Uhh...welcome back, everyone! It's me again, RedCoatsRedder, with my latest multi-chapter work and my will to live intact!

Dean Winchester was not what you would call a gentleman.

For example, right now he was engaged in a rather vicious bar fight with a man who looked to be ten years his senior, a good twenty pounds heavier, and probably three mugs of beer drunker than he was. On the bright side, he was winning.

The other man lunged at him, a fist swinging in the general vicinity of his face. Dean dodged it easily, because being drunk had never done anything for a person's aim. The guy's face got even redder, if that was possible, and let out an angry bellow.

Around them, the tavern's other patrons were beginning to cheer, and a couple idiots were placing bets on who would win. This was beginning to look like it might turn out to be a proper fight.

Dean grabbed one of the drunk guy's arms, and used his free hand to land a punch on the asshole's nose. Cheering and laughter rose from the crowd, then died abruptly as the tavern owner came out and shouted, "What in God's name is going on out here? I don't cater to heathens, anyone who's brawling can get the hell out! Go on!"

Then he caught sight of Dean, and frowned. "Except for you, Winchester."

Bobby Singer was the owner of this particular tavern, and he knew Dean's father quite well. By extension, he also knew Dean quite well. So if (when) Dean got into a fight with one of the more idiotic patrons of Bobby's tavern, he was the one who gave him a rag to wipe the blood off his knuckles and then promptly showed him a row of dirty glasses to clean as punishment.

"Boy, what am I going to do with you?" Bobby sighed as Dean ran a hand through his hair. Unlike a lot of men, Dean preferred to keep his hair short.

"Not tell my dad?" Dean grinned, but there was still a hint of a serious question under his flippant words. He'd never live it down if word got back to home about the real reason he got into another fight.

Tensions with the King and England were heating up fast. More and more unjust laws were being passed, and it seemed the number of soldiers on the American shore was growing by the day. It was getting to the point that people were being forced to quarter the unwelcome visitors in their homes. But that wasn't why Dean was fighting.

"I'm not sure how much longer I can keep this from your father, Dean." Bobby picked up a mug, turning it around in his hands. Worry laced his tone.

Dean sighed. "We both know that Dad would rip me another one if he found out why I was fighting with these guys. And we both know that I'm not going to let them keep insulting me like that."

Before Bobby could say anything else, Dean was out the door and in the street.

The street was full of people. Two men rode past on horses, a wagon clattered by, and the general populace of the town flowed around him. Dean wove through it all, dodging a cluster of gentlemen in frock coats who must've thought it was a good idea to stand right in the middle of the sidewalk.

As he reached the outskirts of town the crowds thinned out, and he broke into a run. His boots pounded on the ground as he curved off the road, racing through a field and vaulting a fence. When his destination came into view, he slowed and straightened his shirt. Satisfied, he trotted the rest of the way into his family's farmyard.

They didn't actually farm anymore. In fact, his father was a blacksmith who worked in town. But the house and its plot of land had been in his mother's family for generations.

Dean patted his jet- black mare, Baby, on the nose and headed inside. "Sammy, I'm home!" He shouted, heading into their parlor and flopping down on a chair. Thankfully his opponent from the bar hadn't landed any blows, so there was nothing to hide.

His little brother came down the stairs, another book tucked under his arm. Sam was four years Dean's junior, with floppy hair that hung to just above his shoulders. He read a great deal and was hoping to go to law school within the next year. At sixteen, he was just about old enough.

"Hey, Dean. How's Bobby?" Sam asked, setting his book down and brushing some of his hair out of his eyes.

"He's fine, fine." Dean replied absentmindedly. "Man, I'm telling you, ten minutes with those old shears."

Sam snorted, drawing a bit of ribbon out of his pocket and tying his hair back. "Whatever, Dean. I like my hair like this. It looks good!"

"Keep telling yourself that, Sammy."

The sun was already very low in the sky when the door of the old farmhouse banged open. "Boys, I'm home!" John Winchester's voice rang out.

In their room, Dean's eyes snapped open and Sam put down his book. They looked at each other; it sounded like their father was drunk again. Slowly, they headed down the stairs.

