Vertiga was a scrubby little planet, baked to a hard ceramic brown, and Jack hated it for murdering Castiel. Or maybe it wasn't murder. Considering the angel's attitude these late years, maybe it was assisted suicide. But the mission that killed him got a space freighter through a hail of native bullets. Tomorrow, the last outpost of human settlers trapped here would shake Vertiga's dust from their shoes. Dying for humanity - Castiel seemed bred in the bone for that and doomed to repeat it.
Jack didn't have time to think about him. He had about three hundred humans to wrangle in less than six hours, and two Focke-Wulf Sunhawk escort bombers to charge in the middle of the night. If those Sunhawks didn't have the juice to get out of orbit, he and the remainder of his unit would have to wait for rescue. They were all bowed under the pressure, but Castiel's death galvanized them against the long night.
The survivor's of Castiel's crew asked to search for him. Jack gave them credit - they used the excuse of searching for batteries in the downed craft. Jack told them no. Over and over again, because they were damned loyal. No, the resources they'd spend weren't worth the resources they might find. No, the native forces might be using the craft as bait. No, they couldn't spare the men. Jack needed every hand to get the settlers on board and keep the freighter crew soothed.
In the moment, in their grief, Castiel's unit only saw Jack as an obstruction. They hated him and he used that, hiding behind mirrored aviators and practiced stoicism.
When it got to be too much, Jack helped the settlers. Provisions had already been collected; they were down to crates of worldly goods now. Jack toted heirloom chests and rocking chairs with sun-blistered finish, thinking about the North American gold rush, the memories gone faint and quiet with disuse. He hunkered down with a stricken little girl in a faded orange jumpsuit, explaining that she could take her toy planes, but not her tricycle. Thank god this settlement project hadn't allowed pets. There were exhausted tears all around him, streaking dirty faces. Vertiga had been trying to buck these people off, one way or another, since they landed, but it was still a home. Some of them didn't even remember the starship that dropped them.
He had a minute to sleep eventually, and spent it balled up in his cockpit. Jack would be leaving the little solar plane behind, since only the Sunhawks were equipped for space flight. It was commandeered, one of a handful of solar-powered artillery sent with the Vertiga settlement. But since he and Castiel arrived on the planet, this retrofitted Grumman Avenger had been his. Unlike the bright silver wings of Castiel's Mustang, Jack's Avenger was a deep blue dun.
Jack could still see the silver wings spinning crazily, leveling off just to plummet into the canyon's shadows, chased by half a dozen enemy craft. The unseen crash sent a shockwave up, rippling a puff of dry dust out from the epicenter that Jack could see from the sky.
Castiel's scent curled up to Jack between the grease and vinyl. He peered around the front seat, to see one of the angel's bomber jackets thrown in the back. They rarely flew together, and Castiel hated co-piloting with a passion. It must have been left from—
The memory poured over him like a Vertiga dawn, warm honey into the cold hollow places. It was one quiet night in a still, stifling heat, when they'd stopped hating each other long enough to remember how much they missed each other's bodies. The guards came down and Castiel just seemed to melt under Jack, in the back seat of the Avenger.
—Jack bit the inside of his cheek until it bled and rolled out of the Avenger's cockpit as fast as he could. He stood outside the hangar a moment and tuned his radio in, listening to the night patrols exchange reports on the bluffs. All quiet. No surprise - the Vertiga natives were never in the air before midday.
He turned towards the canyon, touching the dial of his radio as if to clear up a blurry signal.
He prayed.
The next morning, Jack was up before his unit, already troubleshooting the Sunhawks' docking program with the space freighter. The power they'd cobbled together was just enough to get out of orbit, and dock. He fanned out the solar panels on the roof towards the sunrise, to catch every drop of power before liftoff. The process usually took two men fifteen minutes; he did it in ten.
His jaw almost wouldn't unclench to answer the first sleepy 'good mornings' from the crew. Jack accepted a cup of coffee without looking up, and read over the space freighter's flight plan. The nearest planet friendly to settlers was a few months away. It also happened to be on the freighter's route. Whether that was true lucky coincidence or some serious kind-hearted charity, Jack didn't ask.
Castiel's unit was cooperative, but distant. They took up their duties on the Sunhawk Castiel would have flown, they jumped to orders, but there was no warmth. Given how frequently both units witnessed their fights, Jack assumed they were unsurprised by his lack of grief. If they'd decided he was a cold bastard, they weren't wrong.
The men kept the cabin lights off, working by penlights to keep the batteries as charged as possible. Jack moved around both ships, watching his crews complete equipment tests for the final time. One by one, they flashed him a thumbs up, or radioed him an affirmative. When the last check got the green light, Jack called up to the space freighter. They confirmed, and began the ten-minute countdown to takeoff. Jack gave his crews the order to power up the Sunhawks, and jogged down the ramp one last time to the hangar.
His solar plane waited for him, the Avenger eager as a good horse in his imagination. Jack flung up the bay door to let the morning sun inside, and loped back to the plane. The easterly dawn painted its dusty blue hide with gold. Jack pushed a ladder against its flank, popped the canopy and reached into the back for Castiel's bomber jacket. The smell of it sank into Jack's chest, and he hurried down before it could catch in his throat.
As he was turning, Jack's eyes went across the tarmac. The concrete was already baking, heat shimmers rippling the scruffy brushland beyond.
On the other side of the tarmac was a figure.
It was too human to be one of the Vertiga natives. Jack thought maybe one of the crew defied his orders and sneaked off to the canyon after all, but even in the distortion of the heat, the slow, painful gait was obvious. Jack started out to it, running in a moment, heart hammering against his ribs.
The figure moved faster, still too slow. Jack heard the freighter's klaxon sounding, giving the five-minute warning. His Sunhawks would be taxiing for the runway soon, and the worried calls were already hitting Jack's radio. He should have taken a jeep. Jack punched the button on his collar radio, screaming as he ran. "I've got Major Angel! Repeat, I've got Major Angel! Sunhawk One, standby for boarding! Get a jeep to the east hangar bay!"
Castiel was filthy, his flightsuit unzipped and rucked down to the waist. There wasn't an inch of him free of char or dirt or dried blood; he looked like a half roasted ham, and the hair along the left side of his head was burned short. Jack could see the angry red outline of Castiel's headset on his cheek. Under his arm was a massive battery - yanked right out of his Mustang, Jack imagined. By the time Jack reached him, he could hear the buzz of a solar jeep coming up fast.
Castiel's eyes were clear and trained unswerving on Jack. Blue as a Terran summer sky. Jack reached for the battery before it slipped from Castiel's grip.
"I heard you," Castiel rasped, "Jack, I heard you."
He lunged, catching Jack's face between his hands, and kissed him hard.