Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Author Notes: A total step out of my comfort zone here. Many thanks to morganoconner for her encouragement and for her fics that were the inspiration in the first place. And of course to Kaylynnkie for the fabulous betaing.

ACROSS CANYONS

"Sold. Thank you. Please see the steward to complete the transaction."

Dean grimaced, tugging at his collar. He could feel another bead of sweat running slowly down his back under his dress shirt. One of the many reasons he hated recon so damn much - marking down numbers, who bought who and who was in bad shape and needed retrieving asap. Regular top secret freedom fighter work. Stuff that somebody else in the railroad group could be doing, stuff that his Dad insisted he be the one to take care of every single goddamn time. In stifling auction houses, none of which had bars or air conditioners.

He cracked his neck. The next lot were being brought out for viewing. Only a couple more to go.

Clearly not everyone in this slave lot had been trained. One had a fresh scar on his back that someone had tried covering over but hadn't quite succeeded. Dean made a note of the man's number. He was being sold from Henderson's complex, meaning the scar wasn't so surprising. Dean clenched his jaw. They didn't look well-fed. They were a sorry shaky bunch, having trouble maintaining any kind of eye contact and standing up straight and strong. All except for one.

The guy wasn't big or muscled, but Dean could sense from the way he moved that there was coiled strength contained in the lean and pale body. When he lifted his head, a pair of fathomless startling blue eyes stared out of an attractive face. But it wasn't just that that hooked Dean's attention. The man was so still, as though nothing here could ever shake him. It was like the whole process had impossibly slid off him and somehow he'd stayed whole.

Dean found he really couldn't look away from that. Nor did he want to.

According to the catalogue, the guy was trained in the kind of bureaucracy and book stuff that Mom had been looking for since the last situation out in Idaho had gone so far south they were still feeling the tremors from it. Yahtzee.

Dean raised his hand.

The steward took him around the back where there was some actual privacy. Another point in the Crowns Auction House favour - they didn't keep the slaves in pens and they actually gave a damn about the whole transaction being almost respectful.

"Hey."

The guy turned his head and settled his piercing gaze on Dean. "Hello. Are you my owner?"

Dean twitched. Respectful or not, the guy was still wearing a collar. God, these places sucked.

"I'm the guy who's breaking you out. I'm Dean. What's the name you want?"

The guy looked mildly surprised and then carefully considering. "My father called me Castiel."

Huh. That was...unusual. What the hell kind of family named their kid that? But Dean nodded and moved closer, retrieving a collar from his back-pocket. Castiel was still wearing the cheap plastic one that showed clearly he was next for the auction block. It was time to make him safe.

"Here." Dean carefully peeled away the plastic collar, stuffing it into his pocket. "You let me know if it's too tight?"

Castiel nodded, his curious eyes fixed on Dean. Dean focused on his task, adjusting the leather until Castiel indicated that he was comfortable, and then latched it and pocketed the key – the only way the collar was ever coming off. It was simple and studded with symbols that marked him out as Winchester property. So the first part was done.

"Come on then, let's get out of here."

Whoever had trained Castiel had done it rigidly well. He'd walked the usual few steps behind Dean out to the Impala and then opened the driver's door for him. He'd stared out the window, not commenting on the sound levels that Dean pushed the radio to. That was a point in his favour since Sam reached new heights of bitchiness about the music choice and volume every time he rode with Dean. There was definite hope for him.

Castiel opened the door for him again when they stopped. Dean held him back when he went to open the front door. Dean could feel his heartbeat at his wrist, steady and strong.

"Woah there, we've got that covered," he told him.

A moment later, Tyler opened the door with a smile from under his bright red bangs and respectful sort of half-bow from the waist up. "Hey, Dean."

"Tyler, Cas," Dean gestured. "Newest member of the circus."

Tyler grinned and nodded. Castiel gravely returned the gesture. Dean stripped off his jacket and yanked off the tie.

"Where is everybody?"

"Your parents are on the hunt and Sam's working," Tyler replied, shutting the door behind them.