When their father was drunk, he'd either get very melancholy and sit in silence for hours, or he'd get explosively angry at any little noise or disturbance and then sulk for hours, staring at a small miniature of their late mother, Mary Winchester.

When they reached the bottom, their father simply looked at them. "Dean- you look so much like your mother." was all John said before he collapsed into the nearest chair, asleep.

And that was Dean's home life.

…

Both boys rose with the sun. It was mostly habit, but also because their room faced the direction of the rising sun and the curtains did very little. In fact, that was how they'd developed the habit.

Dean raced down the stairs, grabbing an apple that someone had left lying around (probably Sammy- he was big on eating fruits and vegetables whenever someone in town was selling) and hurried outside.

Baby's saddle was hanging over the wooden wall of her stall. The family's other two horses, an old stallion named Riot and another mare, Jess, whinnied a greeting at him. "Sammy'll come feed you guys soon, don't worry." Dean called over his shoulder as he adjusted the straps on Baby's tack. When he was satisfied, he mounted and galloped off.

Though they lived too far away from town to have many neighbors, there was one family who lived a five minute walk away from their house. But on a horse, Dean reached the Novak house in two.

His best friend lived in that house. Castiel Novak was Dean's same age, twenty, and he had dark brown hair that almost looked black, he was just a little shorter than Dean, and he had the bluest eyes you'd ever seen…

Ahem. Dean had long harbored a secret crush on Cas. But he'd never be able to do anything about it, not with the public's attitude towards… people like him.

As he trotted down the lane into the Novak's yard, Gabriel Novak greeted him. He was one of Castiel's many brothers, along with Michael and Lucifer, who were twins, Raphael, Uriel, Balthazar, Samandriel, and his sisters, Hannah and Anna. The Novaks were a big family.

"Good morning, Dean! You here to see Cassie? He's inside. Hold on." Gabriel turned around, cupping his hands around his mouth, and shouted, "Balthy! Tell Cassie to get his ass outside, Dean's here!"

The other Novak, Balthazar, who'd just stepped outside, stuck his head into the house and passed the message on to Hannah.

A few minutes later, Castiel stepped outside, tying a cravat around his neck and shouting goodbyes over his shoulder. He saw Dean on his horse and grinned.

Gabriel, who, for once in his life, seemed to have decided to be helpful, passed Cas the reins of his gold-brown horse, Inias. "See you too later. Don't get killed!" he snickered, before walking off, probably to go prank some poor soul. Gabe was a real trickster.

Castiel smiled up at Dean, who felt his heart melt a little right then and there. "Hello, Dean."

…

They were racing to a little cliff that overlooked the sea. Dean was just a little ahead, but Cas was close on his heels and slowly gaining ground. They thundered down the path, laughing and calling out good -natured insults to one another.

When they reached the overlook, Dean pulled Baby to a halt. "I win! Take that, Cas." he crowed. "Not even Inias is fast enough to best Baby here."

Cas chuckled. "Just you wait and see, Dean Winchester. One of these days I'll get you." He dismounted, walking to the edge of the cliff and sitting down in the grass. Dean joined him, and they sat there enjoying the view and the breeze coming off the sea as the horses grazed behind him.

A pair of seagulls soared in the sky over their heads, cawing to one another as they rode the gusts of wind, spiraling around like every action was a step in some sort of dance.

Dean was watching Cas out of the corner of his eyes. His friend had a small smile on his face, and the wind was touseling his hair. He looked so content- Castiel loved the sea.

"Dean." Cas said suddenly, breaking the silence that had fallen. "I need to ask you something…"

But Dean wasn't looking at his friend anymore. Something out on the ocean had caught his eye. "Cas. Cas, look. Out there- can you see that, or is it just me? Please tell me it's just me."

But it wasn't. Both boys got slowly to their feet and looked out at the horizon in dawning confusion and fear as the fleet of ships bearing the British flag got closer and closer.

What do you think? Should I keep going? Do you like it? Feedback would be awesome! ~RedCoatsRedder