Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or the characters.

Chapter Ten: Be a Simple Kind of Man

By: Zavijah

Beautiful.

There wasn't a poem in existence that could capture how amazing it felt to be under the open sky. The wind was warm against his face and carried with it the soft smell of approaching rain. Dark clouds threatened them from the horizon, but their distant rumble was but a whisper to the present. The sky was streaked with colors Castiel had almost forgotten. Reds, oranges and yellows warmed with the colors of autumn and blending into such an amazing evening skyline that it nearly left Castiel breathless. How long had it been since he last watched the sun sink below the horizon, or even witness it rise?

Too long.

Castiel limbs felt stiff, as if he had spent the past years living in the darkness of a cave and only now had crawled out to squint blindly at the world around him. It boggled his mind, his very senses, to believe he had willingly forgotten the world around him. He had shut his eyes, deafened himself, and filled his mouth with ashes. But now he could see, could hear, taste – Castiel didn't know which aspect endeared him more about the moment. The air so refreshing , the sky so boundless, the satisfying crunch of dirt beneath his boots, or the feel of the field grass dancing with the wind and caressing against his open palm.

He was enamored with it all, crouched as he was over a section of trail that had become a crossroad of conflicting prints both animal and human. He took it all in, from the feel of the leather reins in his hands, to the soft breathing of his horse beside him, to the nervous chatter of a birds hiding in the brush. He wanted to live forever in that moment.

"Find anything there, Black Eagle?"

But as with all things, it must come to an end.

Castiel shifted his gaze toward Dean with a slight frown. He wondered, briefly, if the brazen man ever stopped to look at the world the way Castiel saw it in that moment; to feel so humbled in such a vast, beautiful world. Of course, Dean was something else that Castiel found captivating. He was younger than Castiel had guessed while they were under the dull lights of the saloon. Inside, cloaked with the smells of smoke and liquor, Dean had looked older; worn to the bone. It made Castiel wonder if men came to the bar to drink their last and await death's company; if it was a place to die.

Out here, beneath the feverish glow of the setting sun, Dean's tanned skin shone healthy and young. The The light caught in Dean's hair just right to make honey tones turn golden. Castiel's memory stumbled back to when he had seen Dean bare from the waist up. There was strength there; a man hardened by a life spent in constant motion. There had been scars too, but the moment had been to fleeting and Castiel's memory wasn't so sharp to remember it all. Time faded the image, but all the same Castiel wondered how Dean might look if not for the shirt and duster.

"Is that a yes, or a no, 'cause we're losing light and if you can't tell I'm kind of in a hurry."

He'd been staring - again.

Castiel slowly blinked, turned his head aside and rose to his feet. Once again he set his gaze on the disturbed earth and willed himself not be become distracted by the beauty around him. There was too much to read there, as more than few horses, and animals, had passed by this location in the last few hours. Castiel frowned, loathed to admit his shortcoming, but shook his head anyway.

Dean snorted, "I thought you said you had experience."

"I do," The words sprung from wounded pride. Castiel's gaze hardened as Dean turned away without direction. While Castiel could surmise that Dean's hurtful words were due to a underlying worry for his lost brother, the belittling comment stung. Castiel had spent years tracking down men on the run and knew results were not always immediate. "Have patience."

"I don't have time to squander - I need to find Sam sooner, not later."

The man was infuriating, but Castiel gave him the benefit of the doubt considering the circumstances. He climbed up into saddle and directed his own mount to follow after Dean. "You lack faith in your brother."

Dean half turned in his saddle to pin Castiel with a vehement glare, "The hell is that suppose to mean?"

Again Castiel felt his features tug wearily downward in a frown. He didn't know why, but more often than not his curiosity made Dean bristle up like a hissing tom cat. The miscommunication, he knew, was not completely one-sided. The other rider often left Castiel in a river of confusion with his unusual phrasings. "I assumed–

"–yeah I bet you did."

Gritting his teeth, Castiel drew in a deep breath before continuing with a forced sense of calm. "I assumed you two did this sort of thing for a living–"

"And what makes you think that?"

The scars on your body.

