “You’ve clearly turned into some kind of city slicker.” His eyes go a little wide, realizing what he just said. “I mean. I’m assuming.”
Huffing out a chuckle, Cas pushes his pant leg down over his wrapped ankle. “No, you’re right. But I never liked the city. I prefer the pace of this town. Even though I never quite fit in.”
Cas was different than everyone else, growing up. Dean barely ever saw him without a face shoved in a book. He had that hot bookworm thing going, even in high school: dark, thick hair that fell over his eyes, a long leg crossed over another. Always focused on whatever was on the page, no matter what commotion was going on around him. Dean always wished he could somehow get even an ounce of that intense concentration on himself.
But he doesn’t say any of that.
Instead, he brushes the dirt off his hands and shrugs. “I dunno, man. You got to leave, see the world, for whatever it was worth. Not a bad thing.”
“And returning here is?” Cas asks.
Dean frowns. “Not saying it is. Just saying— you might think that.”
“I don’t think that it’s a bad thing, no.” Cas shrugs a shoulder. “But ask me again after I fall in a few more creeks.”
Dean blinks, then lets out a surprised laugh, shoulders shaking, feeling his eyes crinkle from it. Cas grins, almost like he’s proud of his own joke.
Benny chooses that moment to come to the door, eyebrows raised in surprise. “Well, what do we have here? Dean Winchester, laughing ?” He gapes at Cas. “You some kind of well-dressed wizard?”
Smile dropping, Dean rolls his eyes, grumbling, “You shut your mouth.”
He laughs. Sometimes. Just not lately.
“Feel better after it’s wrapped?” Benny asks Cas, nodding down at his foot.
Cas stands, and Dean can see that he suppresses a wince as he puts pressure on his foot. “It’s… tolerable,” he lies.
Benny chuckles, twirling a set of keys around his index finger. “Well, I’m headin’ out for the day if you want a ride back to town.”
Cas nods, slipping the sock back on, holding his left shoe in hand. “That would be very helpful. Thank you.”
“No trouble. Dean, Baby’s in her stall. Fed everyone else but her before you got back. I can get around to that fence tomorrow morning while you go to the bank if you want.”
Any good humor Dean had left definitely leaves his body at the mention of the bank.
His appointment. Right.
“Sure,” he says weakly, ignoring Cas’s curious frown. “That’d be good.”
“Don’t forget to press your best suit,” Benny says with a click of his tongue. To Cas, he jabs his thumb over his shoulder. “I’ll be out front in a few. Meet me there.”
With Benny gone, Dean and Cas stand quietly. Dean opens his mouth; closes it. Cas clears his throat.
“Thank you,” he says. “For… helping me.”
“Yup,” Dean says quickly. “Anytime. Well—not anytime. Don’t go falling in my creek again.”
Cas smiles softly. “I won’t plan on it.”
He takes a few hesitant steps toward the door, limping when it comes to his left ankle. Dean feels like he should say something— anything more. It takes until Cas gets to the doorframe for Dean to call after him, “I didn’t mean to knock working at Donna and Jody’s. They’re, uh—good people. I get deliveries from them all the time.”
Cas blinks, like he’s confused, before shaking his head. “I think you misunderstand—I’m not going to work for them. I’m going to help them. They need some bookkeeping done, and, well…” He gestures to himself.
Dean inwardly winces. Right. Accountant. Duh. “Oh, well—yeah. In that case, uh… good luck, or whatever you say for a successful bookkeeping.”
Cas smiles. “Thank you, Dean.” He stands there for a moment, then waves, no more than a rise of his fingers. Then he slips through the door.
After Cas leaves, for some reason Dean can’t (and doesn’t want to) fathom, it takes him a long time to peel himself off the wall.
Sam’s name pops up on the screen while Dean’s making scrambled eggs for dinner. Deciding he’s let down enough people lately, Dean answers the call.
“Hey,” he says, phone pressed between his ear and shoulder.
“‘ Hey’? ” Sam repeats, tone incredulous. “That’s all you have to say? After your two weeks of radio silence?
