《Self, Published》


 Chapter 1

    Dean Winchester sipped at his mug of coffee gingerly, trying to avoid yet again burning his tongue in his haste for that early morning caffeine hit. Outside his bay window, mist still hovered along the rolling fields, pooling in the springs and hollows. He watched it drift for several minutes, scanning for deer. A long, hot summer had baked the Kansas soil, and even though autumn was trying to creep in at night, he thought it was apt to get hot that day once the fog burned off.


    When the coffee had cooled to a slightly less searing temperature and no wildlife made an appearance, Dean moved back toward the front of the house, into the living room. Rosy morning light bathed the floorboards and the dusty ''67 Chevrolet Impala visible through its windows. The landscape was a study in shades of blush and dusky blue, muted through the haze. The previous week up in Glacier National Park had been a welcome break from the parched summer heat after sending his agent the final edits on his latest manuscript. Nothing put the daily grind in the rearview better than towering mountains and the scent of crisp, arctic pine. He''d barely written more than a few texts all week, supplementing his usual blog and social media posts with hurried snapshots uploaded to Instagram.


    Dean sighed. He needed to get some new content up today, or Benny would be on his ass again.


    "The book''s only half the battle, Dean," Benny had told him more than once. "The other half''s the platform."


    From somewhere in the kitchen, he heard his cell phone start ringing, the wailing strains of "Smoke on the Water" looping until he finally got over to pick it up. He wasn''t that surprised to see Benny''s name on the screen. His literary agent was one of the few people he knew who seemed to sleep as little as he did. The pair of them were both night owls and early birds. Benny only seemed to remember that Kansas was an hour behind New York after 9 PM; Dean was used to calls at odd times of the day.


    "Hey, Benny. Was just thinking of you." Dean walked back into the living room and stood at the front windows again, continuing his coffee infusion.


    "Aw, how sweet," Benny drawled on the other end of the line, soft Louisiana accent unchanged despite his years up north. "Thought you''d forgot all about me up in Montana. Feeling refreshed, brother?"


    "Hell yeah. Just what I needed to get my mind off the damn book for a bit." It would be a short respite, Dean knew. Once the publisher''s editors got ahold of it, there''d be a whole second round of heavy lifting. Nevermind that Benny would expect him to start working up some next big thing¡­ Another gulp of coffee brought only silence on the other end of the line, and Dean''s brow furrowed. Benny wouldn''t just call to ask about his vacation.


    "So¡­ what''s the word?" he prompted.


    "Well, I got a bit of bad news for you, Dean... Zach Adler at Elysium House has decided to pass on the manuscript."


    Dean sighed and frowned. "Damn it¡­"


    Elysium had published his last book, but the acquiring editor, Bobby Singer, had retired to South Dakota last year. Zach Adler, closest thing to his replacement, was someone Dean had felt reluctant about working with in the first place. He had a clear memory of Adler making a borderline disparaging comment about the need for queer representation in writing during a dinner gathering Bobby had dragged him to. Dean had told him not to be a dick.


    There was a whistling sound as Benny pulled air through his teeth. "Yeah, not what I was hoping for after Salvation Ridge did well for them, but this new one was a hard sell for Adler. ...Not to worry though. I have a line in at Inferno Publishing. Going to get some face time tomorrow, but they seemed enthusiastic."


    "Got a name?"


    "Crowley MacLeod. Smooth-talking shark, if you ask me, but good at his job. If he takes the manuscript on, he''ll do his damnedest to sell it hard. Inferno is up and coming in the romance and horror genres. Makes sense that they''d be trying to diversify."


    Dean supposed wilderness survival fiction was close enough to that wheelhouse, and he trusted Benny to know where to pitch the book. "All right, keep me posted, Benny."


    "Will do¡­ And Dean?"


    "Yeah, yeah, I know. Update Facebook. Update the blog. Yadda yadda¡­"


    Benny let out a soft chuckle. "Half and half, brother."


    After hanging up, Dean loitered in the living room for a bit. He put a reminder in his phone to shoot Bobby an email later, to see if the man was up for a visit before winter really set in. Outside, the layer of dust on Baby was looking less atmospheric and more like neglect as the sun rose higher. He really needed to give her a wash today and thoroughly remove the grime from their road trip. It hadn''t mattered so much on the road, when the shining black surface would muddy up again as soon as he left the latest pitstop, but there was no way he was putting her away like that.


    "First things first," Dean sighed after he''d drained his mug. He pulled away from the windows to go get a coffee refill and dig up his laptop.


    It was platform time.


    <hr>


    Turned out he was right about the weather that day. By the time he finished his obligatory posts and was through scrubbing Baby from top to bottom, the temperature and humidity had spiked up. The back of his shirt was soaked through with sweat and sticking to his back. He carefully parked the Impala in its carport and walked back to the house to change clothes. He didn''t bother to shower. After swapping out into drier items, he laced up his hiking boots and grabbed his favorite black oilskin hat before exiting out the back door and into the fields.


    There was a path worn in the dirt and kept widely mowed that led from the lawn around the house toward a grove of trees about halfway to the larger wooded area on his property. Dean followed it, sucking in the hot air and taking in the scents of dried grass and earth. There was at least a breeze that kicked up every few minutes, and each time, he raised his face to it and sighed quietly. The hum of insects and the occasional trill of a sparrow were the only signs of life besides his own footfalls at this time of day.


