The ride to Dean's land didn't take long. It was a fairly smooth wagon, only hitching once or twice on the rough ground as Castiel stared emptily out onto the passing prairie. Dean had opened his mouth to start a conversation a few times but stopped himself when he caught sight of the other man's face. Empty grief colored the slight lines on his face, giving him the appearance of sorrow beyond his age. So, Dean simply faced the road and clicked his tongue at the horses, his encouragement of the animal's pace the only sound breaking the silence that enveloped the two.
"This is it." Dean announced, clearing his throat of all the silence it had held before as they pulled up to his property. At Dean's sudden words, Castiel raised his blue eyes from the grass-covered ground to look ahead. His gaze instantly swept across the land, taking everything from the large willow trees surrounding the simple wooden house to the small, sloped hill in the back leading down to unseen land.
"It's beautiful," he said softly, voice low and scratchy from the crying and silence, not even aware the quiet words slipped past his lips. Dean smiled slightly, eyes flicking quickly over his familiar property. "Yeah, it works," he replied with a shrug, internally appreciating the comment on the land he had worked so hard to build up. "Let's get inside then."
Castiel nodded, slightly embarrassed by his own mouth, which never seemed to filter his innermost thoughts. Still stiff and sore from the journey, he stood and jumped from the wagon, ignoring his body's protest at the action. Following Dean, he focused on the slight scuff of their boots against the ground, focused on anything to keep him from thinking of Kate. This grief was his to bear, and he would be damned if he looked weak in front of anybody else. He had been humiliated enough.
Focusing back into reality from his stubborn thoughts as they entered the house, Castiel's sight was filled by a well-lit, spacious front room. A stove sat in one corner with a small table, a few dishes and cooking utensils scattering the counters, which tapered off to lead to a small sitting area in the middle of the room.
"My room is off to the side here," Dean started, stepping forward with a gesture at a doorway that lay to the side of them, "and your room is right next to it. Used to be the dining room but I figured since I would be hirin' people, they would need somewhere to live," he finished, stepping aside to let Castiel see his room, which held a simple bed, desk, and dresser. "Thank ya." Castiel drew softly, the bed suddenly looking tempting.
Almost as if he could pick up on Castiel's thoughts, Dean motioned to the front door. "Well, I've gotta go unhitch the horses and bring in the cow, won't take me but half an hour. You can go ahead and get some rest, and when I get back we can go through your job duties."
Castiel hesitated for a moment, not wanting to seem useless and lazy, but fatigue soon won over his choice. "Thank ya," he said again with a hollow smile, feet leading him into the room before Dean even left the house. He knew his silence and downcast gaze seemed weak, made him seem like a woman, but he just couldn't help it. He had lost everything. How could anyone expect him to be strong after that? Sighing out into the quiet room, he removed his boots and settled over the comforter, knowing the afternoon would soon rise in temperature. Instantly, he sunk back into the pillows, much needed sleep taking over his beaten and battered body before he could form another thought.
It didn't take Dean long to put away the wagon; unhitching the horses was a breeze, as they were calm animals and listened more often than not. Grabbing a brush off its place hanging from a nearby nail on the wall, Dean brushed long, smooth swipes into their coats, ensuring they were cared for and comfortable before he pitched some hay into the troughs.
"Good boys," he drew softly, giving their necks a hearty pat as he checked to make sure everything in the barn was in order. Satisfied, he began his walk out to the cow pasture, noticing his muscles growing weary. He guessed it was due to the extra work he put in that day. The thought brought sympathy and just a twinge of sadness to Dean's chest as he recalled the broken look on the man's- Castiel's- face when he saw the grave they had dug for his wife. In all of Dean's life, he couldn't recall seeing anyone as empty and lost as Castiel had earlier, how grief-stricken he was when he finally turned away from the grave. Sighing, Dean clucked his tongue at the young Jersey cow, who followed him instantly back to the barn with a docile and meandering gait: she knew her schedule. Smiling slightly, Dean gave her muzzle a rub and bent to check her udder, which by the looks of it would be full in the morning.
"You better start producin' more milk or I'm gonna have to trade you in." Dean commented to the animal, who simply gazed at him with big, shining black eyes before settling in a shady corner of the barn. Shaking his head, the Winchester dipped his hands into a nearby water pail to rinse them of dirt, wiping the damp coolness on his jeans during his walk back to the house. Entering the cooler space after a few minutes, Dean headed for Castiel's room.
"Castiel?" He called, stopping when he looked up to see the other man sound asleep, face free of all previous markings of grief. Silencing his footsteps and words, Dean closed his door with the decision they could always start tomorrow. Besides, a good night's sleep meant good, quality work. Stepping out into the main room, Dean sat heavily in the creaking rocking chair to remove his dirty boots before settling back.