Dean sniffs and shrugs. “Been busy.”
“Dean,” Sam says, exasperated. “What in the hell is going on over there? I get a call from Dad saying he left you the ranch, his number’s been disconnected ever since, and you—”
“I’m handling it.”
“Oh—sorry, you’re handling it. Is that what you call this?”
Dean drops his spatula on the counter with a harsh sigh. “What do you want me to say, Sam? It’s not like you can help.”
Sam’s quiet over the line. In the background, Dean can hear ringing phones and distant voices. He’s probably in the office. “Are you going to lose the ranch?”
Running a hand down his face, Dean leans against the counter. Looks out to the rising sun over the wild raspberry bushes in the front yard. “Yeah,” he says softly. “Probably.”
“Shit,” Sam breathes. “Have you—I dunno, looked at where all the money’s going? Maybe Dad was mismanaging it.”
Dean scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Preaching to the choir. If I see one more handwritten note that’s a ‘binding legal contract’ to keep buying Billy Joe Bob whoever-the-fuck’s oats and hay no matter how astronomical their prices are now, I’ll have a fit.”
Predictably, Sam perks up. “Well if it’s not legal, then find a different vendor.”
“You don’t think I’ve been trying?” Dean snaps. “There’s too much to sort through, too much to—” He cuts himself off with an angry sigh. This is why he’s been dodging Sam’s calls. He means well, but he’s not here. Any advice he can give chafes instead of helps.
“I get that you’re angry,” Sam says, words measured, “but I’m part of this family, too, even though I’m far away. I want to help.”
Then be here, Dean wants to say. But that’s unfair. Sam just got the junior partner position. He and Jess have a baby on the way. He can’t just ask Sam to uproot his life simply because Dean can’t get his own together.
Dean sits down heavily in a chair at the kitchen table. “I’m going to the bank today. Gonna ask if they’ll open a revolving line of credit.”
“Was that Bobby’s suggestion?”
Dean grinds his back teeth. He’s not about to admit to Sam that he’s not talking to Bobby and set off another hissy fit. “Nope. Made the decision myself.”
“Well, if you’re sure that’s the right move.”
“I’m sure.”
“Okay.” A long, heavy silence hangs over the line. “Do you have any idea where Dad went?”
Far away. On a bender. Face-first into a dive bar floor.
“Who the hell knows,” Dean finally says.
Sam’s quiet again, and Dean needs to say something so that his little brother doesn’t worry about him. He’s got enough on his plate.
“I got help here, Sammy,” he says. “Everyone knows the situation. Ellen’s fussing and bringing dinners, Rufus came by to tinker with some of the equipment. You know how it is.”
All bold-faced lies, of course. Since John left so abruptly, and Dean refused to talk about it, no one knew how to react. If it was even a problem to help him solve.
But Sam doesn’t need to know that.
“Okay,” Sam says, with a little more pep to his tone. “Yeah, that sounds good.” There’s a few voices behind him, and Sam replies before coming back to the receiver. “I gotta go, Dean. Partners meeting. Are you—”
“Go, you overachieving freak,” Dean urges. “I’ll update you on the bank later.”
The line goes dead. Dean carefully puts the phone down on the table. He only gets up to take the pan off the burner when his eggs threaten to blacken.
Most nights, Dean dreams.
It’s usually the stuff he wants but knows he can never have. Like the sound of his mom’s laugh, Sam’s goofy grin as he rides on horseback next to Dean through the open fields. His dad coming home.
But tonight it’s none of those things. Tonight, it’s Cas’s electric blue eyes and his gummy smile. It’s Dean surging up from bandaging Cas’s ankle and framing his face in his calloused hands. It’s the way Cas would look, free of his refined clothes and restrained manner, gasping and moaning under Dean’s touch.
Dean wakes up between sweat-slicked sheets and stares up at dawn streaking the ceiling, realizing that he’s utterly and unequivocally fucked—over a guy who doesn’t even remember him.