    The property was almost one hundred acres. It stretched in a wavy line, southeast to northwest, just outside the outskirts of Kansas City. It would have been prime for development into urban sprawl, but the developers had left it alone for a time due to the terrain. The woods and hilly areas with springs and a creek would have taken some work to prep for housing. The acreage had sat long enough for Dean to snap it up with his savings and the proceeds from his first book. Now, it was registered in a federal conservation program that gave him a small but important payment each year, and the only thing sitting on it was the house that had been built there by the previous holder.


    Dean had spruced the structure up a bit before he moved in¡ªthe owner had been older and hadn''t been maintaining it as he should have¡ªbut for the most part, he hadn''t changed a damn thing. Nothing made him more content than watching the deer grazing in the fields in the morning or hearing the ducks calling on the pond on the northern end of his land, and knowing that nobody would come and bulldoze it away.


    He gratefully entered the shade of the first scattered trees that grew around one of the springs. This time of year, the bowl was just dried dirt, but when the rains came through in spring and fall, water welled up in shallow pools. There had been frogs and toads earlier in the year, but by now, they would have moved into the woods for shelter from the summer heat. Dean paused and leaned up against the trunk of one of the larger cottonwoods, squinting his eyes against the brilliant midday sun that lit the fields around him. The air hung heavy, but it was a bit more bearable under the tree boughs, so he took a short break to slow down his sweating.


    Probably should have brought a canteen, he realized, belatedly. He was going to be pretty thirsty by the time he got back to the house.


    When he felt as though he''d caught his breath, Dean moved back into the sun and followed the mown trail farther, wanting to see the woods at least. The second leg of his walk brought a lot more sweating, as the breeze seemed to die out for a spell. He was huffing a bit when he finally entered the next patches of shade, which seemed ridiculous given that he''d just spent a week hiking around at a much higher altitude. He blamed the humidity.


    Last season''s dried leaves crunched under his boots as he wove his way through the trees. The birds were quiet now; in the morning and evening, the air would have been alive with their calls. Only the chirring of crickets and the rustle of branches when the air moved could be heard. He wandered off the path for a while, not caring about the racket he made as he passed through brush. He wasn''t hunting here. Still, he couldn''t help but scan for spoor¡ªthe snapped and chewed vegetation that marked the passage of deer. There wouldn''t be many prints in the summer-hard earth under the trees, but he did finally spot some skat among the old leaves. It looked fairly fresh, maybe a day or two.


    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Finding nothing else of interest or suspicion, he finally trudged back out into the open the way he had come. If he''d gone farther, there would have been a crosscut to the other side of the property, but Dean hadn''t really been expecting to be out so long when he left the house. He just wanted to stretch his legs. Part of coming home was always adjusting to sitting still.


    The afternoon was settling into that scorching, dead heat that meant it was time to grab a glass of iced tea and enjoy some shade. As he neared the house, his phone went off, making him flinch before fumbling it out of his back pocket. Seeing his brother''s name, he immediately pressed green.


    "Sammy. What''s up?"


    "Hey, Dean."


    His younger brother sounded calm, and something in Dean relaxed. Even though the phone rarely brought bad news these days, there was still always that moment before the first words were spoken, when his world seemed to tilt precariously, ready to swing one way or another depending what came across the line.


    Sam continued. "Are we still on for tonight?"


    "Absolutely." The two brothers had made plans to meet up after Dean''s return from Montana. "Meeting at your apartment?"


    "Yeah, I should be home from work by 5:30 or so. Then we can decide where to do dinner."


    Dean couldn''t wait. Sam lived and worked in Topeka with the FBI as a forensic accounting specialist, and while Dean would never be able to abide city living, the one benefit he clearly understood was the sheer number of food options. Trips to visit Sam also meant being able to get something outside the norm a few times a month.


    He tried to wind up the conversation quickly; no sense in using up all the small talk about his trip before they were face to face. That didn''t stop Sam from getting in one good nag.


    "Oh, and call Mom, would you?"


    Dean rolled his eyes. "I will, bitch."


    "Jerk," Sam said, then hung up abruptly before Dean could speak further.


    Dean pulled a face at the phone screen before shoving it back into his pocket. He was almost home, and this time, he would definitely need a shower.


    <hr>


    Dean took the F150 pickup to Topeka, driving west through open flats of grass and wheat with the occasional town laid out in grids along the highway. It was about an hour to the city from Olathe, but to him, it was an easy drive. Sam''s reminder to call their mother came to mind as he looped around Lawrence. It wasn''t that he had a reason not to... just never seemed to remember before the day was through. He shot north to the turnpike after that and flew through the landscape straight into Topeka. Sam lived in an apartment on the north side of the city, and Dean circled around the area a few times until he found a place he could park within walking distance.


    He had arrived a bit early, so he texted Sam before going to the building entrance.


    Just pulled in. You home?


    It took a couple minutes before he saw any indication of a reply. The typing seemed to go on for far longer than the result warranted.


    Yep


    The air was still hanging on to the heat, and Dean felt the prickle of sweat starting again on his back as he made his way up to Sam''s. He took the stairs to the second floor anyway, then rapped on the painted metal door.


