The grass tickled his fingertips as he walked, the expensive shoes he wore creating small indentations in the moist dirt below. The small, almost hidden space he came upon moments later was his favorite. Birch trees shaded nearly everything except the babbling creek, which often glinted happily in the warmth of the sun, and the grass remained soft the entire year until winter took its toll. It was a place of refuge for Dean Winchester, a place to escape the stiff, the prim, and the proper: it was a place to be himself by himself.

Sighing, the seventeen year old removed his leather shoes and rolled up his white Egyptian cotton trousers to step into the cool water. At its deepest, it only came up to his mid-calf, providing the perfect way to cool himself under the weight of the warm, sticky air around him. Wiggling his toes as tiny minnows swam by, Dean smiled softly, letting silence wash away all the business jargon his father had tried to instill within him that very morning. He didn't want to go into the family's long held company, it never felt right for him and was never as enthralling to him as his it was to his father. However, he didn't have a choice, a fact he'd known from the time he was eleven.

But here, a cool breeze carding its fingers through his short hair, all those worries and stresses were gone. Here, all he had to think about was the sensations around him, the sound of the birds in the trees, the creek washing over his legs, the rustling of the brush to his right- Snapping his gaze to the source of the unusual sound, Dean backed out of the creek slowly, afraid of getting caught. He always told his father he was going out to study away from the stifling heat inside the house, and getting caught with his feet in the water and his books and lunch sitting untouched behind him would evoke a punishment he didn't wish to think about.

However, instead of his father or some animal emerging from the brush, a stranger appeared instead. "Can I help you?" Dean blurted out before he could stop himself, licking his lips as he stood taller to make up for the ridiculous sight he must've made.

A head adorned with an unbelievably dirty mop of black hair snapped up at his words, frightened blue eyes meeting his green. "Um," the boy said, voice gravelly from disuse before he cleared his throat, "I was just looking for a place to get a drink."

"Well this is private property," Dean replied, hating how snobby he suddenly sounded as his heart returned from his stomach to his chest, the fear of being caught replaced by hesitant curiosity as to where this stranger had emerged from.

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize. The road is so close, I didn't think-" the blue eyed boy replied, gesturing behind him in his rushed explanation as he backed away, gaze lingering for half a second on the cold, clear water. "I'll go."

Dean, at the stranger's longing glance to the water, instantly felt poorly and shook his head. "Wait, I didn't mean it like that," he said quickly, "you just surprised me is all, I've never seen someone back here before." He rubbed the back of his neck, gesturing to the water with his free hand. "If you need a drink, by all means- it's hot today."

The boy, who seemed to be about his age, nodded with a grateful look before dropping to his knees to scoop up some of the cold water, sucking it up as if he hadn't had a drink for days. And, by the looks of him, dressed in rags and barely-there shoes, Dean surmised he probably hadn't. "You, um, are you traveling?"

The boy looked up quickly, almost as if a feral animal would at a sudden sound, and shrugged, leaning back on his heels to catch his breath from the long drink. "Not really. I go from place to place," he replied, embarrassed at his state in the presence of such a well put together person.

Dean looked away uncomfortably for a second at the pained look that welled for half a second in the boy's blue eyes, nodding. "I live just up the hill there," he said, unsure of what else to reply as a pregnant pause rested between them. "I'm Dean, by the way."

"Castiel."

"That's not one you hear everyday."

A hint of a smile playing around the corner of his lips, Castiel's bony shoulders shrugged slightly. "I suppose."

Unsure of what else to, Dean pointed a thumb behind himself as a pant leg threatened to fall into the water below. "I've got some lunch with me. If you've got enough time to stop, you can have some."

Castiel's eyes, framed by dirty sun tanned skin and deep dark circles, nearly went wide at the prospect of food he hadn't been offered for at least three days. "I have enough time," he replied a little too quickly, trying to act nonchalant as he crossed the small creek, no care taken to roll up his pant legs. They could probably do with a washing, anyway, he thought with slight distaste: the other boy looked so /clean/, he would probably be repulsed if he got too close. So, Castiel kept his distance, sitting a good three feet away as Dean unpacked the small lunch.

