Chapter Six: Wanted man

When exhaustion made Dean slump in his saddle, the anger kept him upright. Its gnawing never stopped.

'I ain't feelin' so hot,' he mumbled. He felt light in the head. Who knew that lightness could be that heavy? Castiel didn't appear to hear, so Dean soldiered on.

It wasn't anything physical that eventually did him in. The problem is that nothing feels right, Dean thought, before sliding into empty air. He met the frozen ground face first. His right foot was still tangled in the stirrup, but he didn't possess the strength to haul it out.

'Are you okay?'

It wasn't Castiel's gravelly, rarely used voice doing the asking. Hands were patting down Dean's clothes. His foot was none too gently removed from the stirrup. He rolled onto his back. The sky was a great expanse of white. No clouds, just an icy blank. Castiel popped into frame and helped him up. The side of Dean's face was throbbing.

They stood, Dean's arm slung across Castiel's shoulder. The world swayed. Dean tried to focus. Finally, he began to recognise the situation for what it was. His spectacular dive had given Gabriel an opportunity. And Gabriel had grabbed it with both hands.

He was training a revolver – Dean's revolver – on them. Castiel's rifle was still useless in his saddlebag. He must have jumped off his horse when he saw that I was down, Dean realised.

'Go ahead, kill me then,' Dean urged. He was beyond caring at this point. Castiel stiffened at his side.

'I was your friend,' Gabriel protested, appalled.

Dean spat out a thick glob of blood to show what he thought of that. He shuffled closer to Gabriel, aided by Castiel. Dean raised his head and, ignoring the barrel of the gun, looked Gabriel dead in the eye.

'I want you to understand something. Me allowing you to live; I didn't do that for you.'

Gabriel winced and trotted over to Castiel's horse. He took hold of Castiel's rifle and slipped it into his own saddlebag. That might have been the last of it. Dean so wished it had been. However, Gabriel had more wisdom to impart.

'Lucifer ain't the type to appreciate mercy,' Gabriel warned. He started to rub each wrist in turn, absentmindedly.

'Junior here knows what I mean,' he added, nodding at Castiel, before focusing on Dean again. They stared at each other.

'He'll shoot you dead, 's what I'm saying.'

(***)

Gabriel had taken all their supplies. The only thing he'd left was Castiel's horse. Dean tried not to be grateful, because that wasn't exactly the feeling he wanted to be feeling towards Gabriel. I should have killed him when I had the chance, Dean thought. Mercy: what a motherfucker.

Night replaced day. He was in a bad state. It was so, so cold. Even with his front plastered against Castiel's back while they rode the one horse, he was freezing. He needed a warm bed. Soon. The cold had rendered his limbs uncooperative. Unembarrassed, Dean pressed himself tighter against Castiel.

(***)

'Couldn't do it, could you?' Lucifer taunted. The pleasure in his voice was unmistakable.

'Oh, I'm going to get the man who killed my family,' Dean announced. Lucifer smiled.

'That a fact?'

'I'm coming for you,' Dean promised, attempting to match Lucifer's smile.

'Ah, come on. Don't be like that. Take a good swing at me and we'll call it even,' Lucifer said. Suddenly, Lucifer transformed into Castiel. The young man's gaze was steely, his jaw set.

'I'll tell you the secret to a long life,' Castiel said. His blue eyes were fixed on Dean.

'Don't hesitate. Don't miss. Don't be sorry. Don't think that this will be easy. There's no easy here, Dean. There's only one way. Oh, and don't die.'

Dean swallowed and lay awake with eyes closed until his heart was beating at a normal rate. He was buried underneath a mountain of blankets. He was in a room. His own room back at the ranch. They were home. Closing his eyes, he expected to be asleep again within seconds, but it was no good. There was something missing.

He got out of bed and left the room. At the end of the hall light shone through an open door. The door to Castiel's room. Quietly, Dean walked the length of the hall and paused in the doorway. Castiel was sitting on his bed, cleaning a revolver. His movements were slow and measured. Dean observed the muscles shifting under his skin as Castiel swiped an oily cloth across the weapon. It had a calming effect on Dean. After a while, Castiel looked up and noticed him. Attempting to come up with a reason for being there, Dean posed him a question.

'Cas? If I go after Lucifer, will you come?'

Castiel stopped cleaning for a moment and nodded. That should have been enough, but Dean felt anything but satisfied. He couldn't shake the feeling that if Castiel said something it would make him feel better. So, he asked him something that would require more than a nod.

'Why? What do you want?'

Smiling, Castiel continued his work on the revolver. The smile made Dean's scalp tingle. The silence pissed him off. When it was clear to everyone with a lick of sense that Gabriel was not Castiel's father, why had Castiel stayed at the ranch anyway? This wasn't his fight, so why was he prepared to die? What were his motives? Dean stepped into the bedroom.

'I'm getting real tired of this quiet bullshit of yours. Open your mouth. Why did you stay here five years ago? Why did you go with me when I went after Gabriel? Stop cleaning that damn gun! Answer me! What do you want?' he demanded.

Castiel got up from the bed, putting the gun aside. He walked up to Dean and kissed him. It was nothing much. Just a peck. Then he sat back down and watched Dean. Dean's heart hammered in his throat.

'You...' Dean began, but he was unable to find another fucking word. Maybe some things were better left unsaid anyway. All out of moves, Dean lay down beside Castiel. Castiel pulled Dean against him. They were a snug fit. For a while, Castiel simply held him.

Eventually, though, the younger man shoved Dean's clothes up, baring his back and mapping out his skin. At least, that was what it felt like to Dean. Castiel's fingers and lips skimmed across every scar and freckle, making memories to last. No longer was the tiny scar on Dean's lower back only a reminder of the time he fell off his horse. Now it was also the first thing Castiel slid the tip of his tongue over. The supple leather of Dean's belt slipped through Castiel's hands like reins as he nipped at the skin of Dean's neck. Dean turned around and kissed him.

Nothing felt right. Nothing. Except this.