Dean raised a hand in thanks and led the way in, past all the family pictures on the wall that his Mom loved, and into the kitchen. Cindy was at the stovetop, her purple collar perfectly matching her outfit. He loved the view when she wore those jeans.

"You need to eat, you ask Cindy."

"I am pleased to meet you, Cindy," Castiel said, his tone a little unsure.

Cindy smiled, full of teeth and good cheer. She was stirring a pot of something that smelled awesome and smacked Dean's hands away when he went for too-close a look. Castiel looked startled at the interaction and Dean decided right then and there it was time to lay it all out.

"Come on, Cas. We've got a lot to talk about."

He grabbed a beer for himself, Castiel asked for water after a pause, and settled them down in what passed as the lounge. Popping the beer cap, Dean kicked back and explained in the usual broad simple strokes to Castiel just what the hell sort of household he'd been bought for.

Dean Winchester said more with his body than his words. Castiel was certain of this after watching him talk for almost half an hour. Dean had so much locked up tightly behind his words, but it was there in his eyes and his gestures and Castiel saw it all. He saw him.

The words were extraordinary enough.

"So my dad's a mechanic and my mom's a teacher and they both trade slaves and they're good at it," was how Dean started, sprawled casually but with tension gathered in his shoulders. "They're also good at smuggling slaves out."

Castiel tilted his head. He had heard stories. He had always deemed them too dangerous or foolish to actually be true.

"Anyone who works in this house stays because they want to. They've got family to make money for."

"You pay your slaves?"

"Hell, yes," Dean's eyes were lit with an attractive green fire and Castiel could feel something warming him inside in response. It was new. "And the rest who want to get out there, have a life without a collar and not be on the run, we can make that happen."

"You...smuggle slaves out? Into a free life?"

Dean grinned broadly, undoing the top few buttons of his shirt. "Family business, since way before my time. There's a system. No one does it better than Mom and Dad."

Mary and John Winchester, well-known licensed traders in slaves. Their company was one of the most prolific in the United States, trading to every state in the country. Castiel had learned a lot at the auction house. Yet Dean claimed they also secretly freed slaves. He had treated Tyler and Cindy like friends. It was confusing.

"We can get you out," Dean noted, deliberately casual. "Or you can stick around here attached to me if you want to help with what we do. Your choice."

Castiel blinked. His choice – the idea was implausible in a collar. But the honesty that sparked inside of Dean was genuine. He believed in what he said. He and his family freed slaves. He believed Castiel could help. He wanted Castiel to help. Castiel had been commended for his ability to see what people did not say, and Dean drowned in unspoken truths in this off-kilter household.

Castiel looked at Dean measuringly and thought of what his father would do.

Castiel had said he could help and he wasn't kidding. He had a more than honest face and his knowledge and penmanship when it came to the stupid amount of red-tape was freakin' amazing.

"He can get us in and out a lot easier," Mom sounded pleased over dinner. "Good work, sweetie."

Dad nodded and Dean nodded back. He still getting used to having Castiel shadow him everywhere. The guy was like some sort of ninja, not making a sound as he moved. It turned out they were a pretty awesome team. Maybe Castiel would stick around for a while longer. For as long as slaves with freedom as an option usually stuck around.

"Dean, I can't believe you!"

It hadn't taken Sammy long to start ranting once he'd met Castiel and jump a couple of steps forward into conclusions. Dean had shoved a beer into his hand, told Castiel he could go grab some dinner with Tyler, and let Sam drag him off for a talk.

"Really? You can't?" Dean gave an impressive leer, making Sam even madder. Sometimes, it didn't take much effort at all.

"I know it's hard to believe, but there are ways of helping slaves other than employing them!"

"Hey, watch it, Gandhi," Dean interrupted, getting to his feet. "They're not slaves here."

"They don't have a choice, Dean. You and Mom and Dad pay them when no one else will. How else are they going to support their families?"

