"Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky, The flying cloud, the frosty light: The year is dying in the night; Ring out, wild bells, and let him die. Ring out the old, ring in the new, Ring, happy bells, across the snow: The year is going, let him go; Ring out the false, ring in the true." Tennyson 1850

There was peace in the vineyard in early autumn. The leaves still carried in them the vibrance of green that reminded one of life. The fiery hues of October though provided comfort too, and that was just around the corner. There was worry though about this winter. There were not many vineyards in the United States at this time. Wines came from Burgundy or, at the very least, a respectable European enclave, maybe from somewhere in Austria. Dean had been proud of his father's choices, choices that lead to him having an escape at the end of the war. His entire world was made up on the foundation that John had provided for him.

Prior to the first great war, John had not seen the need to look to foreigners for wine and had begun planting in earnest. He was a young man then, full of ideals and dreams of success. As his efforts started generating success, John decided to begin a family. He had married a woman that was considered by many to be a bit wild. She gave him four years of herself and two children before she left. John had spent time looking for her, but eventually he came home to his boys and gave up the search. Raising them alone could not have been easy for him, but he threw himself into the task. He imparted to them a love for the land, the necessity for something solid to call home, "For a man ain't nothing, if he hasn't got some land." He had said this often enough that it had become one of his great truths. Dean accepted it whole-heartedly. The land and home were the things that drew him back from his war, back from the all-consuming and ever present thoughts of it when they stormed his dreams.

Before the second war had pulled Dean from his home, though, John had other things to contend with. There were those that felt that wine had to travel a great distance to be truly great. There were those that could not understand why he would put all of this effort into something that was a mere luxury and not a necessity. His wines, though, once consumed were well-liked, and slowly they became quite popular in niche circles of the local elite. When Prohibition reared its ugly head, John had claimed that his wine would be produced solely for the church. They would after all still need to have the Sacrament. If, somehow, some of the bottles found their way into less obvious houses of worship, say a small jazz playing room on Clifford St., he could not be held accountable for that. He provided only to the churches after all.

This had been Dean's father. Even with years to adjust to his death, Dean still found himself starting conversations with him as he strolled through the rows of grapes. He sometimes, would even finish the conversations too, if no one was there to hear. It kept him alive a little. He was also the only one that Dean could talk with about the things that still haunted him. He did not talk with him about them when he was alive, but somehow, in death, John was the only one that could provide the comfort that Dean sought from the nightmares of the second great war.

In all of his years of work on his father's land, they had never had an ounce of trouble from any outsiders. They did what was necessary and kept mostly to themselves. They had not been recluses, mind you, but they had not gone out of their ways to encourage social interactions on their land. Socializing seemed more reasonable outside of the home. Perhaps it was because home was work. Dean did not think much of the issue as it was not an issue for him.

The land adjacent to Dean's was owned by the Novaks. Their patriarch was a man named Zachariah. He was a cantankerous man, that seemed to only show kindness to his trees and his bees. Zachariah's land had been vast at one point. He had sold off acreage here and their over the years as it became clear that he would not be able to manage it all himself. When he had chosen to send his only son to the Napa State Hospital, that only added to his struggles. When Zachariah had died, there had been some concern in the community about who would manage the land. So it was somewhat surprising to Dean when one morning he saw a slender man walking through the orchards. He wore a loose fitting white button up over tan trousers. He did not have a coat, and although it was still early autumn, it was cold enough to make extra layers necessary.

Dean stood at the edge of his vineyard, on a small rise of land, watching the man walk through the orchard. He considered calling out a hello, but since he didn't do it right away, time passed into what could be called awkwardness. The man strode with purpose to the rows of white wooden boxes. They contained bees, or at least they use to. Dean remembered his dad's explanations from when he was younger. He had said that their neighbors were obsessed with them, but that he couldn't complain as they made some of the best honey he had ever had.

