Chapter Four: Russian roulette

Castiel was up long before Dean, getting the horses ready. This was much appreciated, but it also irritated Dean. It was like the guy wasn't even human. Another thing Dean wasn't comfortable with: they were now going entirely by Castiel's insane tracking ability. Were they going the right way? He had no idea. Every time he asked Castiel whether he was sure, Castiel just nodded firmly. Dean continued to follow, but he was growing more uncertain by the hour.

It had warmed up during the night, so there was no snow on the ground. Still, all this snowing and melting business couldn't be making finding tracks any easier. Dean was gearing up to ask again whether Castiel knew what he was doing when he noticed that Castiel's attention was focused elsewhere. There was movement on the horizon.

Pulling his hat down to shade his eyes, Dean strained to see two figures on horseback rapidly approaching. Indians. Dean tensed. He had never met an Indian before, but the stories weren't encouraging. His horse whinnied and impatiently scraped its hoofs. Dean began to take his rifle out of his saddlebag. Castiel shook his head and, reluctantly, Dean put the rifle back. They waited until the Indians were a few yards away.

The Indians wore animal hides fashioned into clothes. Broad leather bands were wrapped around their wrists. Their faces were covered with bright red tattoos. They wore a buffalo's scalp, including horns, on their head. None of this inspired confidence in Dean. Uneasily, the four men scrutinised each other.

Castiel spoke and Dean practically fell off his horse. Horse boy could talk Indian! Not having had occasion to hear Castiel speak at length before, Dean listened with interest. The young man had a very distinctive voice. Deep and smooth. When Dean moved on to trying to follow the conversation, he got nowhere. The only thing he understood was 'Gabriel.'

The tallest of the Indians pointed at the rifle sticking out of Dean's saddle bag. The gesture filled Dean with renewed unease. He put his hand over the gun. Castiel simply nodded and fished something out of his own saddle bag. He held it up for the Indians to see. It was a knife. Its blade was carved with symbols and the handle had been made to resemble a branch. It was beautiful. Now Dean felt kind of stupid for refusing to give up his old rifle.

Before he could protest, however, Castiel brought his horse forward and gave the knife to the Indians for them to inspect. They both seemed to approve. What happened next was clear even to Dean, who didn't know what the hell was being said. The tall Indian was giving them instructions on how to find Gabriel. He conveniently pointed in the direction they had already been travelling anyway.

'He could be lying,' Dean pointed out, but Castiel shushed him.

'I don't feel comfortable giving them weapons,' he added. It was a little too late for that advice, but Dean had always enjoyed being contrary. Castiel proceeded to completely ignore him. The tall Indian handed the knife to his companion and when he put it away a glimpse of something inside the Indian's pouch made Dean sit up straight.

'Can you ask if he will show me that? That clump?' Dean asked. Despite the Indians obvious mistrust of the request, Castiel managed to persuade them. One look was all he got, but it was enough to confirm Dean's suspicions. It was the clump of gold Gabriel claimed to have gotten during the rush in Klondike. Not that Dean had believed that unlikely story. He doubted Gabriel had set foot in Canada. The gold was probably stolen.

Gabriel had kept the clump hidden in his room. Once, when they were both especially drunk, Gabriel had taken it from its hiding place and shown it to Dean. He'd said that if he ever got tired of raising cattle, he would take the gold and split. And, as it turned out, murder Sam and Grace in the process. Dean quickly pushed that out of his mind.

So, at least they now knew that the Indians had really met Gabriel. Though what could have convinced Gabriel to give up the gold, Dean couldn't say. Was that the only thing he had had left to trade? Trade for what? Warily, each party kept an eye on the other party until they were out of sight.

When the Indians were gone, Dean whooped and clapped Castiel on the back.

'You're a man of many talents,' he shouted. Castiel tried not to look pleased and failed spectacularly.

'Where did you learn that?'

Castiel vaguely gestured with his left hand, before taking the lead again. Left to his own devises, Dean interpreted the gesture to mean 'around.' Around. When he was doing his drifting. Smiling, Dean watched Castiel until the purpose of their journey came back to him. Then he drove his spurs a little too hard into his poor horse's flanks to keep up.