    There was the shuffle of movement on the other side before it swung open, revealing his younger brother''s towering frame.


    Dean wasn''t short, but Sam had overshot him around age fifteen and kept going; Mom liked to joke that Sam stole all the tall genes. His brother must have changed out of work attire up top, which would have been a button-down shirt and tie, and into a slightly less formal button-down. The slacks and shoes still screamed "office worker". Sam''s slightly olive complexion barely had a shadow on it; he kept it clean shaven. Even at the end of the day, he seemed put together and perfectly groomed. The only hint of rebellion outside the cleancut FBI image was his brown hair, which hung below his ears, curling slightly at the ends. Dean often teased him about getting a haircut, just for something to rib him about.


    Dean was pale and freckled where Sam was unblemished and tan, had muddled brown hair that wavered between mousey blond and dark dun depending upon lighting and season while Sam''s locks were steadfastly dark chestnut year round. Next to Sam, in denim jeans and scuffed boots, Dean felt like an unkempt farmer, even though he had shaved and showered that afternoon.


    "Dean!" Sam grabbed him with one arm and clapped him on the back.


    "Hey, Sammy. How''s it going?" Dean pulled his face out of Sam''s collar as he clamped a hand on his brother''s shoulder, squeezing it once before stepping back.


    They exchanged a bit of the usual chitchat¡ªwork that day, driving conditions, level of hunger¡ªbefore bickering over restaurant choice on the way back to the car. Dean''s head was turned by almost every greasy burger joint in the area, but Sam pushed him into Thai food.


    "Come on, Dean. You can get a burger anywhere¡­"


    The conversation paused and restarted in an easy flow as they got seated and ordered dinner. Dean asked about Sam''s latest work projects, many of which his brother could only be purposely vague about. Sam listened to Dean''s summary of Glacier National Park.


    Hunting wasn''t permitted there, and Dean hadn''t bothered to explore options outside the park this time around. Instead, he''d satisfied himself with a lot of heavy hiking and a few scattered fishing sessions. He tried to describe the absolute majesty of the terrain, but he knew his verbal descriptions fell short of it. Even when he had hours to tune the perfect phrasing for a blog article, he never felt like he was really capturing nature, the whole of it. That was why he encouraged his readers to get out and visit for themselves.


    "You oughta come on a trip with me sometime, Sam. We don''t have to hunt or anything, just fresh air and open space."


    Sam agreed and nodded, but they both knew the chances of the younger Winchester taking a good stretch of time away from work were slim to none.


    It wasn''t until the food platters were mostly empty and the brothers were each nursing a second beer that Dean caught the way Sam''s lips would occasionally quirk and his eyes would dart to the table.


    "What''s on your mind, Sammy?" he asked finally, since his brother didn''t seem to be able to find the right moment to bring up whatever he meant to.


    Sam cleared his throat and nervously tapped his fingers along the edge of the table. "So, about a month ago, I heard they were looking to add to the forensic accounting team in Kansas City. I put in my name, even though I knew at least a few other people were already in the running from some of the other satellite offices. Just heard back Friday¡­ I got the transfer, if I want it."


    Dean was surprised Sam hadn''t mentioned wanting to relocate. He always seemed¡­ well, maybe not happy, in Topeka, but not discontent.


    Dean grinned across the table. "Hey, that''s great, man! Heading up to the regional office. When''s the big move?"


    Sam looked pleased, even though he tried to rein it in and turned his head away, waving a hand. "Well, they want me to start in a few weeks... Seems like it might be difficult to find a good place that quickly, so I think I might commute for a while, make sure it''s all going to work out before I really get serious about changing cities."


    "That''s one hell of a commute." Dean grimaced. Topeka to Kansas City was over an hour by car... and Sam hadn''t owned a car in years. It only took a moment for Dean to come to the logical conclusion. "If you aren''t really attached to holding your apartment, why don''t you give it up and stay at my place? A lot closer to the city, and instead of paying monthly rent here, you could start saving up for whatever comes next."


    Sam seemed shocked. "What, really? Are you sure?"


    "Sammy, are you kidding? Why wouldn''t I put you up for a few months? Not like I''m some hermit¡­"


    Sam gave Dean a look.


    "Okay, whatever, but not like I can''t live with my own brother. I did it for most of my life."


    "If you''re sure.." Sam was considering it now; Dean could tell.


    "I''m sure, Sam. I mean it. You can use the pickup to commute. It might be nice to have some company around for a change."


    That part was the truth. Winter would be setting in soon, and although Dean had a high tolerance for being alone, sometimes the gray cold silence of winter in Kansas could weigh even a wanderer like himself down.


    "Thanks, Dean. I mean¡­ this could be big for me."


    "Damn right it could be. You could work anywhere in the country, Sam. Not a man out there who can out-account you."


    Sam laughed and took a gulp of his beer to cover his embarrassment. He paused and gave Dean an appraising look.


    "So, dare I ask¡­ how''s the book?"


    Dean thought of that morning''s conversation with Benny and kept his face confident. "Just turned in the final edits to Benny before I left. Now, just gotta wait for him to shop around for the best offers and make my required meet-and-greets with the publishing editors."


    "That''s great, Dean. I''m really glad this writing thing is working out for you."