The man looked familiar, but it was hard to tell at this distance. He had a mass of dark brown hair that seemed to be wildly out of control. Dean watched him pry up the edge of the box. He was staring down into it, fingers running along the edges with reverence. Dean decided that staring was now bordering on the unacceptable, and so he decided to wander over and say hello. He could have slipped away unseen, but he was too curious.

"Hello." Dean must have startled him a little because he nearly lost his grip on the lid to the bee box. "Oh, sorry. I didn't mean to startle you." Dean stepped over closer, intending to help with the lid.

"Oh, no problem. I didn't know that anyone else was out here." He stared at Dean a second and tipped his head to the side in contemplation. "Dean?"

"Yes, do I know you." Dean looked steadily at the man and wondered if they had met before. He felt the thin stirrings of worry over it, because he couldn't place him.

"You don't remember me?" He kicked at the pebbles on the ground at his feet and seemed to be reluctant to make eye contact again. "I guess it has been a long time."

Suddenly, Dean remembered. "Cas?" The man looked up with a widening smile. "God damn, you are all grown up." Dean laughed and stepped closer, pulling the man into a hug.

Cas laughed into the hug. "Can't believe you didn't recognize me."

"Well, it has been, what, fifteen years?" Dean released him and took a small step back.

"A bit more, but yes it has been a long time. The years have been good to you." Cas' eyes moved up Dean's frame then he looked out toward the vineyards beyond him.

Dean chose to focus on the land. "Yes, my dad set me up nicely. When he passed, I didn't have to do much with the place. I just let it keep doing its thing. We have a good crew of workers, and the product is still appealing to people." He looked back at Cas then and wanted to ask about his last fifteen years, but he couldn't. He knew about some of it. He knew about a lot of it, and asking would be unpleasant for both of them. Instead he asked about something more immediate. "So, are you taking over your father's land now that he has passed." He paused a moment and added, "I'm sorry about your loss, by the way."

"I'm sorry about yours. Your father was a good man, even if our fathers did not quite see eye to eye. I always admired John." He moved his hands down to his sides and angled them into his pockets. Dean took in the whole look of him. He was very pale, quite possibly because the hospital had not given him much time outdoors. Cas interrupted his thoughts, "I am going to try to keep the place running. I had to do a fair amount of convincing to get my freedom."

Dean felt the awkward stirring in his gut. He had a great many questions, but he was less than willing to press them out onto Cas. He didn't know how to proceed in their conversation. It had been easier when they had been kids. He ran his hand up into his hair and held his neck a little in a nervous gesture that was a habit of his. "So you will be living here again?"

"Yes, you will have a neighbor again. I suppose that you were just getting use to the solitude." It was almost a question.

"I've always been a little solitary. Just me and the grapes, well, and dad." Dean thought about the things that lived in his head, the too real images of battle, of distant men unknowingly taking their last breaths before he pulled the trigger on his sniper rifle. Even in solitude, he was never truly alone. He pulled himself out of his reminiscence and added, "I have done my best to keep mostly to myself. I find that sometimes social interactions do not go so well." He did not know why he was sharing. He just didn't want Cas to think that he was unwilling to acknowledge his responsibility for the past.

Cas did not respond right away. He shuffled his feet and then turned back to the bee box. He pushed the lid down more firmly then strode over to the next one. Dean followed him at a respectable distance. "It wasn't your fault, you know." This last was almost a question too.

"Hmm." Dean couldn't say more. He knew what his role had been. He knew what had happened and why. There was nothing that Cas could say to erase that.

Cas was prying up the edge of the box. Dean stepped closer, curiosity getting the better of him. "So, you never married." Again it seemed like a question, but it was said as though Cas knew the answer already.

"No. Marriage just never seemed to be in the cards for me." Dean reached out and helped to lift the lid of the box, moving it off to the side with Cas in a fluid motion. He peered inside and saw the nearly motionless collection of bees in the rows of honeycomb.

"Hmm. Didn't your father pressure you to find a wife to carry on the family name?" Dean knew that more was being said here. He knew that Cas wondered beyond what he could put into words.

