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Chapter Four – Last of the Mohicans

Castiel was starting to get the hang of the 'haltering thing'; he had spent the last thirty minutes turning out horses from the main barn and was starting to wish more of the pastures were closer. Before Dean had left to ride he had pointed Castiel to a chart of which horse needed to go out where and a rather extensive list of chores to complete afterward. Check the hay nets of the horses that were staying inside, muck all the stalls, groom the horses that were still inside – Dean had only given him a brief rundown of how to do that and he was kind of worried he wouldn't get it right - sweep the aisles, go out to the pastures to clean and fill water troughs.

"What have I gotten myself into?" he asked the horse, a big gray gelding who moved along slowly beside him, whose name plate said Gregory. The gelding snorted shaking his head, "Yes. Yes, I don't know either." He sighed patting the horse on the neck. At least he wouldn't have to do as much in the other two barns, Dean had told him that John or himself would handle the stallions for now, apparently a few were more rowdy than the other horses. In the 'broodmare's barn' as Dean had called it he wouldn't have to turn them out the pasture they normally went into had been flooded so he would only have to open doors into personal paddocks for each mare and foal.

Castiel said goodbye to Gregory patting him on the nose and letting him out into the paddock with a silent prayer that he wasn't putting any horses in the wrong place. He sighed, walking back towards the barn there were only two more horses he needed to turn out. John had turned out to be very interesting; an ex-marine, and pretty knowledgeable about history despite not having been educated in it. Dean was rather…brash, but seemed nice enough.

It had been a few months since he had returned home from college, and only few weeks since he had decided he would rather be somewhere else than home for a while. His brothers had begun to grow out of hand, or the ones who still lived together. Michael, Raphael, and Zachariah had always been close and apparently hadn't decided to split up yet, nor had they ceased their old antics. There was only so much Castiel could take before he had to leave again, four years away from them had made it that much harder to deal with his older siblings.

"Hello." He said opening the stall to another horse; he glanced at the name plate, "Rose." The mare looked up at him and her ears flicked back nostrils flaring ever so slightly. Most of the other horses had come up to the front when they saw him, but she hung back, with an expression he could only describe as a glare aimed at him. He stepped in holding up the halter, "Time to go outside." He said as he started pulling it on. He succeeded, sort of, only one ear under the halter the nose band hanging lopsidedly across her face. The mare snorted as he apologized fixing the halter and bringing her out of the stall.

From the barn he could see pretty far, miles of pastures separated by dark brown wooden fences. The grass and trees were all still green, but the green wasn't as vibrant as it used to be, duller, ready to begin fading into autumn colors. He started forward tugging on the lead rope to get Rose to follow behind. At least he was almost done with this chore. As he continued to watch the scenery movement caught his eye out in the pastures, it was Dean and a grey horse, cantering up the hill that rolled through the pasture. It must've been a pretty big horse to look that large from a distance, much bigger than the mare that was walking next to him.

Dean looked so…natural on a horse; he didn't look stiff like the generals posing on horseback that had decorated his history textbooks. He more of flowed with the horse's movements, while at the same time not moving at all. Castiel smiled; maybe he would be able to do that eventually. For now he felt awkward on the ground with the horses, he couldn't expect much better from their backs. While watching Dean he had all but completely forgotten the mare whom he was leading. That is until the rope snapped taught and he found himself moving backwards.

Picasso was one of the stallions his Dad had bought just before Sam had left, a gray Dutch Warmblood with Grand Prix experience, Dean had been thrilled when his Dad had started letting him exercise him. Dean had only jumped him once or twice, and nowhere near his full potential. He spent more time conditioning than practicing over fences. Not that he expected his Dad would ever let him jump Picasso that high, or any other horse for that matter. Any chance of that happening ended when he was four years old.

Dean brought him out of the stud barn, checking his girth and throwing the reins over Picasso's head before swinging up. At eighteen hands the horse's withers were about even with Dean in height, a lot taller than he was used to on any of the horses, Cyrus was seventeen hands, a good four inches shorter. Picasso was quite a bit calmer than Cyrus was although Cyrus was a gelding, the only stallion that he had any major concerns about being around someone less experienced (i.e. Castiel) was Mohican, a black Hanoverian with a bit of a temper. It wasn't that he expected Mohican to get out when Castiel was around, it was more of he barely trusted Sam to be around Mohican, much less Castiel.