    Dean had to stop himself from twitching in annoyance. Before "this writing thing", it had been "this hunting thing" and "this gun thing"... While Sam had a career, Dean always seemed to have his latest thing. It probably was a fair assessment though. Sam had always been the one with the bright future. Dean was their mother''s wayward son.


    Feeling his emotions taking a downward turn, Dean consciously pushed the thoughts away and smiled at Sam, raising his beer glass.


    "Hey¡­ to things working out and the Winchesters moving up."


    Sam raised his glass with a smile in return, and the brothers enjoyed the last of their drinks quietly.


    On the drive home later, Dean watched the shadowed fields slide by, outlined in silver moonlight, felt the gravitational pull of Lawrence to the north and then behind him as he made his way home in the dark.

 Chapter 2

    Located in a multistory in Manhattan, the Elysium House offices spanned five floors, sandwiched between a financial advisory group and an insurance company. Elysium was in the top ten publishing houses for popular fiction. They''d had at least one book ranked above twenty on the fiction bestsellers for seventy-three weeks straight, a dozen total since the start of the year. Over the last decade, the company had developed a reputation for being able to outmaneuver the larger publishers, recruiting new talent before anyone else was even aware the writers existed. It was almost like their acquiring editors had some direct line to rising writers.


    Substantive editor Castiel Novak''s office was located on the third of their five floors. It had no windows; he didn''t care about having an exterior or corner office. It was, however, easily accessible from the elevators and a quick turn from the stairwell. It also was not on the same floor as the reception desk, the conference rooms, or the main lunch room. To him, this made his office especially favorable¡ªor, in a word, quiet.


    He had just sent off another round of suggestions on Hurrand''s new psych novel and was preparing to look over the third edit of a detective thriller when his cousin Gabriel strode in and shut the door.


    "Hiya, Castiel. Hope your day is going better than mine is¡­"


    Gabriel was the youngest son of Chuck Shurley, founder and owner of Elysium House. For him and Castiel, Elysium wasn''t just an employer, it was a family business¡ªCastiel''s mother was Chuck''s sister. Castiel had worked at Elysium for ten years, joining almost straight out of graduate school; Gabriel had been there seventeen years and was currently one of their top acquiring editors. But their family ties to the owner didn''t mean work was always smooth sailing; it more often garnered them resentment than status among the rest of the employees. Somewhat isolated and always under the watchful eyes of the office rumor mill, it had become their habit to gripe to one another. Well, Gabriel did most of the griping¡­ but he seemed to appreciate Castiel''s dry sense of humor and analytical takes on his problems, and Castiel enjoyed getting glimpses into the company''s projects outside his own inbox.


    Gabriel glanced at the pile of drafts on the only other chair in the room, his expression flickering in annoyance as he settled in to stand in front of Castiel''s desk.


    "Hello, Gabriel." Castiel closed his email to focus on the conversation. "Bad news from the meeting today?"


    "Of course!" Gabriel raised his hands to the ceiling. "Instead of revving up on The Rain in August, they''re pushing Uriel''s new urban fantasy. Like the market needs one more universe of vampires and faeries¡­"


    Castiel sighed. The Rain in August was one of theirs. Technically, the various departments were pools to be shuffled as necessary, but his older cousin kept Castiel almost permanently occupied with his assignments. Gabriel had similarly claimed the time of several other employees throughout the company. He said he recognized talent and saw no problem using it when anyone bothered to question him on it, but Castiel had noticed that they all had some other traits in common¡­ A certain interest in diversity and representation of marginalized groups, a bit of the unconventional. Charlie, who worked in social media marketing and was one of the few people besides Gabriel who bothered to try to interact with Castiel on a daily basis, had dubbed their subset of employees "Team We''re Here and We''re Queer".


    "We published one of those last year," Castiel pointed out. Their urban fantasy publication, Archangel''s Fury, had done just okay¡ªgood enough for a sequel, at least.


    "Yeah, but ours had some fresh characters at least," Gabriel protested. "The main in this one is, guess what, a dark and broody young woman with a mysterious past who just wants to leave it behind her. At least until a similarly mysterious and hot male vampire enters her life¡­" He fumed, his amber eyes blazing.


    This type of loss was unfortunately common for them, and it never had made much sense to Castiel. Although Castiel was the taller of the two cousins and had been called attractive more than once in his life, Gabriel was a whole different creature. Broad shoulders, smooth caramel hair, a strong jawline, piercing light brown eyes, and a smile that seemed amiable and easy... Castiel couldn''t help but think of him whenever the word charisma came up. Gabriel could walk into a room and turn a meeting around. In a fitted suit and on a mission, he was all but unstoppable, all warmth and charm and confidence. Castiel was never surprised when Gabriel managed to win a new manuscript.


    What did surprise him, however, was how often Gabriel seemed to be thwarted at the meetings held to assess the status and priority of Elysium''s upcoming releases. At first, Castiel had thought perhaps all the other acquiring editors were just that much better than his cousin, but after meeting most of them and seeing Gabriel work, the only explanation Castiel could think of was that the Editor-in-Chief, Gabriel''s older brother Michael, didn''t want to seem to be playing favorites.


    Since there wasn''t much they could do about the business decisions, he tried to let Gabriel voice his frustrations without fueling more. "I''m sorry to hear that¡­ Where does that leave The Rain in August?"