Dean slumped back down again, letting Sam shout to his heart's content. Better to hear it now than have Sam blow up at Mom and Dad again. Since he'd gotten his first library card, Sam had insisted that the Winchester way was wrong and had set out to become a lawyer to change the system. Dad still wasn't thrilled with the idea and Dean, he got stuck in the middle with Mom.

"...really didn't think you'd ever actually do this."

Dean tuned back in in time to see Sam's disgusted look. He didn't deserve that, not this time. Dean was not that kind of asshole, no matter how good Cas looked. You didn't do that if you had any spit of decency.

"I gave him a choice," Dean pointed out, his voice hard as iron. "Hell, I'll take that collar off him myself any time he wants to leave."

Sam looked tired and Dean was hit by the familiar feeling of wanting to lock his brother in his room until all the worry and weariness went out of him.

"Dean..." Sam shook his head and sighed. "Please."

Dean closed his eyes as he drank. Then, he felt it. Someone was in the doorway and they were wearing a collar.

"I am not interrupting?"

"No, Sam's done," Dean replied pointedly.

Sam glared, but got to his feet. He paused beside Castiel who looked guilelessly back. Dean looked hard; there was a question in the corners of Castiel's eyes and in his mouth. You just had to know where to look.

"If you need anything," Sam was saying earnestly. "You give me a call, any time, okay?"

"Thank you, Sam."

Castiel sat down beside Dean before Dean could even ask him to. Sam shook his head again and disappeared out the door, calling over his shoulder about meetings and dinner and the candy one of his annoying associates kept stuffing into his pockets.

Castiel favoured Dean with a long and interested look, like he was seeing all the way through Dean to his bones. It was not something Dean enjoyed.

"Why do you do it?" Castiel asked suddenly before Dean could crack the silence, like he knew what Dean and Sam had argued about. Hell, it didn't take much guessing.

"The railroad? It's what we do." Dean shrugged. "There should be a choice."

Castiel nodded slowly, like he saw what Dean wasn't saying at all - that he'd seen the naked terror in the eyes of slaves they'd found, the girls and boys he'd watched bleed out, the disgusting lie of it they had to keep up so that their secret worked, the pain that thudded through his veins because he could never do enough.

Castiel understood.

He reached out and his fingers brushed against Dean's hand, a butterfly touch to his pulse. Like a reassurance.

"You are a righteous man, Dean Winchester," Castiel informed him. "I will not leave you."

Dean tried hard not to choke on his beer. It was a near thing. Castiel blinked slowly, but his stare never wavered.

Castiel stared, but the kitchen table continued to fill up. Cindy was singing along to the radio. Her collar was in place and she sounded happy.

"Are you happy, Cindy?"

Cindy laughed, delighted. She claimed to find Castiel 'cute.' He was not sure he enjoyed that term, but it seemed to mean that she baked the cakes he particularly liked so he did not complain aloud.

"Oh, Cas. It's irrelevant." She spun alarmingly close to the hot stove. "I could be two doors down where Jake locks his slaves in the basement. I'm happier than where I was before. Least I know they care, or they think they do."

"Dean cares."

"Yes, he does," Cindy seemed to be laughing at him, causing Castiel to frown. "But he's not lived it."

"I think he dreams about it."

Cindy put another plate of cakes down, dusting off her hands, fingerprints smudging where the skin of her belly was revealed.

"I'd believe that," her voice was softer. "He's had scares more than any of them."

"His family?"

"The whole railroad," Cindy sounded grim and her eyes looked far away.

Then the front door slammed and Mary Winchester was talking to Tyler. Just like that, Cindy's frown was hidden under a sunny smile. It made Castiel frown even more. The Winchesters claimed there were no obligations, but unwritten rules were held to. Slaves appeared happy and bright at all times, grateful for what they had been granted, even when they weren't. Sometimes it was like the air was being squeezed out.

"We're lucky," Cindy claimed quietly, as Mary came down the hallway.

Castiel was unsure who she was trying to convince.