"Here," Dean said once he'd divided the portions, purposefully giving the other boy more. He looked like he certainly needed it.

Castiel gave Dean a short, immensely grateful smile and reached the distance to take his half of the cold chicken sandwich, an apple, and a small piece of chocolate cake, which he set aside for last. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had sweets, let alone chocolate. It was as if stumbling across this boy was a feverish dream, brought on by the sweltering heat and pang of emptiness in his belly that never seemed to leave.

Dean watched in rapt attention as Castiel took a small bite of his sandwich, muscles tense and face concentrated as if he was simultaneously trying to savor the moment and keep himself from eating the whole thing in one bite.

"You haven't had much to eat in a while, have you?" The Winchester asked suddenly, sympathy in his loaded question.

Castiel looked down to his shoes at the question, scowling internally at the tip of his big toe sticking traitorously from the tip of his too-small shoe. "Not really," he replied, an ashamed flush creeping across the back of his neck. "Haven't had the time."

Dean nodded, a silent agreement not to question the other boy's excuse clear in his eyes. "Well, hey, if you wanted to stick around 'til tomorrow," he began, wondering what he was doing offering such graciousness to a mere stranger, "I could bring you food and water and things like that before you move on. My old man doesn't really take kindly to charity or anything, he thinks if people work hard they'll get what they need no matter what. Doesn't really like visitors in the house, either." He paused, clearing his throat. "But I could still bring you stuff, if you wanted. Just so you'll be ready to go where ever you're heading or something."

Castiel stared at Dean for a long while, swallowing around the small tightness in his throat. Kindness was so foreign to him by then it was almost difficult to fathom the offer. However, once the other boy stopped himself from rambling, Castiel found himself nodding eagerly, sucking a bit of luscious chocolate frosting from his finger hungrily. "I- That would be wonderful. Just 'til I move on," he confirmed, voice meek and thankful.

Dean felt himself smile broadly, popping the last bit of sandwich into his mouth. Helping others always lifted his spirits. "Then it's a plan." Glancing to the waning sun, he paused, realizing how late he'd actually stayed out. "Look," he said regrettably, standing to smooth his clothing, slipping his leather shoes back on in the process, "I've got to get going. Do you have a place to sleep tonight? I can be by tomorrow afternoon."

Castiel tried to keep the disappointment from his face and automatically nodded, the lie he he gave in response one he was used to. "Yes, I have a place to sleep."

Dean, although he was less than convinced, could see Castiel was trying to keep a brave, unembarrassed facade and relented silently. "Nifty. Um, see you tomorrow?"

"See you," Castiel replied, smiling gently at the boy in front of him.

"Where have you been?"

Dean tried to keep from shrinking away from his father, instead standing tall upon the marble floors like he was always instructed. "I'm sorry, I got caught up studying."

John sighed, lips creasing in slight disbelief and disappointment that glimmered just beneath the surface of his features. "I hope it'll help you, then. We have that party coming up in a few weeks and I want to make a good impression with these men. They may be potential stock holders, and I want you on the level at all times."

Nodding numbly, Dean adjusted the book under his arm, itching to head upstairs for a bit of quiet before what he was sure would be a nearly solitary dinner filled with talk about jobs and money with his father. "I know, I'll try my best."

With that, Dean turned to walk up the double staircase, the confident, worry free lightness his shoulders had previously possessed gone, replaced by a slumped appearance that was only ever brought on by dwelling in his lavish home.

Castiel, as night fell, laid out his tattered jacket next to the creek, his head pillowed by his arm and soft blades of grass. He had a feeling Dean didn't fully believe he had a place to stay the night, but as long as he was up and awake by the afternoon there would be no getting caught in his lie. Breathing out softly as a summer-warm wind brushed over his greasy hair, Castiel let his eyes flutter shut, reveling in the fact his stomach wasn't growling as he drifted into sleep.

That night, instead of hunger or the Incident, Castiel dreamed of green eyes.