    "Oh, the usual," Gabriel growled, crossing his arms. "Mainly online ads, some press releases, the author doing whatever stores they can get into¡­ Like those aren''t a dying breed. Just once, I''d like to see this house put some big events behind something a little outside the mainstream. Damn Adler and his insipid pandering..."


    Castiel didn''t like to speak ill of other employees, but Zach Adler didn''t exactly endear himself to anyone. The man was inconsiderate and only interested in what would sell big. Technically, his job, of course, but most editors at least had special interests or pet projects. Adler always struck Castiel as a bit mercenary.


    Gabriel kept going, working himself into another rant. "When Bobby Singer retired, they sent most of those writers over to Adler, but the guy is just dropping half of them on the floor. I get it, they aren''t all big names, but sometimes, you gotta make up in volume what you can''t get in bestsellers. I heard today he not only bumped Heidi Wesford''s book five to next year, even though it''s been ready for six months at least, but he also completely tossed Dean Winchester''s latest, that guy Bobby nursed through his first publication a few years back. Christ, I almost thought Singer was going to adopt the man..."


    That caught Castiel''s attention. His reading interests didn''t often overlap with the old Singer standbys, but Salvation Ridge had made it onto his radar when it was published. What could have been a cookiecutter story about survival in the days of colonizing America was made interesting by the inclusion of a pair of clearly lesbian women settlers. There had also been the main character''s incredibly close relationship with another male character. Word from the editing floor was that the relationship had been less vague before Singer''s initial rounds of feedback. While it certainly was nowhere near the level of representation Castiel wanted to see in modern fiction, the very fact that it had been published in a traditional genre was heartening.


    Castiel interrupted Gabriel just as his cousin was starting in on Adler''s other projects. "Wait, the Winchester manuscript¡­ What was it?"


    Gabriel shrugged. "No clue. Only got as far as Adler. Why, you have some hidden obsession with the Wild West?"


    "No, it wasn''t¡ªSalvation Ridge actually showed up on a lot of queer representation lists."


    "Seriously?" Gabriel''s eyebrows shot up in surprise. "That doesn''t seem possible. Singer wasn''t Good Ol'' Boys or anything, but he was definitely a strong conservative. Old guard."


    "It wasn''t anything explicit," Castiel admitted, "but I read it. It could have been better¡ªI got the feeling some things got disjointed in editing¡ªbut there was something about it. Something real. It wasn''t just some formulaic action novel."


    "Well, too bad for Elysium House then¡­" Gabriel tilted his head toward Castiel''s desk. "If you thought he had potential, I''m sure some other publisher will snap up his next manuscript."


    "... Do you think you could get a copy of it?" Castiel asked after a moment of hesitation.


    Gabriel met his eyes, probing.


    "You really think it''s worth a look?" he countered. "I mean, I love you, Cassie, but there''s no way I''m getting into the olden times adventure genre. Not my bag."


    "Just¡­ I have a feeling there might have been more to Salvation Ridge. I''d like to see something from Winchester in its raw state. Even if you won''t pick it up, maybe..."


    Castiel trailed off. Maybe what? He could take on a side project? He was pretty sure that would not be viewed with kind eyes, given Dean Winchester was likely to have to publish at another company.


    "Hey, okay," Gabriel said when Castiel didn''t continue right away, "don''t grind your gears. I''ll see what I can do. Ol'' Zach isn''t going to like me nosing around something he gave the hard pass on¡­ but that just might be a perfect reason to do it."


    The grin Gabriel gave him had a vengeful edge to it, and Castiel remembered abruptly how scary his cousin could be when something got under his skin. One of these days, he half expected Gabriel to have some sort of massive showdown with Michael in the middle of a weekly meeting.


    "Catch you later, Cassie."


    "Castiel."


    He corrected Gabriel this time; he didn''t want that nickname accidentally slipping out in a professional setting. Gabriel just waved a hand toward his desk and exited, leaving the door open behind him.


    "I''m already regretting this," Castiel sighed to himself.


    But that wasn''t true. What he was doing was wondering if he''d kept a copy of Salvation Ridge. It was time for a reread.


    <hr>


    Castiel was able to hunt down a spare of Salvation Ridge after lunch, and by the next morning, he was more convinced than ever that he needed to get a look at Winchester''s new manuscript.


    There were some parts of his first book that were entirely predictable, old standby plot points that could have been churned out on any television series. Other sections showed a depth and realness to the characters worthy of classic literature. Again, Castiel had the same feeling he''d remembered¡ªthat parts had been heavily edited. The phrasing clearly went flat, the author''s voice lost.


    There was something new that jumped out at him as well as he went over the book. How detailed and impactful the descriptions of the setting were, from the old growth forests of the western divide to the behavior of the wildlife. It might have been excessive if it weren''t for the sheer beauty and liveliness of the prose. Castiel wasn''t sure he''d ever felt anything that could compare to the depth of the love that Dean Winchester seemed to have for the natural world.


    In the office that morning, he made an uncharacteristic trip to the break room down one floor from his office, where marketing lived. He didn''t have to wait long for Charlie to make an appearance; she tended to take frequent breaks from the open-floor social media bay to think over her next steps during the walk to and from the coffee machines. She looked as peppy as ever that morning, long red hair swinging freely around her shoulders, neon green earbuds visible between the strands. Her "I''m only talking to you because I forgot my book" t-shirt and studded jeans were as far from editorial office wear as she could get; he could count on one hand the number of times he''d seen her in true business attire. She held her ever-present tablet in one hand and was muttering something under her breath as she made her way, head down, to refill her coffee tumbler.


