#dwwf

As soon as his brother, Gabriel, had learned of Castiel losing his job, he had immediately started working on probing Castiel to move into the ranch with him. Truthfully, though, it hadn’t taken much convincing. It hadn’t been hard to leave his life behind. After all, it wasn’t like he had that much to hold on to.

Immediately after arriving at Rustic Haven Ranch, Gabriel had deemed it the perfect moment to throw a party in Castiel’s honor. So now here he was, feeling like an elephant in a room full of fragile, expensive dinnerware sets or something of the sort, all ready to shatter if Castiel moved the wrong way.

Sighing, Castiel turned to the finger foods table to skim his eyes over the choices available, settling for a carbonara mini quiche.

“Heya, cowboy,” came the rural Midwestern drawl, startling Castiel from his pitiful reverie.

Spinning on his heels, Castiel found himself face to face with the most mesmerizing human specimen Castiel had ever laid his eyes upon.

The man was young, younger than him. He had a cocky, lopsided grin that gave him a boyish appearance. It was rough around the edges, but still incredibly charming. Beautiful was the right word, Castiel thought — the man wasn’t dressed like most of the guests at the party, setting aside the cowboy hats and western attire in favor of a beige plaid shirt open over a solid black t-shirt, faded bootcut jeans, and logger style boots. His light-brown hair was styled in a slightly spiked hairdo. He had a straight nose, high cheekbones, and adorable freckles dotting his skin. But what Castiel found the most stunning were his eyes, and how they sparkled every time he caught a glimpse of the artificial light.

“H—hello,” Castiel stuttered after he had spent much longer than socially acceptable staring at the man before him.

“I'm Dean,” he said, his smile growing wider, probably realizing the peculiar effect he was having over Castiel.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” he interrupts glibly, “I heard my name.” In his best ‘coping at a faculty gathering’ manner, he bypasses the much taller (and glowering) Sam Winchester, and approaches the person that must be Sam’s brother Dean. Dean Winchester, the gorgeous man that stopped his breath and tugged at his heart (and other parts of him). Damnit. He wills himself to be professional.

“Hello, Dean. You are Dean Winchester, aren’t you?” He waits for Dean’s nod, and continues. “I’m Dr. Castiel Novak, but I’d be honored if you’d call me Cas. I really appreciate you leasing the cabin to me for the summer. I think it’s amazing that you’ve gone out of your way to make every possible accommodation a person might need.”

He holds out his hand and Dean takes it. “Yeah, okay, hiya Cas. It’s, uh, nice to meet ya. Sorry about assuming–”

“You don’t need to apologize to me. I appreciate your efforts, I promise. Although a horse named Link? Is that like Link from Zelda, or is it like the Missing Link?” Cas dissembles, not only because Dean’s face is still flushed, but also because the feel of Dean’s hand clasped with his has restarted the fire in his lower belly. He’s not sure that his own face isn’t as flushed as Dean’s. 

“Oh, heh, neither.” Dean chuckles, but his eyes are locked on Cas’. “I got the horse from a rescue. He’d been used to pull this old guy’s car–something like a 1970 Lincoln Continental, if I remember right–around until the guy died, I guess. So they just called him Link.” Cas sees a twinkle in Dean’s eye, and there’s that tongue peeking through those plush lips. Oh, no. Is Dean Winchester flirting with him?

“You’re lying to me right now, Dean Winchester.” And I’m playing with fire, Cas thinks, because I’m flirting right back.

As the bucket beneath Dean’s feet is kicked away and the noose tightens around his neck, it's over.

Or it should be.

While Dean fights for his death, a shot sounds, and a mysterious stranger grips him tight and saves him from certain death.

Blowing out the lights that kept him going.

An eternity of fathomless torment.

Endless. Infinite. Vast.

Until it wasn’t anymore.

Until it stopped.

Dean soared as his weight was lifted from him.

Two hands gripped him tight, carrying his earthly form for him. Allowing him to rest.

Allowing him to let go.

A being of light was staring at him. Guiding him.

The pain remained, but it was over.

When his feet touched the ground, wood splintered and another shot cut through the night. Dean crashed to the ground, hitting it hard, and everything went dark.