Running a calloused hand over his weary face, his thoughts turned to the man he had hired. He was trying so hard to be so strong, didn't want to be seen as weak, and it was sad. Simply thinking about the helpless look in the other man's eyes when they first met his twisted Dean's stomach into a sympathetic knot. He was so broken, so filled with grief that Dean could only hope he could help him. Rubbing the back of his slightly sunburnt neck, Dean heaved himself from the chair and made his way to his bed, which was empty as always. If he was completely honest with himself, he would admit that he was, however selfish it was, glad that Castiel ended up at the farm, for he was tired of coming home to an empty house, tired of eating alone, tired of being lonely. Maybe now, he could have a friend.
Castiel woke two hours before sunrise, as he always had. It took a moment, a moment of peace and serenity, before he realized where he was, and why. The realization dug the existing knife deeper into his chest and left him wondering how long it would take for the accident to register in his mind. Stopping his thoughts as his eyes searched the room for a match, he recalled Dean telling him yesterday he would go over jobs when he got back from putting the horses away.
"Damn it..." Castiel muttered lowly, stomach sinking. Only a day with this job and already he seemed like a lazy slacker. Finding a match on the nearby dresser, Castiel struck it and lit a candle, not bothering to wash his face before he entered the main room, nearly tripping over the unfamiliar furniture as the small candle barely lit his way. Looking around, he tried to figure a way to be useful, to show he wasn't useless like he seemed yesterday. Maybe he could make breakfast. As soon as the thought entered his mind, he set about it, determined to pull his weight in the deal he had made. Running a hand over his tired face, he knelt to open the belly of the stove and light what wood was left, hoping it would be enough for the preparation.
"Guess I should start with some coffee," he muttered quietly to himself, eyes flicking over each cupboard and drawer in search of the utensils he would need. After a few moments, Castiel spotted a few dark, familiar grounds below a middle cupboard, and figured that was his best guess. Quietly, he made his way over and opened the door, spotting a bag of ground coffee instantly. Muttering thanks under his breath to no one in particular, the blue-eyed man looked around once more and found what looked to be a teapot. It would do. Shrugging, he set the two items in front of him, at a loss of what to do; he had never made coffee before. Looking out the window, Castiel spotted a pump in the yard which was barely visible in the early dusk lighting. Poking the fire to keep it going while he was out, he exited out the back door and headed towards the water source. Suddenly as he walked, a shrill bark broke the silence of morning, followed by something large and slobbering knocking him to the dry ground.
"What in the hell?" Castiel nearly shouted, shoving the thing off him as he reoriented himself. Sitting up in a state of panic at the attack, his gaze was filled by a large, slobbering dog that looked happy as could be. Scowling, the blue-eyed man got himself up from the ground and dusted off, pushing the diligent animal away from his side when it followed him and tried to lick at his hand.
"Damn dog, nearly scared the life out of me." Castiel muttered grumpily as he pumped water into the available bucket that sat near. Trekking back to the house was a bit difficult due to the heaviness of the pail but he made it nonetheless and soon found himself ladling water into the kettle to start the coffee he wasn't completely sure how to make. Staring blankly at the taunting bag full of grounds, he silently wished it would simply tell him what to do instead of just sitting there. Sighing heavily, he scooped out some of the grounds and added them to the water, stirring it for good measure before he set it in the middle of the hot stove.
Satisfied with his accomplishment of creating the beverage, Castiel began to open cupboards and drawers, searching for something, anything he could use for some sort of breakfast. After a while, he had pulled out what was labeled flour, sugar and baking powder. Pancakes, simple and easy. He had seen Kate make them so many times before, how hard could it be? Trying to remember what ingredients she had used, Castiel's heart sunk at the memories of her in the kitchen, flour on her cheek where she had touched her face.
Banishing the thoughts instantly to focus on the recipe and his new job, Castiel put two handfuls of flour in a bowl along with a handful of sugar and a pinch of baking power. The mixture seemed right, so, in an attempt to make it work, Castiel added a ladle full of water and began to mix. After a few helpless minutes of mixing and adding water, he came up with a gloppy looking paste. Frustrated at his lack of knowledge, he pulled out a pan and set it roughly on the stove, adding a scoop of batter straight away. He stood for a few minutes, watching the lumpy mixture for any signs of doneness. After what he felt was enough time, Castiel placed his spatula at the edge of the cake and attempted to flip it, finding it stuck.
"Damn it," he muttered, forcing the utensil under the food until he could properly flip it. Looking at the result, his stomach sank at the sight of the half burnt, ripped up thing staring back at him from the pan. Frustrated to the point where he felt anger boiling inside of him, Castiel forced the now done cake up from the pan, relived to see the flip side brown instead of black, although it was still torn. Setting the failure on the plate beside him with a groan, he turned back to the bowl and added another scoop of batter to the hot pan. Maybe now he knew how long to cook them for, it wouldn't be so terrible. Watching carefully again, he attempted to flip the second try after counting two minutes, finding it stuck once more.