    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    "Hello, Charlie," Castiel said as she grew closer without noticing him.


    Charlie jumped back, nearly stumbling over her own rainbow-bedecked hightops. "Holy s¡ªNovak, did they have a fire drill on seven or something? What brings you to the marketing lair?"


    "Did you ever read Salvation Ridge?"


    Castiel didn''t bother with trying to weave small talk into a segue; Charlie seemed to mostly follow his strange topic jumps without complaint.


    "Umm¡­ who by?"


    "Dean Winchester."


    "Doesn''t ring a bell¡­" Charlie frowned, looking up to one side as she racked her brain. "Wait... Winchester... That name is familiar though¡­ Oh. Was that the one with the lesbian frontierswomen?"


    "Yes!"


    Castiel felt vindicated for an instant. If Charlie remembered it too, perhaps he wasn''t that far off base.


    "I didn''t read it¡ª"


    Castiel''s excitement evaporated.


    "¡ªBut," Charlie continued, seeing his expression, "a lot of people online did. I mean, they were a little disappointed that the gay characters didn''t have larger roles, but most thought it was pretty good. I mean, how often do you get a serious action novel from a major publisher with rep in it anyway, right?"


    Castiel tilted his head. It wasn''t their usual material, so hoping Charlie had read it had probably been a long shot.


    "I was hoping to get a second opinion on it. I hadn''t thought of it in awhile, but I heard the author had submitted a new book."


    "Well, maybe I can slip it into my reading list¡­ How long was it?"


    "Easy read, for you."


    Charlie was almost as voracious a reader as Castiel himself. Their tastes didn''t always overlap, but that was why she made an excellent person with whom to compare impressions. Castiel held out the copy of Salvation Ridge he had gone through the night before.


    "Okay, I''ll try to get to it this week and report back." She tossed him an informal salute.


    Castiel considered for a moment whether to let her in on Gabriel''s mission. Glancing around the break room and finding it empty, he continued in quieter tones. "I might be able to get an initial draft of the next manuscript¡­ If I do, I hope you''ll consider following up with that."


    "I feel like I''m getting homework assignments¡­ Sure thing, Mr. Novak!"


    The last part was clearly said mockingly, in a higher, more childish voice.


    "Need I remind you that I re-read the entire Tolkien oeuvre last year on your whim¡­" Castiel crossed his arms and gave her an unsympathetic stare.


    Charlie laughed and mock-punched his shoulder. "And you loved every second of it, you nerd."


    It was spoken with affection; Charlie and Castiel were both proud geeks.


    "Okay, I''m getting my caffeine and getting back to work." Charlie waved the tumbler at him. "You in for Tuesday Trivia?"


    "I will be there," Castiel promised.


    "Yessss. I got Kevin from copyediting to commit too. We''re going to destroy this week!"


    Charlie bounced off happily, and Castiel made his way back to his office before he could be waylaid by anyone he''d rather avoid.


    <hr>


    Gabriel came through with the Winchester draft; Castiel hadn''t doubted he would, really.


    "Don''t go showing this around too much," his older cousin muttered, slipping Castiel a hard copy. "Trying to keep off Adler''s radar for now."


    Castiel had to fight to ignore it until he got home that evening¡ªhe had too many upcoming deadlines to slip in any pleasure reading. Once safely ensconced in his apartment, he sat down in his living room with the manuscript and didn''t move for several hours.


    He had been hoping for something truly revelatory, and in that respect, he was disappointed. The draft was fairly polished; Dean Winchester had obviously taken the lessons from his first editor to heart. But there were still the achingly beautiful phrases painting the scenery, the moments of authentic emotion and depth from his characters. And, to Castiel''s surprise, a good deal of humor, some of it slapstick and absurd, some sarcastic. There had only been a few mildly amusing asides in Salvation Ridge. This second manuscript left Castiel with the same feeling he had when reading Winchester''s first book¡ªthat he was only seeing part of the full picture. There were sections where it felt like the author had self edited, suppressing parts of the story he felt wouldn''t fit the mold. All authors had to do that, but to Castiel, it was palpable here. Instead of the story naturally flowing inside the lines, it felt jarringly cut away at points.


    What made Castiel almost cheer was seeing several LGBTQ+ characters front and center. Not the main¡ªDean Winchester, if he had ever had that idea, had probably edited it right out of his head¡ªbut people directly around him and integral to the storyline. The modern setting of this book made the cast that much more diverse.


    After a night of too little sleep, he was a little bleary eyed when he passed the draft off to Charlie the following day, with the caution that it was the only copy.


    "Hey, I''m going to get Rowena to look at this stuff too."


    Castiel gave her a look; he wasn''t as comfortable with Rowena MacLeod, one of Charlie''s friends in sales. "G¡ªI don''t want it to get around that I have that," he whispered.


    "It won''t. Promise."


    He sighed as Charlie, undeterred, scurried off with the manuscript to have who knew what sort of conversation with Rowena about it.