Castiel tired of being interrupted, but once more attempted to finish his line of thought. "I would trust your brother to be able to take care of himself in this situation, but the way you respond to his absence leads me to think that you do not believe your brother can–"

"Shut up."

He did, if only because Dean's voice had dipped dangerously low. Castiel observed the troubled rider from his flanking position, once again wondering what burdens Dean constantly shouldered. Each one had etched and chiseled the man to create the sharp demeanor. The aggression was obvious, but as with all things, it had a root. It struck Castiel as a means of deflection; or a way to protect himself – from what Castiel could only blindly guess from there.

"He's my younger brother... "

Castiel's kept his surprise to himself. He hadn't expected Dean to break the silence, least of all to share something on the verge of sounding personal. He patiently waited for Dean continued, resolving to calmly watch the way Dean's body swayed in unison with the horse's movements; a well-practiced rider.

"I've always had to look after him. That was the one responsibility my dad always trusted to me: Take care of your brother, Dean."

"You sound bitter," The words escaped before Castiel could bite his tongue.

"Of course I am," Dean snarled, but didn't turn to face Castiel. "That's been my whole life: watch after Sammy. Without him.."

It would be a life without purpose, Castiel finished since Dean did little but shake his head, dismissing the subject. Castiel had done his fair share of wandering. Heck, he was still drifting in a spiritual sense even if he'd hung his hat in Willow's Bend. It was very draining. Today was proof enough to Castiel that without something driving him, life ceased to exist. The world had become so gray, but look at it. It was so —

Beautiful.

Castiel drew himself out of his thoughts and shifted his attention to the landscape. The rain would be on them soon, which would wash away any signs of a trail. If they were going to find Sam it would be in these last moments of light. Castiel could already see the bright spot on the horizon, the morning and evening star that signaled that it was time to make camp. Instead the steady scuff of hoof over dirt filled the air.

Dean showed no signs of stopping.

Castiel continued to scan the horizon, picking out the potential paths a pursued rider would likely go. The depression leading into the dry wash was his main focus. If Sam had been chasing after someone, that person, Bela or whoever it had been, would have likely chosen a place out of sight. It was never easy to hide when the dry plains ahead of them were flat. A man could see for miles in such open terrain.

Only when the sky became an arc of magenta fusing into purple and ending in a dark blue pin-pointed with stars, did Castiel clear his throat, "Dean."

"Don't."

"... Dean."

"I can't stop looking Cas," Dean finally glanced in his direction. "I can't."

"Stopping to eat and rest does not mean you have given up on finding Sam."

When Dean didn't immediately snap at him, Castiel began to think his words had worked. Right up until the point Dean turned his horse aside to move away from Castiel. It was tempting to just let the stubborn man go, because trying to rein him in was like trying to corral a wild stallion; difficult, and would likely end with him sporting a few bruises. Castiel spurred his horse into a quick gait, catching up to side along Dean. He set a stern look on the younger man. "You need to be reasonable."

"You can stop, didn't say you had to come."

"Dean," Like dealing with a temperamental child. Castiel put his heels to his horse's flanks. The mare jumped forward, then sharply turned to neatly cut off Dean's mount. Castiel reached down, quickly grabbing the other horse's bridle so Dean couldn't storm off on him. "Running off in the dark, in a storm no less, is not going to help find Sam."

Dean attempted to pull the bridle out of Castiel's grip, "Don't make me shoot you Cas."

"You won't."

"I will if you don't let go."

"No, you won't." Castiel didn't know exactly why he felt so certain about it. It was true he knew little about Dean's history, but when he looked at Dean he didn't see a cold bloodied killer. Death was a fairly common affair in the man's life, but Castiel was willing to believe it was more about survival than anything sinister. There was an undeniable pain visible in Dean's eyes, and a crushing burden weighing on his shoulders, but there was no darkness that Castiel would relate to evil. Castiel had looked into the eyes of his fair share of evil men to know it to be true. The eyes were suppose to be the windows into the soul, and with evil men, there was no soul to see. The windows were open, but on the inside it was all stripped bare; no warmth, no life.

Dean had a soul.

... and for better or worse, Castiel had faith in him to do the right thing.