He did not answer the unspoken questions though, at least not directly. "No. He let Sam take on the monumental task of marriage and family for the both of us. I think that he knew that I was a lost cause."

"So, Sam is around?"

"No, he is working in San Francisco. He is a lawyer. He comes to visit from time to time. He says that it is good to get out into the country for a spell every now and then." He stared more at the bees than at Cas. He wondered when they would start perking up. "My father always said that you Novaks made the best honey."

"Can't take credit for what the bees do. We just collected the fruits of their labors. I'm glad that they are still alive. I feared that with dad's death that they would be lost. There had been some rather cold nights lately."

"They seem to be a little still." Dean leaned in closer. "Does the honey still taste like lavender?"

Cas smiled, Dean remembered the smile. He had done his level best to push aside certain memories over the years. He had even let himself forget what Cas had looked like. He had, however, not completely forgotten the smile. It was the type of smile that was genuine and inviting. It made you want to lean in closer, share ideas, conspire, and dream out loud. Dean pushed that aside though as something more immediate was drawing his attention. Cas had taken his hand. His heart thudded about in a spastic rhythm of concern and excitement. "Here."

"What are you doing?" Dean's voice was more of a stuttered murmur than it had been a moment before. Cas answered with actions. He moved Dean's hand up into the edge of the box. He extended Dean's finger and pressed it into the edge of the comb. It was waxy and a little viscous.

Cas pulled Dean's finger back out of the comb and held it up in front of him. Dean could see the honey on the end, a long glob of sticky sweetness slowly moving down his finger. Cas was still holding his hand in front of his face. "Well, taste it. You tell me if it still tastes like lavender." Cas pushed his hand forward a little.

Dean opened his mouth and let his finger slip in. Lavender. He sucked away the sweetness and did not remove his finger for a moment. There was something about doing that that Dean knew would end the rest of the intimacy. When the honey was gone, he would lose Cas' hand on his. He did not let himself think about why this was a concern. It just was, and he let it be. He moved his finger back out of his mouth, and Cas released his hand. "Still tastes like lavender."

Cas turned to the box and pressed his own finger into the comb, where Dean's finger had been a moment before. He scooped out a little honey and tasted it himself. "It is more than lavender though."

"Yes."

"It also has flavors from the pear trees and your vineyard. The boxes that are closer to the eastern side of the orchard have a stronger flavor of lavender. They are farther away from the vineyard there and closer to the lavender plants."

"Oh, I'm sorry that the vineyard is tainting the honey." Dean felt a little guilty.

"No, I didn't mean to imply." Cas reached down then and picked up the lid to replace it. "I prefer the honey from these bees. The mix of the flavors is appealing." He pressed the lid back into place. Dean pushed on the opposite side. "Didn't you like the flavor?"

"Yes. I just misunderstood you is all." He could hear the distant sound of his workers making their way through the rows. They would begin the harvest tomorrow. He was glad of it. The threat of frost was looming over them all. The ice would destroy the crops, and he did not want to imagine how he would deal with that much loss. The grapes needed more time to ripen, but there could be no more waiting where the weather was concerned. "I should be going." Dean took a tentative step back.

"Yes, I imagine you have a very full day ahead of you. I saw your workers rolling in this morning. Harvest?" Cas leaned against the box, the light catching his blue eyes in a way that was charming. One would not guess that he had been committed for so long.

Dean dove back into the conversation. It was entirely to easy too let his mind slip from safe paths. "They are setting up today. The harvest will begin tomorrow. So much for your quiet life, I guess."

Cas looked down at his feet then back up, catching Dean's eyes. "I think that I have had enough of the quiet life."

Dean caught the reference that Cas was making to his time away. He chose to navigate around it though. "Well, if you happen to be up for company, stop by any time." Dean began walking back to his land. "See you around, Cas."

"It was good seeing you again." Cas gave Dean a little wave and turned back to his bees.

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