    It was an impatient three days, on Castiel''s part, before Charlie bugged him to come by her apartment after work to discuss the Winchester works. That sort of invitation from anyone else would have made Castiel ill at ease, but he''d finally broken through to that level of acquaintance with Charlie a few years ago when she had to go to a conference and begged Castiel to feed her frogs.


    He showed up at Charlie''s about an hour after they both had left Elysium and found another guest already seated at her kitchen table with a cup of tea.


    Rowena MacLeod was striking in any setting, but the woman looked positively out of place in Charlie''s tiny kitchen. Today''s suit was an expensive-looking dark green coat and slacks, set off with gold jewelry and matching green cat eye makeup. Her dark red hair fell in thick waves and ringlets down her back. She turned to Castiel as he entered and gave him a slow, feline smile.


    Castiel didn''t exactly dislike her... She did strike him as someone with her own agenda though. Older and more senior within the sales department, Rowena had helped them sell more than one book to management¡ªin exchange for their help on some of her pet projects, of course.


    Charlie made Castiel his own cup of tea, and the three of them sat down together. Salvation Ridge and the untitled Winchester work were laid out on the tabletop.


    "Charlie here tells me you''ve taken an interest in dear Mr. Winchester''s work, Castiel," Rowena opened, her Scottish accent lilting across his name. "I have to say, while it isn''t exactly what I would expect of your reading shelf, I can see a certain appeal in his prose. He certainly paints a beautiful picture of this fine country."


    Castiel glanced at Charlie and found her watching him, a reproachful look already in her eyes. The message to him was clear: Be nice.


    "Yes. Rumor has it that one of the editors turned down his submission already, but I remembered his last book¡­ I thought it had unmet potential."


    Rowena nodded. "I could see some spots that could have been improved and elaborated¡­ But I checked, and it really didn''t do too badly for its genre. Sales were top rate, specifically, and in general, in the more adventure type category, it was still in the top five for the release year."


    Charlie nodded. "I can''t see a reason we wouldn''t take another like that, right?"


    "Well, my dear, the problem is that the market for the genre is so small. It''s, quite frankly, a bit of a niche interest these days. Bobby Singer was the only one who was really avid about it within the company, and now that he''s gone¡­"


    "Do you think we could sell it?" Castiel asked, getting to the point.


    Rowena''s eyebrows went up. "Without an acquiring editor? Not a chance. ...Unless you had someone in mind¡­?" Her look turned knowing.


    Castiel looked over at Charlie again and she made a small shrug. Might as well go for it.


    "I was thinking of asking Gabriel Shurley. We''ve worked with him on many publications. We¡­ have a rapport."


    "I''m sure you do¡­" She looked amused. "But this is so far outside Mr. Shurley''s markets that I''m not sure even I could sell it to him, Castiel."


    "...What do you think, Charlie?" he asked. "I mean, it has queer representation."


    "Ehhh¡­" Charlie wiggled her hand. "When we take something on for that, it''s usually the main character."


    Castiel cocked his head. "Did either of you¡­ get the feeling Winchester had heavily edited himself. Maybe¡­ toned down the story purposely?"


    "Are you suggesting that the book could change genres?" Rowena asked.


    Charlie sat up. "Ooo, cross-genre¡­ Sneaky."


    Rowena picked up the manuscript, looking thoughtful. "But would Mr. Winchester go for it¡­?"


    "I think he would." Castiel said, with more surety than the evidence probably warranted. He''d have to remain confident, since this was his idea.


    "Well¡­" Rowena inclined her head. "He''s already writing gay characters in a hostile market. That takes some amount of commitment to inclusion."


    "So¡­ How do we sell this to Gabriel?" Charlie asked, eyes darting between Castiel and Rowena.


    Rowena looked at Castiel and raised an eyebrow. "How indeed."


    <hr>


    "Cass¡ªtiel," Gabriel groaned, stumbling and narrowly avoiding using his nickname. "Come on¡­ The last thing I want my name on is some old white guy book glorifying man over nature. Why don''t I just shoot myself in the foot and save myself the pain."


    "That is not fair, Gabriel. This book has the potential to open the genre and make it more accessible to modern readers." Castiel used some of the phrasing Rowena had suggested for getting Gabriel to look at the Winchester manuscript. Across the table, he saw her smile in satisfaction.


    The smile was quickly squashed as Gabriel turned suspicious eyes on the older salesman.


    "Is this your doing? Didn''t think I''d see you put yourself in the position of selling something like this, Rowena."


    "Mr. Shurley, I am merely helping your teammates communicate with you. I normally would not be involved in this type of literature, but when they asked for my help, of course I was happy to add my support to their cause. We''re just one big team here at Elysium, are we not?"


    Castiel saw Gabriel''s frown deepen; he hated being called Mr. Shurley, like his father and brothers. Castiel should have warned Rowena about that¡­


    "This is so far outside what I want to do as an acquiring editor here¡­ And have you looked at this guy''s bio? He made his name hunting big game. He writes blog articles about backpacking and stalking bears. He lives in the middle of goddamn Kansas, among the corn. No, wait, that''s Iowa. What the hell is Kansas? Wheat?"


    "Kansas''s leading export is actually aircraft parts," Castiel corrected.


    Gabriel stopped short and did a double take at Castiel, opened his mouth, then shut it and shook his head. "Whatever!" he finally burst out.