Castiel slept in Dean's room every night – to save space and keep up the façade because enforcement visits came at all times, especially to the Winchester household. There was a fold-out cot and clean comfortable bedding. Dean hadn't shared his room since he was eight and Sammy snored. It was kind of nice, to hear Castiel's always steady breathing.

Some nights though, he could do with some space.

Dean gasped into the darkness, blood and screams spilling out of his dreams and heart hammering. He was sweating so much that the sheets stuck to him. It was not unfamiliar.

"What do you dream about, Dean?"

Castiel's eyes were open and fixed on him. He looked rumpled. It was a hell of a good look on him. Dean could see Castiel's collar. He could still hear the screams. He turned over.

He could feel the way Castiel's eyes stayed on him.

Sam never looked happy when he found Castiel doing the Winchester's paperwork, painstakingly creating what they needed to get slaves to their families and to live free lives. Castiel had come to expect his disappointed look. He even understood it. That made Sam even sadder.

"You don't have to do this, Cas."

"I know."

"Then why..." Sam paused and lowered his voice. "Seriously, Mom can do it. She taught me and Dean how."

Castiel thought about it carefully. Sam responded to logic, to the facts and to the law, which he was trying to get broken and remade. Castiel admired that, even if he believed it was not possible.

"These laws," he spread his fingers over the papers. "My father taught me them. He said I would need them, that they were important tools."

"Cas...you can't believe any of this is right?"

Castiel shook his head. Equality had been his father's teaching, though his other children had twisted such rules into loopholes for their own ends. Castiel had not been one of them. He had followed his father's voice, even into life as a slave, waiting for direction.

"No. I can see now that there are many roads and that my father equipped me for this."

Sam stared and Castiel bent his head back over the papers, ink staining his fingers. He would not wash his hands afterwards; he had noticed how Dean looked at the black and blue smudges at the end of the day. Just as he knew that Sam's associate had hidden two candy bars in Sam's bag for him to find when he was exhausted at the library after long research hours. Castiel was a scholar of many things.

The day they got Mandy, she was bleeding. Dean had been with his Dad when Johnson had talked about carelessly getting rid of her.

"She's costing me. I won't get a good price for her."

"I'll buy her cheap. We're running short." Dad appraised her like livestock and Dean had perfected the disinterested look that matched, fists aching to beat into Johnson until the son of a bitch bled too.

Castiel watched from the car and Dean could feel the judgement on his shoulders.

Johnson had gotten a good price and clapped Dad on the shoulder with a laugh like he'd gotten the better deal. Dean scooped her up, with Earlie's help, and shoved her into the backseat for Cas to look after. Cas squeezed his wrist under Mandy's skirts.

"I will staunch the bleeding," he announced once Dad started the car.

"Need to do more than that," Dad replied gruffly, as Earlie bolstered Mandy's other side. "Stitch kit's under the seat."

Dean caught Cas's eyes in the mirror. Cas nodded, retrieving the box and muttering with Earlie about techniques and stitching and infections. It all rushed over Dean's head but he kept his eyes on it all, his hands clenching around the butt of his shotgun.

It wasn't good news at home either. Two more slaves had been lost on a stretch of the railroad that had been giving them some recent problems. Mom looked determined, clinging to Mandy's arrival as the sun that had come in through the rainstorm. Dad held her close and Dean left them to it, kicking open the back door to get to the fresh air.

"We did a good thing today," Castiel announced into the twilight. "Her life is safe because of us."

"Until we lose it for her out in Arkansas."

Dean bared his teeth into the words, under the cover of darkness. Cas was staring at him, he could tell.

"Dean." It was mildly reproving. He was learning. "How can you not see what you have done?"

"Can't see the forest for the trees, what can I say?" Dean made sure there was a grin in his words. "Forget it, Cas. You're right, she's safe. We win."

He could feel Cas's eyes on his back the whole night.

Not everyone saw the world the way Mary Winchester did. Dean had realised that by the time he was old enough to slip out to a bar armed with a fake I.D. and a ton of his Dad's take-no-shit attitude. He'd decided that his parents were right. There was work to be done.

