The ride into town only took about an hour, although it seemed longer due to the hot sun and sticky air that stifled the two men. When they arrived, Castiel had a chance to look at the small town in more detail than before and took in the simple shops lining a boardwalk, which couldn't have stretched more than two hundred feet both ways.

"This is it." Dean said, breaking the silence between them as he parked the wagon near the general store. Castiel's eyes continued to search around the new area, taking in all the stores and items to buy. "It seems nice." Dean smiled, nodding as he took his hat off momentarily to wipe at the sweat that threatened to drip into his eyes. "Yeah, it works. We shouldn't be here for more than a half hour." He paused for a moment, reaching into his jean pocket. "In fact, I picked up a little extra cash the other day. Why don't you go buy what ya need?"

Castiel looked at the dusty coins in Dean's outstretched hand, shame clawing its humiliating way into his thoughts. "Oh no, Dean I can't take that. It's your money." Dean smiled, nodding. "Yeah, it's my money, and I wanna give it to you. Come on, you must have something to do with it," he persuaded softly. At his words, Castiel's thoughts turned to the telegram he needed to send, and reluctantly took the money. "Thank ya, Dean."

Dean put up his hand in a wave of dismissal as he tethered the horses. "It's no problem, besides, you've done a good job so far. I can tell you'll be a hard worker," he replied with another smile, motioning towards a store that stood a couple of feet away. "I've gotta go get some feed and pick up the clothes. Why don't ya meet me back here in a bit?" Castiel felt a humble blush creep up the very back of his neck at the compliment, but pushed it down to listen to Dean's next words. "Yeah, that sounds fine," he answered, watching Dean leave before he turned to the town.

Unsure of where to start, he slowly began walking down a relatively empty side of the street, eyes flicking around the new place to find his way. It didn't take long for him to spot the telegraph wire trailing from a nearby building, his fingers fiddling with the small amount of change in his pocket as he approached and entered the slightly cooler building.

Dean headed back to the wagon slowly, arms full of the items he bought. Hefting the heavy feed bags onto the back of the worn wagon, he wiped at his damp face with the crimson bandana that hung around his neck, and placed the brown paper wrapped clothing on top of the feed bags. Looking up, he saw Castiel heading towards the wagon.

"Find everything okay?" He called as the other was walking up, seeing he had no bought items in his hands. "Yeah, thank you." Castiel replied, eyes flicking over the full wagon. "Are you ready?"

"Yep, got everything I needed. Let's get a move on." With this, Dean climbed into the wagon, Castiel not far behind before he snapped the reigns to head out. Looking to the other's face, he hesitated, curiosity overtaking him after a moment. "Didn't find anything to buy?" Castiel tensed up ever so slightly at the words, but shrugged, playing off the tense look he knew he must've had on his face. "I did. Just sent a telegram back home is all."

Dean's stomach sank at his response. "Oh." He sat in silence for a while, contemplating his next words carefully. "Ya know, if ya ever need someone to talk to, I'm always here." Normally, Dean wouldn't dream of extending his comfort to someone he had just met, especially a man, but there was something so sad and broken about Castiel that Dean would be remissed if he didn't extend some form of support.

Castiel hesitated at Dean's offer, not being one to simply open up and let it all out, but now, on the brink of collapsing under the weight of his own emotion, he decided it would be best to talk. "She was the first girl I ever loved," he said abruptly, eyes trained on his hands. Dean was surprised at the sudden uptake of his offer but nodded in understanding and waited for Castiel's next words, deciding it best to just let the other man speak.

"We just sorta fell in love with each other, and decided to move west. More opportunities, more money, a better place to raise a family... It was just everything me and her wanted." Castiel paused for a moment, his accent becoming more prominent as he talked of his past. "Her parents were against it, they had always planned for her to stay and inherit their farm." He shrugged, fighting back the slight tremble in his voice, the urge to shut his mouth and not share the weak and emotional memories he was having. "But she insisted upon going and eventually they supported her," he continued with a smile.

"They were such nice people, took me in when I didn't have anyone else. So we said our goodbyes, and went our own way." He paused and looked to Dean, half expecting him to be laughing at the vulnerability he was showing. Instead, Castiel simply saw the man was listening, open honesty shining in his eyes along with something else, something that somehow reaffirmed his earlier promise: he would be there. Feeling better about sharing, Castiel took a deep breath and went on, figuring there was no going back now. "I sent them a telegram back there, just tellin' em what happened, tellin' em I was sorry to be so careless." He looked down to his hands, feeling the story was summed up enough for the time being.