Even if it meant staring down the barrel of Dean's side arm he suddenly found pointed in his direction. Castiel lifted his chin, his blue eyes trekking up to meet Dean's steady gaze. If he was wrong, and they parted ways with Castiel lying on the dry earth with red blooming vibrantly from his chest, all Castiel would feel is sadness - and a small comfort in the fact that his last moments would be spent under the open sky with the smell of rain on the warm breeze. It wouldn't be a terrible way to go, but he would still be disappointed in Dean.

The double-click of the pistol being cocked seemed to echo in the silence, "You really don't think I'll shoot you."

Castiel didn't break eye contact, "I believe you are a good man."

"You don't know a damn thing about me."

That snared Castiel's attention more than the glinting barrel angling at his heart. His head canted to the side as his brow furrowed in perplexion, "You think you're a bad man."

Dean's lips thinned, and for a moment Castiel could see the emotional storm brewing in the man's eyes. The next moment it was gone, replaced with a cold indifference and a fake smile, "Hate to break it to you, but I'm no Saint."

Regardless, "I cannot in good conscious allow you to wander aimless through a storm."

With a frustrated noise, Dean eased the hammer back to a safe position and shoved the pistol back into its holster. "You are a frigg'n pain in my ass. God damn quaker."

Despite the outburst, Castiel couldn't help but smile. It was a crooked line across his face, but there none the less.

Dean noticed the expression, "Yeah, real cute Padre, just keep smiling 'cause you're making the fire. I ain't doing jack."

It didn't bother Castiel. In fact for a moment his lips quirked a touch wider. It had been a while since he had roughed it out on the open range. He welcomed the change. It felt right. Better than living behind a polished bar and watering the local men with their choice of swill. It was a trough for the dying, Castiel had decided, and he wasn't looking forward to returning to it. So he welcomed the task given to him, drawing a simple joy of making sure the horses were watered before gathering dried bits of brush and sage to erect a small fire.

As he went through the motions, Castiel was aware of Dean glowering at him while gnawing on a piece of jerky. But if he meant to say something to Castiel, Dean never found the right words, because before long the storm unfolded over them. The rain came down in a light shower. Dean had moved a short way from the struggling fire to put up a simple one-man tent made of canvas, the kind a man had to crawl to get into. The material billowed and shook with each gust, but from what little Castiel could see inside the a-frame setup, Dean looked peaceful enough bundled in his duster and hat.

Castiel remained outside, seated with his back to the dying embers and with his face turned up to the soft rain. As the storm revitalized the parched earth, Castiel imagined it revived him as well. Within seconds he was soaked through, but as each drop struck against his face he felt as if the last few years he'd spent withering were being washed away. He smiled into to the rain at the notion. It was silly, he knew. It reminded him of the church folk that went down to the river to for a baptism. Castiel didn't find anything wrong with the idea of being plunged into the water and believing it could cleanse a soul; to emerge as a man or woman born again.

Start anew; make things right.

It was just water, Castiel knew, but he had to wonder with enough faith if a damaged soul could healed.

If rain could really wash away his guilt.

The thunder cascaded over him, a gentle rumble of the heavens. Castiel chuckled, humoring himself with thinking it was an answer from God himself. He opened his eyes to let his gaze sweep across the dark clouds in amusement.

"The hell you laughing at?"

Castiel licked the rain from his lips before turning toward the tent. Dean had two fingers lifting his hat up far enough to peer out at Castiel. Chuckling again - because the idea of telling Dean he was laughing at God amused him - Castiel ran a hand over his face to wick away the rain. "Nothing."

"Whatever," Castiel could hear Dean shifting inside the tent. "Why are you sitting out in the rain anyway?"

Oh that.. "You didn't exactly give me time to gather necessary supplies."

Dean was responding, Castiel could tell by the tone it was something along the lines of patronizing, but he didn't pay it much heed. His attention was instead hinged on a flickering point of light in the distance. Orange, weak – a fire. Castiel once again felt his lips stretching into a faint smile. He knew which direction to go come morning. Dean would no doubt be angry that Castiel waited to tell him about the fire, but it was necessary. If Castiel told him now, the impulsive man would set out into the dark to find it.

"Cas, seriously, you're freaking me out. Just -" Dean hesitated before he growled the last of his words, "Just get in here."