He groaned as he slowly came back to himself. Something pricked his back, but that was only a slight discomfort compared to the rest of his body. Shouldn’t Heaven be more comfortable than this?

Dean coughed, and nearly fainted again.

Only Hell could be worse. But he had been there, hadn’t he?

He had already gone through it, and landed here. Wherever *here* was.

It could still be Hell, though, or maybe Purgatory. Everything was hurting. He was trapped in a nightmare, unable to move without unspeakable agony shooting through his body.

His lids felt like they weighed tons and tons. Yet, if he wanted to wake, he just needed to open his eyes—

He couldn’t. They were already open, staring into endless darkness.

Son of a bitch! He was so fucked. He was…

What?

Dying? Dead? A ghost, haunting the Earth till the end of time?

Whatever he was, he was alone. In the desert. Unable to even lift his arm, or his little finger.

Each breath was agony, but there was air filling his lungs. Slowly but steadily, his mind cleared.

Dean tensed as a branch snapped behind him. Clouds of smoke drifted through the air. He heard a fire sizzling. The rustling of a coat.

Alarmed, he sat up. Tears filled his eyes as a sharp pang shot through his shoulder and a pop sounded through the night. A piercing cry escaped his lips, only increasing his agony.

How could he just say hi after all this time of absence? How could he just come back and announce his presence after everything he had gone through since the last time he had been here? James Novak had been like a father to him during the summer Dean had spent here. Had treated him kindly and patiently, seeing Dean’s outbursts of rage for what they were — a cry for help; one last ditch effort from a lost, scared boy who didn’t have anyone else to look up to. That summer had been the happiest in Dean’s life, and he might be losing his mind right now, but he hoped that counted for something.

James would take him once again. He would help Dean just like he had back then. So Dean forced himself to get the fuck up and made his way up the three steps of stairs, holding most of his weight against the railing, before standing in front of the door. He could not stop shivering, but he feared this time it had nothing to do with the rain or the blood still oozing steadily beneath the makeshift bandage.

Willing his legs not to buckle beneath him, Dean raised one hand and knocked, gulping the nervousness and despair filling the back of his throat with bile as he waited for another small miracle to happen.

Only it wasn’t James Novak who answered the door; instead, a much warmer set of blues met him when the door finally swung open. The same shade Dean had been missing for all these years, the same expression, the same tousled hair. The same lips Dean had once savored and no matter what life threw at him, Dean had held onto the sweet memory of that kiss.

“C—Cas...” he croaked.

The weight of the last few days weighed more heavily on Dean than expected. He’d meant to stay up and stand guard, but the freshly caught hare in his stomach, and the warmth and crackle of the fire lured him to sleep. 

He dreamt. 

A man he’d seen on a train platform once with his wife and daughter, down in Illinois plains, stood a few feet ahead of him. Dean was back there, watching the coach cars with envy as he prepared to hop the boxcars once again and move on to the next hunt. This hunt hadn’t brought much prosperity: instead, he was graced with a bruised body, an empty stomach, and an aching heart. He watched the family, and the man’s handsome face, yearning for just an ounce of connection. 

Yet when the man looked up, it wasn’t with the piercing blue eyes he’d held in his memories—it was with the effervescent glow of Castiel’s eyes. 

Dean jolted awake, freezing when those same eyes glowed directly above him, closer and more massive than they had ever been. He held his breath, unbidden tears streaming down his face as he stared into their bright glory, standing stark against the drapery of night. 

He held his breath until his lungs burned, until the eyes finally faded from his vision, leaving only the afterimage burned on his retinas as proof they were ever there. He gasped, sitting up and taking a swig from his flask. 

It appeared as though Garth’s theory was right—Castiel was interested in him. 

The sun hung low over the endless plains, casting a golden haze across the town of Redemption. Dust kicked up in lazy swirls, drifting between weathered wooden buildings that withered with the weight of time. A church bell, cracked but still defiant, tolled faintly in the wind. The sound echoed across the desolate streets where life moved at a crawl and the daily plight of survival pressed heavily on everyone’s shoulders.