Dean nodded after a while, wanting to stay open and understanding. "Well, at least they know now. I'm sure they don't blame you," he said softly. "Yeah, they deserve to know." Castiel replied, voice wavering just slightly. "I just don't know about the blamin' part," he finished, guilt washing over him.

There was silence for a long while, the creak of the wheels the only sound between them until Dean broke the quiet air. "They seem like good people, I'm sure they'll be understanding." Castiel simply shrugged, looking up to see they were back at the farm. Collecting himself and pushing away the anger towards himself for being so sissy about the whole thing, he climbed from the wagon. "Do you need me to bring in anything?" Dean stayed at the reins in the wagon, looking behind him to think for a moment before answering. "Just grab the clothes, I'll take the feed bags to the barn and unhitch the horses. Meet ya inside in a bit." Instantly obeying the request, Castiel grabbed the brown paper wrapped garments from the back. "Sounds like a plan," he responded, heading for the small house as Dean clicked his tongue and urged the horses on.

Opening the door, Castiel set the clothing on the kitchen table and sat at a nearby chair, finally able to be alone and collect his thoughts. How could he have just shared all of that with the other man who was nearly a stranger? He probably thought he was a pansy, probably thought he couldn't keep himself together, couldn't push his problems aside for the betterment of work. Sighing shakily, Castiel forced the anger he felt towards himself away, and let the tears that had been fighting out.

No man should ever have to lose the woman he loved, especially so soon. She was so young, so in love, and all of that had been taken from her, by a simple wagon malfunction, one that Castiel had cockily overlooked. Guilt creating a knot in his stomach, he buried his face in his hands and let out a choked sob, his shoulders shaking with the effort to simply breathe through his grief.

Dean headed back towards the house, strides quick and purposeful as he walked. Reaching the half open door, his movement was stopped when he heard a shaky breath come from inside the cabin. Stomach dropping at the human sound he knew too well, he glanced in, curiosity overtaking him. However, the sight that filled his vision was not one he ever wished to see. Castiel sat at the table, face twisted in grief and half buried in his hands, shoulders shaking with quieted sobs.

Pained at the sight, Dean stepped back from his viewpoint and sunk down to sit on the ground, back resting against the outer wall of his home. Although he didn't quite know why, his heart went out for Castiel, it ached for him. He was in the prime of his life and now had to deal with this pain. He probably felt so alone. Sympathy causing his own eyes to sting, Dean took a deep, slow breath and collected himself, trying to talk himself out of caring so much for this stranger. Besides, he was just another worker. But, somehow, deep down, in the loneliest part of him, Dean already considered Castiel a friend. There was just something about his quiet mannerisms that made Dean feel comfortable, it made the other easy to work with. Although it was odd to develop a connection with another so quick, Dean didn't fight it, and simply accepted he wished to be friends with Castiel.

Resolving he would go about helping the man as best he could, Dean stood, hearing Castiel move in the kitchen. Hoping it would be a good time to enter, the green-eyed man pushed open the door to find Castiel washing his face in the kitchen basin.

"Howdy," he greeted, surprised his voice sounded completely normal considering the situation he just had outside. Castiel turned and offered Dean a small smile, as if to mask his previous state, and dried his damp face in hopes his eyes didn't give away he had been crying. "Howdy," he responded, voice not as strong as Dean's.

Dean stood in uncomfortable silence for a moment, not sure of what to say as he placed his hands in his pockets. Fingers brushing against a few folded up papers, he remembered what he had to give to Castiel and pulled the documents from his jean pocket. "I got some recipes for you while we were in town. They're from Mrs. Wilke down at the general store, she figured they might be helpful starts for ya in ways of cooking."

Castiel stepped forward and took the papers, internally relieved he wouldn't have to fumble his way through a meal like he had this morning. "This'll help a lot, thank you, Dean." Castiel said sincerely, skimming the papers.

Dean looked outside as Castiel filtered through the small stack of papers, seeing the sun was just setting over the distant mountains. "Looks like it's almost supper time," he commented, watching as Castiel lifted his eyes to look out the window, a guilty expression coloring his face.