Sam had chosen differently, and mostly Dean was not okay with that.

He'd had his brother's back since he'd carried him out of the fire that had destroyed their Kansas home. Climbed with him through the junkers in Bobby's scrapyard. Gotten him drunk for the first time ever at the Roadhouse. They were close, they'd always be close.

But sometimes, it was like shouting across a canyon, straining to hear an answer back.

"Dean,"

The voice was insistent. The voice was Cas. Dean cracked an eye open, an annoyed noise erupting out of his mouth. Cas was stood over him, like a statue, forbidding and kind of beautiful. And Dean was really glad he never said stuff like that aloud.

"There is a light on beside the door. It is green."

Dean opened both eyes for that. Shit. Were those footsteps? They didn't have much time.

"Cas, get over here."

"Dean?"

"In bed. There's an inspection, looking for runaways. Ria hit up the warning."

Castiel stared, but neatly folded up the cot out of sight and obediently slid under the covers. In the dim light, his eyes shone. Dean found it pretty damn hard to look away. He moved closer.

"I do not understand."

Dean shifted so that he was facing Cas. He could feel his warm breath. There were voices somewhere outside the room, maybe on the floor below. Mom was laughing, probably offering the suits coffee. Dad would be glowering from the doorway, itching to use the piece stuffed into the back of his pyjama pants.

"You're registered as mine, Cas," Dean hissed into the dark, heavy with meaning. "And I've got a reputation."

Understanding blossomed in Castiel's expression and he nodded. He glided closer without anymore hesitation, his thigh pressed against Dean's. Dean's breath hitched in surprise. Cas had gotten with the game pretty damn quickly. Then Cas arranged himself carefully over Dean, tucking his head under Dean's chin.

"Jesus, Cas..."

"This is not sufficient?"

"No, no, this'll work."

The green light died abruptly. The suits were ascending. Sure enough, that was Mom's voice rising. Dad had probably stayed downstairs to check they hadn't been bugged again. There was a customary knock at the door, that meant nothing, and then the door opened. Castiel kept his eyes closed.

There were two of them, stony-faced and washed in the kind of greyness that made Dean want to reach for the gun tucked under his pillow. Dean squinted against the sudden influx of light. He could see Mom, in that rose-pink thing Dad'd bought her last year, smiling like she knew a secret that no one else did.

"Dean Winchester?"

"What the fuck do you want?" His words were all slurred together in tiredness.

Castiel moved a little, like he was edging into wakefulness. Dean glared out with an irritated expression, not difficult.

"Don't you guys ever sleep? Or have anything better to do?" he growled, like the disturbance was the fucking inconvenience that it was.

He rolled Cas slightly so that his collar was visible. The suits nodded, checking something off on their notes and whatever photographs they had.

"Thanks, sweetie." That was Mom. "Get some sleep now."

"I was trying..."

The door slammed shut, cutting off anything more insulting Dean was planning on hurling at the suits. There wasn't even in a point in filing complaints against them. They'd still come in the middle of the night, claiming it was procedure.

"I am tired," Cas announced, sounding surprised.

Dean was way ahead of him, tipping over onto his side with relief, eyes already feeling heavy again, his back to Castiel. "Suits'll be back in an hour tops."

"Why?"

"They think they'll find something."

It wasn't the first time Dean'd shared a bed with a 'slave' for cover. But he slept unusually well this time, a lot better than usual. There were no nightmares for the first time in months. Cas was there in the morning, eyes wide and clear and eager, and his hand lingered on Dean's shoulder. Dean was left with painful morning wood. He stood under an extremely cold shower for almost half an hour, cursing loudly.

The night time inspections increased. Dean didn't complain when the nightmares stayed away. Cas kept carefully to his own side of the bed, after a talk from Dean about personal space, and asked about the pillow creases in his cheeks like he'd never seen them before. Dean took a lot of cold showers.

-the end