And damn that Castiel remained frozen to the spot like a nervous jack rabbit.

Dean growl grew annoyed, "I'm not going to offer twice."

He didn't scramble, per say, but all the same Castiel didn't want to refuse the offer. The rain, while he had been comforting himself with silly thoughts of washing the dirt from his soul, it was still cold. He really had grabbed next to nothing when he left because Dean had already been on the move. So a bit of reprieve from the weather would be nice. He hesitated a few seconds near the entrance - enduring the disgruntled look Dean gave him while inching over to give Castiel room. It wasn't much. The tent really was not meant to be shared, but Castiel wouldn't complain about the confined quarters. It was better than the alternative of sitting through the whole storm.

Although it still left him a bit awed that Dean had even made the offer. Castiel had been the one worried about the other man's health, making him stop to eat and wait out the storm, and now Dean surprised him by offering him shelter from the rain despite an obvious reluctance. It was touching and just went to further on Castiel's thoughts of Dean being a good man.

It was more cramped than it looked, and no sooner had Castiel laid down did Dean start complaining. "Christ, you're soaked."

Castiel's brow lowered. The reason to his sodden state was obvious, but Dean's statement seemed to be waiting for some sort of explanation. "It's raining... "

Dean snorted, "Oh really, I hadn't noticed."

"It is... really."

The drier man turned just enough to give Castiel an odd look. "Really?"

"I would not lie about whether or not it is raining," These short exchanges always left Castiel feeling awkward. There were inflections in Dean's voice that he just didn't understand. It was only belatedly that Balthazar's voice echoed with a phrase that had become common between them: Sarcasm, Cassy, I am being sarcastic. Castiel grimaced. "You are being... sarcastic."

"Well aren't you the fastest draw in all of Kansas."

Castiel was certain Dean had never seen him draw - knew that because he had given his old belt and guns to Balthazar. He literally did not have a gun to draw. Yet, Castiel couldn't phantom what that had to do with the conversation. At least not until he reflected on the metaphorical shutters, and the more recent observation of the weather. With a frown (because Castiel wanted to argue that he was indeed a quick draw), Castiel plainly stated: "More sarcasm."

Dean muttered something under his breath before turning back on his side, presenting his back to Castiel. After a few moments, where Castiel stared up at the billowing canvas of the tent, he decided he was indeed as Dean had said - soaked. His fingers numbly worked at the buttons of his vest. He got half way through opening his shirt when Dean once again twisted around to see what all the squirming was about. Castiel's fingers stilled on the fifth button and he curiously looked at what little he could view of Dean's face in the dark.

"What are you doing?"

For a man that asked so many direct question, Castiel was learning that Dean did not like getting equally direct answers. "Removing my wet clothing."

"What!? No. No. Just - no - here." A small blanket was flung in his direction. "For the love of God, keep your clothes on."

"I don't think God–"

"Shut up, Cas."

For the record, Castiel didn't believe God cared whether or not he was clothed. He pulled the blanket over his shoulders before turning onto his side so that he and Dean were back to back in the small tent. The rain continued to fall and thunder sporatically rumbled to lightning in the distance. He smiled to himself, letting the storm lull him toward sleep, a single word passing through his mind before he drifted off.

Beautiful.

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A/N: Castiel chapters always write quickly, but I couldn't write an entire story from his perspective. I use Dean because he is an action man. When I write him I don't find him pausing to ponder on the little things. Sam is somewhere in between action and introspect; a medium. Castiel, however, damn. He could have spent this whole chapter just reflecting on every color, smell, sight, or feeling he found amazing. He doesn't have a lot of forward momentum because he's the guy that could sit quietly in a room all night chasing each and every idle thought. It's cute in short doses, but would have been quite tiring in the long run. Yet I adore him so.

Poor Castiel, he was really have a good time..

I don't normally name chapter titles after song lyrics, but this time it felt too fitting. Pandora supplied me with a song I found all too perfect for the mood of this chapter. 'Simple Man' - Shinedown. I also need to try and set up adobe and my tablet to draw an icon for this story. There is a different story that has popped up with a similar icon. Twitch, twitch.