WAY OUT WEST
Chapter 2
A good couple of hours passed before Castiel opened his eyes, gradually realising he had fallen asleep. Blinking in confusion, he looked around the darkened room, unsure of what to do next.
Eventually, after much deliberation and knowing Bobby was in his study, for want of anything else to do Castiel decided to join him.
He hauled himself to his feet, and gasped at the unfamiliar and spectacularly unpleasant human sensation of pain ripping through his abdomen as his laboured attempts to rise pulled on the wound.
Stooping painfully he cautiously made his way through to Bobby's study finding the older man asleep, slumped over his desk and snoring heartily into the dusty pages of an ancient grimoire.
Castiel leaned heavily on the desk watching the sleeping man; Should he leave him alone to sleep? Should he wake him? He wiped a cuff across his sweat beaded forehead, and thought back to what he had seen the brothers do for each other when one of them was hurt or tired.
Timidly shrugging off his trenchcoat, he gently spread it over Bobby's hunched shoulders, and taking an armful of books, he lowered himself tentatively into a sagging armchair and began to read …
xxxxx
The brothers had been riding across miles of flat, featureless emptiness for about an hour before they both dismounted, concerned that the struggling horse might actually keel over under their combined weight. They walked in silence for a while, either side of the exhausted animal which Dean had taken it upon himself to call Lars.
"I'm surprised no-one's come after us;" Sam broke the silence looking at Dean over the tall black shoulder bobbing along between them.
"Nah," Dean shook his head, "they know I've got 'that' gun with me, if they're gonna come after us they'll do it later on when they think they can catch us off guard without it."
Sam continued, It doesn't look good dude, does it?" He sighed, "black magic, horse stealing; we haven't exactly created a good first impression here."
Dean nodded, ruffling Lars' sweaty mane; "they're probably already printing up the wanted posters."
"According to the map, there's a small town called Possum Creek about eighty miles north of Sunrise;" Sam suggested hopefully, "that might be far enough away to give us a bit of breathing space. I reckon we could do it in two days if we don't overload the hor - Lars."
Dean squinted through the late afternoon sunlight as he scanned the landscape; a wide expanse of sun-bronzed rocky nothingness peppered by banks of shimmering scrubby grasses and a few forlornly shrivelled bushes.
"Great;" grunted Dean, "two days in the ass end of beyond;" he groaned miserably, "I've already got dust in places I don't even wanna friggin' think about."
Sam grimaced, he didn't want to think about them either.
"Have you taken into account the fact we don't have any provisions?" Dean continued with an irritable snort, peering over Lars' shaggy mane; "unless we eat Lars here," he whispered, as if he expected the horse to be outraged by his suggestion.
"Well, according to the map, there's a creek about two miles west running the best part of the distance between Sunrise and Possum Creek, so we should be okay for water," Sam replied, "but food - that's another matter."
Dean scowled, "but I'm already hungry." He rubbed his stomach as a petulant gurgle erupted from it so violently, that Lars shied.
Sam shrugged, "sorry dude, don't know what to suggest."
They trudged in silence for a few more minutes.
"I'm tired too."
"Dean…"
"An' sweaty."
Sam's fingers tightened on the reins.
"Where's this friggin' creek then?"
"Let's find it," Sam sighed, silently embracing thoughts of drowning Dean in it.
Together the little band of three turned slightly westwards and continued their long, dusty trek as the sun dipped below the horizon before them.
xxxxx
Bobby's tired eyes drifted open and scanned hazily across the room as the early dawn light filtered weakly through the grimy window pane.
He took in the usual sights that greeted him every morning when he awoke; dust, cobwebs, piles of mildew-stained books, ramshackle furniture, sleeping angel, frayed rug, faded upholstery …
... sleeping angel?
He turned back to stare at the figure untidily slumped in the chair, open book draped across it's bloostained chest.
Whoever would have thought that angels snored?
xxxxx
Sam sat huddled beside an sorry looking outcrop of straggling gorse bushes, poking the small fire he had managed to light. Not that they had anything to cook on it as Dean had pointed out to him on numerous occasions; but, Sam reflected, at least it would keep them warm later on when twilight gave over to darkness.
From the other side of the bushes, Sam could hear Lars whittering softly, and the uncomfortably close trickling sounds of Dean answering nature's call.
Staring unblinking through the twilight Sam watched the flames flicker and dance around a little pot of creek water he had put on the fire to boil. He didn't actually know why he was boiling the water; it wasn't like they had anything to put in it to turn it into anything remotely interesting like coffee or soup, but on the plus side it was a welcome distraction from the muttering and zipping sounds behind him.