(***)

Night had fallen, but they hadn't stopped to rest. Nor were they going to, by the look of things. Dean didn't need to be told why: they were close. All the light they had to guide them was the glow of the moon and a few scattered stars.

'You think we'll get him tonight?' Dean whispered. Placing his finger on his lips, Castiel soundlessly slipped off his horse and tied the reins around a nearby tree. He indicated that Dean should do the same. Without giving it a second thought, Dean did as he was told.

Castiel cocked his head. He was listening for something. Dean stood perfectly still, ignoring the sound of his heartbeat and the blood rushing through his veins. He didn't know which was louder. Shivering, they stood there for what seemed like a long time. At long last, Dean heard it too. The noise was faint, but unmistakable. Stone hitting stone. Branch rubbing against branch. Someone was trying to start a fire.

Castiel grabbed his rifle. Dean went for the revolver. It was loaded. It had been loaded since departure. This was what he had come to do. Wordlessly, they parted. Castiel went left, Dean went right. They weaved through the trees. It was like hunting, except nothing like it at all. They reached a small clearing.

There was no tent, no blanket, no weapon, and no food. There was nothing in the clearing, except Gabriel and one of the horses he had made off with. It was Sam's. Dean recognised it and clenched his jaw. Futilely trying to get a fire going, Gabriel never heard them coming, until they emerged out of the woods with their guns drawn.

'Dean. I can explain.'

It was a running joke. Gabriel would say it and then explain some already dire situation by only implicating himself further. I can explain why that woman slapped me. I didn't cheat on her. I cheated on her... with her sister. And then my horse accidentally trampled her cat.

'No, no! I'm not kidding. I really can explain. Lucifer made me do it,' Gabriel yelled, raising his hands in the air. He stumbled backwards and landed on his side. When he tried to get up, Dean kicked him back down.

'Talk,' he growled.

'I had a gambling debt, you know, at Lucifer's place. Had one for a long time. Us being brothers and all, I didn't think he'd mind. But suddenly he wanted the money. I told him I didn't have it and he threatened me. Real nasty stuff. Guys... doing things to me. I told him again that I didn't have the money. He told me to get it or else. I really didn't have the money, you know that...'

'Get to the fucking point.'

'Lucifer said he knew a way for me to get the money. I could steal the money meant for supplies. Now, I didn't want to. I told him that. I said, 'I can't.' He gets very graphic. I tell him that it can't be done; that I'm never alone with the money. That it's always me and someone else. That's when he gave me the sleeping potion.'

Frowning, Dean looked at Gabriel. The youngest of the Angel brothers was too wrapped up in his pathetic attempt at talking his way out of an execution to notice.

'He didn't say it was so strong. I must have given them too much, 'cause they, they...'

He looked up at Dean with tears in his eyes. Dean met his gaze with eyes that remained hard like diamonds. Gabriel shook his head.

'Dean, you know I wouldn't do that. You know me. I wouldn't. Not Grace.'

'It wasn't a sleeping potion. It was poison,' Dean said. His voice sounded strange. Like he had lived about a hundred years.

'I didn't know. I swear. You gotta believe me,' Gabriel pleaded. Dean spun this story around in his head. Gabriel was an excellent liar. Routinely cleaned up at their bi-monthly poker games because of it. He could be lying about this.

On the other hand, Lucifer was a bad guy. A guy not to be trusted. He could have tricked him. If they took Gabriel into town, they could confront Lucifer and find out which version was the truth.

Dean stared at Gabriel and decided that it didn't matter. Whether he had meant to or not, Gabriel had killed them.

He aimed at Gabriel's chest. Gabriel scrambled away from him. Held up his hands in front of his face, his body, as if they would stop the bullet. He begged, grovelled, cried.

'Please, Dean. Don't do this.'

From far, far away, Michael still managed to be annoying. Something about compassion. Something about mercy. It did absolutely nothing to sway Dean's resolve. This was for Sam. That thought did give him pause.