"What the hell am I doin' wrong?" He whispered quietly to himself in frustration, forcing the second cake up from the pan to flip it. Thankfully, the second one turned out brown and a bit torn, not as bad as the first. Slightly more satisfied with his efforts, Castiel used this method again and again on the small amount of batter left, ending up with a dozen pitiful looking pancakes to show for his effort. Chest swelling with slight pride at the sight of what he had accomplished, his mind turned to place settings and he quickly located plates, suspecting his boss would be up soon. Turning his back for a second to set the dishes on the small table, Castiel jumped at the sudden sound of sizzling, whipping around to find, in horror, the coffee kettle boiling over and splashing everywhere. Panic rising in him at the smoke the beverage was emitting from its place on the stove, Castiel rushed over and grabbed for the kettle. In too much of a rush to think, he wrapped his entire hand around the now scalding handle without a towel, burning himself.
"Son of a bitch!" He cursed loudly, hand yanking back in pain as the coffee helplessly boiled over. He wasn't used to using such strong language, but that had hurt. It was at this exact time Dean rushed from his bedroom at the commotion, shirt half tucked into his jeans, eyes watering from the smoke filling the small cabin. Watching as Castiel burnt himself, as the coffee boiled over, Dean rushed over and grabbed a towel, wrapping it around the handle of the kettle to move it to the cool back of the stove. Acting quickly, he wiped away the coffee ground filled water that sat sizzling on the stove top and set the rag aside to tend to Castiel.
"Are ya alright?" He asked quickly, concern in his tone for the new worker. Castiel's face burned more than his hand in embarrassment as he stood in front of Dean, eyes coming up to look at the scene. Coffee and smoke was everywhere, some of it even ending up on the pancakes on which he had worked so hard. Frustrated to the near point of tears, he pushed away the familiar burn at the back of his eyes and nodded, answering with a gruff yes. He would not tear up simply because of a botched meal.
Dean's brows knitted together in sympathy at the hopeless look on the other man's face and motioned to the bucket of water. "Come on, you should rinse that off."
A few minutes of embarrassing explanation later, Castiel stood in front of the stove with a carefully wrapped towel around his burnt palm, feeling pitiful in his attempts at being useful. Dean, with sympathy for the other man, quickly got down cups, silverware and a jar of syrup. "Come on, it's not all lost. We can still eat," he reassured. Castiel nodded and kept his head held high, knowing he had looked weak before. "Here, I'll get this you sit down," he said quickly, hoping he had proved he was at least willing to work.
Dean nodded, seeing Castiel didn't want any more help. Setting the syrup down on the table, Dean sat and watched intently as Castiel served the torn up and lumpy looking pancakes, bringing the coffee next. Dean held out his cup for the other man as he poured the grainy looking coffee, sheer embarrassment on his features.
"This looks delicious, thank ya." Dean said, sincerity in his tone as he poured sugar into the grounds floating in watery looking coffee. He admired that Castiel had tried and knew instantly he was a hard worker. Castiel managed a small smile to the thanks and sat at the table next to Dean, scooping up a pancake to place on his plate. Dean did the same and added syrup before offering the sweet condiment to Castiel, who took it graciously to pour over his breakfast.
Carefully, the blue-eyed man cut into his meal, finding it tough to do. Worry rising at the simple resistance the cake offered to his knife, he slowly brought the forkful up to his mouth and bit into possibly the driest, most flour clumped, bland pancake he had ever eaten. Failure and disappointment rising in his gut, Castiel didn't look up to the other man and instead poured himself some coffee, finding it watery and filled with grounds when he tried to wash down the horrible pancake. Face burning again in embarrassment, Castiel finished his meal as quickly as he could.
"This isn't bad." Dean said with a smile, lying only a little. The poor man had been through enough this morning without criticism to add upon it, so Dean powered through the lumpy meal with compliments, even taking an extra pancake. Finishing in just a few short minutes, he sat back in his chair and patted his stomach, giving Castiel a slight smile. "That was good, thank ya." Castiel nodded, recognizing the lie but not calling him on it. "You're welcome," he said, voice rough and defeated as he cleared their plates.
Dean got up to help, and soon had the mess of the meal cleared, save for the dishes that needed to be done. "I've got to go and milk the cow, so you can go ahead and do the dishes in the leftover water," he explained, knowing Castiel didn't want to be treated like a child when it came to the work. Nodding, Castiel met Dean's eyes for just a moment, finding comforting sincerity in them. Muttering a sincere thank you in return, Castiel turned to do the dishes, recalling the kind and forgiving manner Dean had about him this morning, despite the mess in the kitchen.
Maybe it wouldn't be completely horrible.