"I'm sorry, Dean, I should've fixed us some dinner this afternoon." Dean shook his head to dismiss the comment, donning his hat once more in preparation to go back outside. "Don't blame yourself, I didn't think about it either. But, now that I am," he chuckled slightly as his stomach gave an audible growl, "I'm mighty hungry." Pausing for a moment, Dean's eyes rested on the recipe stack in Castiel's hands. "Ya know, actually, I think I spotted a recipe for fried chicken in there. If you wouldn't mind makin' that, I would love to have some. I actually have a hen out back that should be perfect, she stopped producin' eggs a while ago, so she's good for slaughter."

Castiel felt his mouth water at the thought of fresh cooked chicken and quickly filtered through the stack to find the card which had the coveted recipe on it. "Yeah, it's right here. I think I can manage it, which hen is it?" "She's the only black one out there." Dean responded, eyes flicking around his kitchen. "There's some old bread in the cupboard you can use for the coating and everything else I think you found this mornin'. I've gotta go bring in the cow and feed the horses, so I'll be back in a bit. You tell me if you ever get overwhelmed with the work I'm givin' you." Castiel nodded, appreciative of the way Dean had handled his transition into the farm and how everything worked. "I will, but I think I should be fine," he reassured, earning him a smile before Dean exited the cabin.

Letting out a determined breath, Castiel set to work, reading the recipe to gather his ingredients. It didn't take long to find everything and soon he had salt, pepper, bread crumbs, oil and flour in front of him, along with a fire roaring in the belly of the stove.

Feeling relieved that preparation had been easier than that morning, Castiel headed outside to the chicken coop, the fresh air feeling good in his lungs after crying. Watching the chickens peck around for a bit, he spotted the black hen and stepped inside the small enclosure immediately finding the chickens skittish. "Damn it," he muttered, walking slowly towards the hen. Spotting Castiel, she ran away and flapped her wings in defense, causing the man to chase her with more vigor, which only made her more agitated. "Come here you stupid bird!" Castiel said through his teeth in frustration after ten minutes of simply trying to catch the animal. He didn't recall it being this difficult to catch and slaughter a chicken.

Finally, in a last ditch effort to catch the frustrating animal, he cornered it. "I've got you now," he muttered, lunging for it. However, the bird had other ideas and tried to flap away, which Castiel was having none of. "Oh no you don't!" He nearly shouted before jumping full force at the bird, landing in a pile of chicken feces. However, despite what he was laying in, the bird was successfully trapped in his arms. Standing and catching his breath, Castiel ignored the disgusting mess on his shirt and jeans and carried the chicken to the slaughter block, frustration fueling his quick actions as he tied the squawking hen to the piece of wood. Taking the nearby axe, he put it over his head and drove it down on the neck of the bird, its head dropping off. "Gotchya." Castiel said triumphantly, wiping his dusty and dirty face before untying the headless body of the bird from the block to pluck it.

Getting all the feathers from the body wasn't difficult, as Castiel had done it many times before. Before long, he found himself back in the kitchen, the chicken cleaned and chopped up for the meal. However, despite the meat being clean, he was not. Looking down at himself, Castiel noted the dirt and feces speckled about his clothing and decided changing and cleaning up would be best before trying to cook a meal. Spotting the packages on the table he hesitated, still unsure about taking Dean's clothes, but soon grabbed the parcel and opened it, knowing it was his only option. Selecting a simple, white cotton shirt, some blue jeans, and another blue bandana, Castiel headed outside to the water pump after grabbing a bar of soap, setting the clothing beside him.

Looking around to ensure he was alone, the blue-eyed man stripped off the dirty shirt and dumped a full water pail over his head and his body, soaping up his torso above the old, dirty jeans he was still wearing. Rinsing off, he shook his hair of the water and went back into his bedroom, changing quickly into the new clothes. The cleanliness of the garments felt good, and combined with the quick cleaning, caused him to feel refreshed before he had to finish the meal preparation.

Staring at the ingredients, he read the card and shook his head to banish the memory of failure that morning. Following the steps carefully, he cracked the eggs into a bowl, determined not to make a mess of this meal. Placing pepper and salt into the eggs, he whipped them with a fork and set them aside. Next, according to the recipe, he crushed up bread crumbs and set out flour, both tasks being easy and problem free. Feeling more comfortable in the kitchen with his success, Castiel created a process for himself: roll the chicken piece in flour, dip it into the egg, and finally coat it with breadcrumbs. Soon, the eight pieces were done, ready to be placed in the pan.