Sam wouldn't have liked this whole thing. Running around, trying to kill people. Nope, Sam would not have liked it one bit. Slowly, Dean lowered his revolver. Gabriel thanked him profusely. Dean didn't hear him. He thought about what his brother would have wanted.

That didn't help. It made him angrier, 'cause Sam wasn't around to answer the question anymore. Yeah, Sam wouldn't have wanted this. But he also wouldn't have wanted to be dead. Still...

'I'm gonna try something. See how I like it,' Dean announced. He emptied the revolver's chambers. Gabriel followed his movements with huge eyes as Dean put one bullet in and pushed the cylinder back into place. Savoring the fear in Gabriel's eyes, Dean spun the cylinder.

There was a dull click. Dean pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. Gabriel let out a relieved laugh, which he just as quickly stifled.

'Now Grace.'

Smirking, Dean watched as the horror returned to Gabriel's face. He waited. Gabriel was too terrified to speak. Dean pulled the trigger again. Nothing happened again.

'You lucky son of a bitch,' Dean sneered. He half-turned to discover Castiel standing beside him. Castiel's rifle was still trained on Gabriel. Dean approached the horse and took its reins.

'At least leave the horse,' Gabriel stammered. His teeth were chattering. Without sparing him a look, Dean refused.

'No.'

Suddenly, everything happened very fast. Gabriel screamed something. Dean let go off the reins and started to turn around. He saw Gabriel get to his feet. A gunshot erupted and the situation was completely different. The horse was gone. There was a new revolver lying by the campfire. Dean was kneeling next to it. Gabriel was back on the ground, clutching his bleeding hand. The only one who didn't seem to have moved at all was Castiel.

Thin wisps of warmth were curling from his rifle's barrel into the crisp night air. Dean collected the revolver. He glanced at Castiel. Castiel vanished into the woods, clacked his tongue like a maniac and came back with Sam's horse. They prepared to leave.

'You can't leave me here. I'll die.'

'So?'

Gabriel had no response to that. Dean grimaced. Leaving Gabriel now would be like killing him. There was no grey area. So, either they had to actually kill him now or take him back with them. Dean glanced at Castiel, who shrugged as if to say 'you decide.' That was fucking great.

'We'll take him with us. See if his story pans out,' Dean decided. He hauled Gabriel up by the latter's coat. It was damp and soiled.

'Mercy is the mark of a great man,' Gabriel whimpered gratefully. Oh shit, Dean thought, I'm going kill him after all. Instead, he knocked him unconscious against the nearest tree.

(***)

Later that night.

They had bound and gagged Gabriel. Castiel had even bandaged the gunshot wound as well as he could, after Dean asked him to.

'I could have killed him,' Dean said, looking into the fire. The flames leapt high. He had felt almost relieved when the fated chambers were empty. He was pretty sure he wasn't supposed to feel like that. Dean didn't need to look at Castiel to know that the other man was listening intently. It was all Castiel ever did. Listen and help him and save his life.

'It wasn't easy. Pulling the trigger, I mean. Even knowing that he'd, you know…'

His voice trailed off. He welcomed a new surge of anger.

'God damn it! Why'd he do it? What'd he go and do that for?'

He pounded the ground with his fist. Castiel stirred, but didn't intervene. Dean punched the earth until his hand was numb and bleeding. When he was done, he looked up to find Castiel staring at him. The other man didn't blink. He simply tore a strip of an already shredded cloth and tended to Dean's hand.

'Thanks,' Dean mumbled. He felt so tired. Close to the fire, Dean curled up for the night. His hand was starting to throb. It felt kinda nice. He'd almost drifted off when he remembered that he'd vowed to let Castiel get some much deserved sleep. Unenthusiastically, he opened his eyes. Castiel wasn't keeping watch with the horses as usual. Dean turned slightly to take a look at their prisoner. A still out for the count Gabriel didn't have Castiel near him either.

Rolling over, getting tangled in layers of blankets, Dean finally found Castiel. Lying right next to him, fast asleep.