It was a pretty short ride up to the back pastures, none of the horses were out on the grass, and probably wouldn't be again till spring when the grass started growing faster again. He spent about ten minutes trotting around the flat area near the gate, circling him around and around until he was engaging his back and hind end. His dad had always said there was no point to exercising unless you were using the muscles right. He moved farther back into the pasture were the inclines started, urging Picasso to first trot and eventually canter into the pasture moving farther up the hill. Hill work was great for the horse's strength and fitness, which was exactly what his father wanted him to work on. Picasso was an athlete, the bigger prizes he started to win and the more people who wanted his stud services the more money for Winchester Stables.

This was one of his favorite places on the farm; he could see the country side off to one side and the property to the other. All three barns, the house, the paddocks and the arenas were easily in view. He could see Castiel out in front of the barn, struggling with Rose who had decided she would rather eat the grass next to the barn than in her pasture. Dean laughed watching the mare drag him around, if he gave that horse one thing, her brain was just as big as her attitude. He considered riding down to give him a hand, but Picasso would only make Rose worse. Castiel would figure it out.

Another half hour later he and Picasso had finished their work out, and Dean hopped off at the pasture gate, to walk the stallion back to the barn. It was almost eight thirty in the morning by the time Dean had Picasso untacked, bathed, and put away. His next ride was in the stud barn as well, a much younger stallion than Picasso, only four. John had started him under saddle the year before and let Dean start riding him only a few weeks ago. He lived up to his name, Pretty Boy, was a huge red bay with a large white blaze across his face. Patting Picasso goodbye he walked down the barn aisle to Pretty Boy's stall.

A sharp snort caught his attention and he turned to see Mohican staring at him, ears pinned flat against his head teeth bared and neck stretched. He had no doubt if he had been close enough the stallion would bite him. Mohican had been a beautiful horse, still was a beautiful horse, despite the scar jagged puckered scar that ran from his neck to halfway down his ribcage. Dean vaguely remembered when he was little; his mother would hold him in front of her on the saddle, trotting Mohican around the arena while he laughed. One corner of his mouth twitched slightly and he kept walking, a lot had changed since then.

Castiel had managed to work his way through the main barn with the help of the other two stable hands once they'd shown up, all thirty stalls and the rest of the chores for it by the time he went up for lunch. He had spoken to them for a little while, or more of listened than spoke as he ate his sandwich. Their names were Jo and Garth, and they were exercise riders for the most part from the sound of it; though they did chores in the morning, so it looked like he was going to be alone when he went to see the broodmares. Jo's mom was the woman he had me the other night, the one whom Dean had bought him the flower from, he was pretty sure her name was Ellen. Garth had lived in town all his life, but learned to ride at a different stable, only getting a job here a few years prior.

He thought Garth was a little…too friendly. Where Dean would have been exasperated, Garth was telling him to 'bring it in'. It was strange. Jo was nice though. Castiel sighed walking into the broodmare's barn, greeted by the high pitched whinnies of curious foals. He rather liked the baby horses, at around four months old they were still all legs and eyes. He said hello to the foals and their mother's as he passed. Dean had said he should groom each pair first before putting them in the small turnouts that were attached to their stalls.

"Alrighty." He said pulling open the door to the end stall, the foal and mare came up to the front and he slipped the halter onto the mare, he was about to lead her out when he looked down at the little chestnut horse watching him. "Um…shoo." He said, waving his hands, but only receiving a blank look in return. "I need your mother for a little while; I'll uh come back for you. Just…just stay there okay." He attached the lead rope to the mare's halter and led her out, hooking her to the crossties in the middle of the aisle. Alright, now I need to get her brushes and I'll – his thought cut off as he turned around a pair of big eyes staring up at him. A sudden thought occurred to Castiel that this small, awkwardly shaped, young horse could turn around and just run away. Terrible things could happen, he could run into a fence, break his leg in a pot hole.