"Where are you..." Castiel muttered to himself, eyes darting around as he tried to remember where he had set the pan this morning. Spotting it near the wash basin, he grabbed the heavy cast iron and set it on the stove, adding some oil. Soon, the viscous liquid was crackling in the pan, signaling its readiness as the recipe has said. Placing the chicken in all at once, Castiel jumped back when the pieces instantly began to pop, the oil bubbling around them.

Determined not to be put off by cooking chicken, Castiel stepped forward, spatula in hand and tried to flip a piece, causing a searing droplet of oil to jump from the pan onto his arm. Cursing, he wiped off the offending drop of fat and tried flipping the chicken again, this time being quick about the action. It seemed to work and soon he found a way to properly flip the meat, which was done in only a few minutes. Plating up the meal, Castiel felt pride well in his chest at what he had accomplished as he set the golden brown chicken pieces on the table, just in time for Dean to enter.

"Somethin' smells good." Dean commented, eying the meal on the table before his eyes traveled to Castiel. Spotting the new clothes on him, Dean felt relief in his chest, glad the clothes fit the other.

Castiel smiled proudly at the compliment, not seeing Dean's notice of his change of clothing. "Thank you, Dean," he replied, passing the other man a plate as they sat down. Watching carefully as Dean took a bite, Castiel's stomach knotted, hoping he had done alright. "Wow." Dean proclaimed through the mouthful, a smile on his lips at the simple, satisfying meal. "This is delicious." Castiel beamed and took his own bite, finding it was good. "Thank ya," he said once more, taking another bite as he realized just how hungry he was.

After a few minutes, Dean found himself working through his third piece and looked up to Castiel. "Did you have any trouble gettin' this together?" Castiel paused for a moment, thinking about the difficult time he had in the chicken coop. "No," he lied, not wanting to seem foolish, "everything went fine." Dean smiled. "That's good, I was hopin' so."

The meal was soon over, the chicken bones the only think uneaten. Standing, Castiel cleared both their places and headed to the wash basin. "Here, let me help ya with that." Dean said, standing. "That's alright, I can get it." Castiel quickly replied, not wanting to place more work on Dean's shoulders. "Nah," Dean started, lighting two of the three lanterns in the room as darkness fell, "I'll help. Besides, I don't have anything else to be doing. You wash, I'll dry."

Castiel hesitated for a second, but gave in, turning towards the dishes as the soft glow of the lanterns flooded the room. Handing Dean a washed plate, he enjoyed the silent help beside him, a content peace settling over him in the normal, domestic task. After a while, Castiel found himself washing the last dish. Clearing his throat through the silence, he thought out how to express the gratitude he felt towards Dean. "I just wanted to thank you," he said softly, handing over the heavy pan. "You've been real hospitable these past few days and with my circumstances, you've helped me more than anyone should."

"Well it's no problem, besides, I needed someone to help me out." Dean replied, appreciating how much humility the thanks must've taken the other man, as self-reliance was obviously important to him. "You've earned your place so far. So, thank you too," he finished, voice softening ever so slightly. Castiel felt relief go through him at Dean's understanding gratefulness, knowing now the green-eyed man acknowledged he was trying his best. Peace winding through him for the first time in days, Castiel reached for the wash rag to clean the counters. "Here, I'll take care of the rest."

At Castiel's words, Dean shook his head and reached for the towel at the same time. "No, that's alright I'll ge-" he started, words instantly stopped when he found his hand directly on top of Castiel's. Looking up in embarrassment, he met the blue eyes of the other man, finding them looking as panicked and confused as he felt.

Castiel felt Dean's hand lay on his and instantly snapped his head up, feeling an unidentified rush go through him when his eyes met the other man's eyes. After a moment, he felt an embarrassed and confused flush run up his neck at his delayed reaction, at their close proximity, and pulled his hand away. "It's really alright, I'll get it," he said quickly, clearing his throat as he turned to the counters.

Dean, panicked and utterly humiliated by the strange reaction he had over the simple mistake, decided to let Castiel finish up cleaning and exited out the back door. Walking quickly, he soon found himself out near the trees at the back of his property, and sat beneath one, the night air around him cool and refreshing. Not sure what had just happened, Dean ran a hand over his face. Having that simple contact with Castiel, the simple glance into his eyes, it had caused a rush of what almost felt like love to go through him. But, no, of course that couldn't be it. He had just been lonely for too long and was perceiving his emotions all wrong, besides, he was a man, and men didn't love other men. Sighing, Dean leaned his head back onto the rough bark of the tree and looked up at the stars, hoping by the morning the uncomfortable incident would be forgotten.