He closed his eyes, rubbing his temples as he tried to rationalise exactly how much trouble the Winchesters had gotten themselves into this time. Somewhere … sometime ... whatever, Bobby and Castiel were still where they'd left them. Were they trying to get the boys back? Did they even realise they were trapped?
Sam groaned.
And now here he was sitting in the dark in the middle of nowhere, boiling a pot of water on a camp fire for no apparent reason and listening to Dean moaning for possibly the ten thousandth time about being hungry while emptying his bladder about eighteen inches from the back of Sam's head.
The word doesn't exist to describe how much this sucked.
He was abruptly jolted out of his musings by a sudden fracas of rustling, stomping, yelling activity behind him;
"Sammy…" Dean snorted excitedly, dashing past Lars from around the bush; "look, supper!"
Sam's jaw dropped as Dean stood before him beaming in triumph and clutching a wriggling jackrabbit.
"What the hell?" Sam looked up at the terrified animal, it's huge eyes bulging partly in terror and partly from being squeezed so tightly as Dean held it out towards Sam like a sacrificial offering.
"We can eat this;" Dean grinned, "stupid li'l guy ran right across in fron' of me!"
Sam stared in disbelief at the quivering animal; "well, you'd better kill it first."
Dean's smile faded.
"well yeah … I know that," he muttered looking down at the trembling little creature squirming in his hands.
Sam waited ...
"... Something wrong?"
"No," Dean snapped irritably.
"Well if you want to cook and eat it you've got to finish it off first, so get on and break it's neck, that's the kindest way."
Dean looked down at the rabbit again, cringing as It stared up at him with huge bulging eyes, white rimmed with fear.
"Quit lookin' at me, Bugs;" Dean snorted.
"Dad told us what to do; remember when he showed us how to kill and skin a rabbit on that camping trip in the Appalachians?"
Dean shrugged, "uh, yeah …"
"You threw up."
"Yeah, thank you for the friggin' recap, bitch; I know how to kill a damn rabbit."
"… well?"
"I'm just buildin' up to it."
He bit his lip as he looked down at the little shivering animal which peered back up at him from within his vice-like grip with huge, pebble-round chocolate brown eyes; It twitched it's nose.
Sam broke into a grin; "You don' want to kill the liddle-bitty fluffy bunny wabbit, you big girl."
It twitched it's nose again, and Dean's fragile resolve crumbled entirely.
"Alright smartass, you kill it;" he snorted, thrusting the rabbit into Sam's hands, "well, go on then Mr. freakin' hard man, break it's neck … it's easy," Dean huffed, folding his arms triumphantly.
Sam looked briefly stunned; "no, you caught it, you kill it." He rapidly shoved the bewildered animal back into Dean's arms as if it were a ticking bomb.
"I don' want it," snapped Dean, almost throwing it back to Sam in his haste.
"Well, I don't want it either," Sam pushed the rabbit back into Dean's chest.
Dean gave a deep sigh, as he lifted the little quivering, traumatised bundle and stared it straight in the eyes.
"You are one lucky little sonofabitch;" he gently put the rabbit down on the ground and watched it frantically scurry away.
"Oh God, we're pathetic;" Sam shook his head.
Dean sat heavily in front of the fire and crossed his legs.
"Rabbit sucks anyway; tastes like crap." he sighed glumly.
xxxxx
The angel's blue eyes flickered open and his first sight was a steaming mug of coffee hovering in front of his face.
"I don't know if angels drink coffee," muttered Bobby, handing the mug to his guest.
Taking the mug nervously, Castiel murmured his hesitant thanks, sitting up with a groan as the book across his chest slid to the floor.
Bobby sat heavily at his desk and took a long swig of the coffee, "take it from me, if you ain't got ya angel mojo up an' runnin', caffeine's the next best thing."
Without further words, he pulled a book across the desk towards him and began to pore silently through it's musty pages.
Castiel took a tentative sniff of the steaming black liquid and wrinkled his nose in disgust.
That'll be why angels don't drink coffee then.
xxxxx
Sitting on the dusty ground, hypnotised by the chirruping of crickets and the contented munching of Lars as he systematically dismantled of the gorse bushes beside them, the Winchesters stared dully into the dying embers of their little fire.
"Dean?"
"What?"
"I'm hungry."
xxxxx
tbc
nb: just in case anyone is unsure ... Lars is, of course, named after Lars Ulrich, the Metallica drummer!