CHAPTER 7
It didn't take Dean and Castiel long to settle in to their new house. Castiel had never had his own home before and he was very happy. They stocked up on food from the grocer's along with other things they would need. They had to decide who got the bedroom and Castiel was quick to give it to Dean. He didn't mind sleeping in the living room. They put a mattress on the floor in the corner and Castiel was more than happy. He had everything he wanted.
They quickly got into the routine of the Railroad and how it worked and Dean's odd jobs meant that the other volunteers could go and talk to him about important matters concerning the fugitives under the excuse of having a job for him.
One Sunday morning, Dean woke up and went to make coffee, only to find Castiel's bed empty. Dean usually had to wake him up on Sundays, the only day he could sleep late, so he was puzzled. He looked in the kitchen but it was empty. He thought maybe he was out in the garden, so he waited. Half an hour later, there was still no sign of him and Dean was getting worried.
Finally, after another half hour, Castiel walked through the door and when he spottet Dean said a cheerful: "Good morning!"
"Where the hell have you been!" Dean exclaimed.
Castiel looked at him with surprise. Dean didn't usually swear.
"Tom Painter came and knocked during the night. I took a fugitive some of the way to the next safe house. You know, the young man who had gotten lost and spent two weeks finding his way back."
Dean gave a sigh of relief.
"I'm sorry. I didn't think it would take that long. I didn't mean for you to worry." Castiel's forehead furrowed. He wasn't used to people worrying about him.
"Just... next time, leave a note," Dean said.
"Alright." Castiel poured a cup of coffee and went to sit down by the table.
"So should I just write I've gone away with a fugitive?" he asked and looked at Dean innocently.
Dean stared at him, then he shook his head, as to say "You're hopeless."
Castiel just smiled at him.
After a moment, Dean said: "Cas, promise me you'll be careful if you ever go out like that again. If you get caught they'll kill you."
"I promise," Castiel said. He knew he had run a risk but the young man he had helped had been on the run for weeks and Castiel wanted to make sure he was on the right path for the next safe house.
Dean looked like he wanted to say something else, but didn't. He couldn't tell Castiel what to do, just hope that he didn't take any unnecessary risks.
For the next six months, Dean and Castiel lived in Lawrence, doing their bit to help out. They had plenty of time to talk in the evenings and soon knew each other really well. Dean felt himself grow fonder of Castiel. He had embraced his new responsibility and was becoming a respected person in the community. Castiel, on his part, felt increasingly confused by the way he felt about Dean. Castiel felt he was like a brother, but there were times, when they were sat in front of the fire, the shadows softening Dean's features, that he felt like he wanted to get to know him better. Which was silly, because they knew practically everything about each other.
Castiel turned 18 in March, and he was finally able to celebrate with Dean like he had wanted a year ago. They were invited to eat at Pastor Gordon and Hildy's and when they got home in the evening, Dean handed him a big box.
"What's this?" Castiel asked.
"A present of course."
Castiel opened the box and found a hat inside. It was dark brown with light brown stampede strings.
Castiel's face cracked into a smile.
"A hat!" he said.
"I thought you needed a new one instead of that moth holed thing you've been wearing."
"It's not moth holed," Castiel said, offended, then: "Alright, maybe it's a little old. I did get it second hand." He had, in fact, gotten it 'second hand' off the head of a passed out, drunken cowboy when he was 12 and 'traded' his own bowler hat for it.
He tried the hat on and it fit perfectly.
"Thanks, Dean," he said.
The Army was becoming in need of volunteers, and in April, 1862, a draft law was passed. It meant that all men between the ages of 18 and 35 should sign up for duty. In spite of this, there weren't that many that were drafted.
Dean turned 20 in May and Castiel gave him a new saddle. The one he had was almost falling apart and Dean had repaired it more than once.
In the beginning of June, Castiel returned home from a trip to Topeka. He returned in time for supper and when they had sat down to eat he said: "Dean, there's something I have to tell you."
He had been quiet since he returned and Dean knew what it was.
"No," Dean said. "You're not going."
Castiel looked at him with pained eyes. "I've made up my mind. I'm not changing my decision."
Dean threw his fork on the plate and fisted his hands.
"Why, Cas?"
"Because I want to help out."
"By getting killed?" Dean almost yelled.
Castiel looked down. He felt a knot in his stomach. He had known Dean would be upset but he hadn't expected him to react like this.
"I want to go," he said.
Dean breathed heavily. "Do you? Do you really? Because I don't think that's true. I think you're still trying to show everybody that you're a responsible person and not some card playing, brothel visiting kid."
Castiel snapped his head up and looked at him with hard eyes, making Dean push back in his chair with surprise.
Then Castiel got up and left. When Dean had calmed down a little, he realized he had gone too far. He went out to look for Castiel and found him at the stables further down the street where they boarded their horses. He was grooming his Palomino.
Dean walked up and stood behind him. "I'm sorry, Cas. I didn't mean what I said. I just don't want anything to happen to you."
Castiel stopped what he was doing and just stood there.
"I'm just trying to do the right thing," he said, still with his back to Dean. He was afraid that his eyes were red from the tears he was trying to hold back, and he didn't want Dean to see.
"I know. But you're helping out here as well. What we do is just as important if not more so. We're saving lives instead of taking them."
Castiel sighed. "I know." He finally turned around but kept looking at his brushes. "Look, maybe the war will end soon. Maybe I'll end up somewhere where nothing happens. Maybe I won't even be shipped out before they finish training me."
"That's a lot of maybes," Dean said.
"I have to go, Dean."
Dean put his hand on his shoulder. He was still quite short for his age, Dean suddenly realized.
"Will you write to me when you can?"
Castiel finally met his eyes. "Of course I will."
"And don't do anything stupid because you want to be a hero." Dean tried to smile but it came out a grimace. He felt his heart was a stone in his chest and he knew how much he loved Castiel. He had for a while now. He had liked him at first, but their time in Lawrence had made him realize how great a person Castiel actually was and he had slowly fallen in love with him.
Castiel was going by stage coach to Harrisburg in Pennsylvania, where he would undergo training in Camp Curtin. Many people gathered to say goodbye to him and they all wished him good luck and told him to come back safe. Dean hugged him, but in front of all these people he had to let him go before he wanted to. Castiel tried giving him a reassuring smile, but failed. He said he would write as soon as he arrived, got in the stage coach and was gone.
Dean went home. He felt like a part of him had been ripped out. For the first time since his parents died, he cried and he wasn't ashamed of it.