"Just…don't move little guy." He said looking him in the eye, the foal blinked. Castiel looked around spotting a tiny halter hanging on a hook next to their stall, moving slowly he walked to the stall picking up the halter he turned around, the foal hadn't moved. He let out a sigh of relief as he fastened the halter only to be struck with another dilemma. Where would he put the foal, he seemed attached to his mother and Castiel worried he would be scared if he put him back in the stall. He was too short to be hooked onto cross ties. Castiel looked down at him having an idea; he clipped a lead rope to the halter and tied it around his waist. "All right little guy. Let's go find some brushes."

Dean had decided to take a break and see how the new stable hand was doing. When he couldn't find him in the main barn or the house he walked down to the mares. He was a bit faster of a worker than he had expected, though he still wasn't expecting much, he had seen Jo and Garth they had probably been there to help him out. Work was definitely going quicker with him around, without having to do barn chores he was already almost done with the horses he had to exercise, he was definitely going to get to ride Cyrus again, maybe even have time to relax."

Walking into the barn he immediately found Castiel, brushing one of the mares, her foal was standing behind him. Neck stretched out reaching for the hoof pick that was stuffed in his back pocket. Dean cleared his throat loudly and the three of them looked up, Castiel and the baby looking more surprised than the mare. Dean raised an eyebrow noticing the lead rope tied around Castiel's waist.

"What're you doing?" He asked striding down the aisle, doing his best to hide his amusement.

"He followed us out of the stall, and I was afraid to leave him alone." Castiel explained as he continued to groom, "I didn't want to leave him standing on his own, but he's too short for cross ties so I did this." He said gesturing to the rope.

"She," Dean corrected, "That's a filly, her name's Dancer."

"Oh. I'm sorry." Castiel apologized to Dancer, who glanced at him casually before returning to trying to wrap her lips around the hoof pick. Dean smirked; he was still having trouble deciding who was weirder, this guy or Garth. At least Castiel was quiet most of the time. Dean walked up to him and started fumbling with the knot he had tied around himself. Does this guy not know how to tie a bow? He wondered pulling at the odd ends. He could feel Castiel's eyes on the back of his head as he leaned in closer, finally pulling out the last loop and slipping it off of Castiel.

"You know, it would be a lot easier," Dean said leading the filly to the side of the aisle, "just to tie her up to the stall." He said tying a slip knot around one of the cast iron bars.

"Oh."

Glossary

Bay – A color where the main coat is brown varying from bright reddish browns to dark almost black with a black mane, tail, legs (generally to about the knee) and classically the muzzle and the tips of the ears. There is also a variation called Seal Bay in which the horse is pretty much black except for light brown on soft spots such as the muzzle and the flanks.

Blaze – A thick white facial marking going from the forehead down to the muzzle and sometimes completely covering the muzzle as well

Broodmare – A mare that is used for breeding purposes.

Colt – (while not used in this chapter might as well add in for distinction) a male baby horse.

Cross ties – A way of tying a horse while grooming and tacking, a rope attached to the wall on either side of the stall or barn aisle is attached to square metal piece s of the halter on either side of their face close to the muzzle.

Ears back – When a horse's ears are pinned flat to the top of their head, this is body language for "I'm pissed"

Filly – A girl baby horse

Foal – A baby horse

Grand Prix - Very high level show jumping the fences are at about five feet three inches purses (total amount of prize money to be given to all placers) can range from 10,000 to in the millions.

Hands – The unit of measurement of a horse one hand is equal to about four inches so Picasso at 18 hands is six feet at the withers (see withers below) and Cyrus at 17 is a bit over five and a half feet at the withers

Hay Net – a net made of thin rope meant to hold hay so a horse may snack on it throughout the day.

Withers – The point on the horses body where the spinal vertebrae meet the neck vertebrae on a horse it is just behind the base of the neck and above the shoulder, it is the point hands are measure to, so including head and neck the horse is actually a bit taller than given in hands. If you would like a picture or diagram you could probably google it.

Thankyou so much for sticking through another chapter! This was pretty text heavy, not a lot of dialogue but I hope you enjoyed it! We got to see from Castiel's point of view for the first time yay! I've been kind of scared to write from his point of view, he's a difficult character in general, and in an AU it's even harder to wrap my head around him. Please review on how you think I'm doing with him, both from his view and in dialogue with Dean and how I could do better, or review on anything else you might like! Thanks again for reading!