    "Gabriel¡­" Castiel locked eyes with him, willing him to understand. "It isn''t about the plot. Or even the author. It''s about the characters. There''s so much potential here. I can feel it."


    Gabriel cast eyes around the table, where Charlie and Rowena sat.


    "Are you going to sell it?" he asked Rowena.  "And you," he turned to Charlie, "are you going to try to push this on Gen Z?"


    "What''s the worst that can happen?" Charlie asked him. "People already read his last book just because there was a gay couple in it. People want to read books where gay characters are just doing things. Not special books about being gay. Just books where people happen to be gay. This could be one of those books! We should be in all genres!"


    Charlie had scored a point, Castiel thought. Gabriel scowled at them all for another moment. It was the same scowl Castiel had seen whenever his cousin couldn''t get out of some family responsibility.


    "Didn''t you say something the other day about ''making up in volume what you can''t get in bestsellers''...?" Castiel raised an eyebrow.


    Gabriel glanced at the ceiling, as though asking for divine intervention, then sighed. "Fine. I will take a look at it. And if it has potential, and if I decide to piss off some people and bring it up to the group for purchase, and if I am able to pull it off... the three of you will be working on it from now until release. No protests!" Gabriel jabbed a finger at Rowena.


    Rowena, who had straightened and started to open her mouth, snapped it shut before taking an audible breath in and regaining her composure. "Fine."


    "I''m in!" Charlie raised a fist. "Go, Team We''re Here and We''re Queer!"


    Castiel smiled thinly at her before turning back to Gabriel, who was glaring at him. His cousin knew who had instigated this little ambush.


    "Obviously, I''m in too," Castiel added.


    "Yeah, you bet you are." Gabriel lowered his head and his expression softened for a moment. "For what it''s worth¡­" He flicked his eyes up to Castiel, mouth pulling into a battle smile. "I hope this Winchester guy is a real pain in the ass."

 Chapter 3

    Dean checked the front of his plaid shirt one last time before seating himself in front of the laptop and making sure everything seemed ready to go. His agent would be in his typical tieless suit, but he always liked Dean to wear something more rustic that went with his outdoorsy image. Benny had scheduled their virtual meeting with Inferno Publishing''s editor to start at 11 AM, and it was only a few minutes til. Taking a deep breath, Dean tried to gather his thoughts and stop fidgeting.


    His phone chirped with a text message from Benny.


    Show time


    Dean clicked to join, adjusted the angle on the camera, and waited for the video to load. Benny popped up side by side with the unfamiliar editor.


    His first impression of Crowley MacLeod was that the man looked a little too classy to be interested in Dean''s book. Of course, most publishing editors dressed in business attire, and in New York City, that was a lot more formal¡­ But there was just something about the way Crowley sat, leaning casually to one side, hands folded on one knee in view, expression lordly. The man himself wasn''t anything striking¡ªolder than Dean and Benny, dark hair balding, with the hint of lines starting around his mouth and eyes. He certainly had a presence though.


    The video must have finally loaded up on MacLeod''s side because his lips turned up in a reserved smile. "Mr. Winchester. Crowley MacLeod of Inferno Publishing. What a pleasure to finally meet you in person, in the virtual sense." MacLeod''s voice was deep and smooth, accented from somewhere in the U.K.


    Dean swallowed, wishing he had set a glass of water nearby before the meeting. "Same here, Mr. MacLeod. Thank you for seeing me."


    "Please, Crowley. Your agent, Benny, and I have already spoken a few times this week, and I''m sure he relayed at least some of the discussions. Your manuscript is surprisingly well polished; I don''t think we''ll have more than a few high-level adjustments. After that, it will go through line editing and be ready for sales and marketing to prepare the way. I expect a release in perhaps¡­ six months."


    Dean blinked in shock. If anything, MacLeod was a man who got to the point. Dean could appreciate that. "That''s nice to hear, M--Crowley¡­"


    On screen, Benny''s face remained neutral; Dean and he hadn''t discussed the exact terms yet. That meant there might be a catch to something that sounded too good to be true.


    Discussions continued for several minutes more. The gist of it was that MacLeod felt the book would be successful, and there were a few times he hinted that Inferno would be willing to commit to future novels from the author. They ended the call with the promise that the Inferno team would be in touch over the next few days to hammer out the final contract with Benny.


    After they had all left the meeting, Benny called him back on his cell.


    "So, what do you think?" Dean asked him.


    "Could be good¡­" Benny hedged. "I''ll want to see their final offer and conditions first."


    "Seems a little too good to be true¡­"


    "I''m guessing we''ll see either a low advance or some commitment from you for first look on future works."


    "You caught that too, huh? Seemed pretty interested in locking me in¡­"


    "Might not be a bad thing, Dean. Can be difficult getting in the door sometimes, especially if multiple publishers have dropped you."


    "Yeah¡­" Dean understood that Benny knew the business better than he did, but it seemed a mistake to get himself committed with people he barely knew.


    "Well, you think it over. Will probably be a few days before I get enough to bring back to you for a real look anyway."


    "Thanks, Benny."


    Closing the line, Dean sat back with a sigh, tipping his head to look up at the ceiling for a moment. This was probably the point where someone else would talk over the events of the morning with someone they trusted. He thought about calling Sam, but it was during work hours. Maybe later.


    He glanced out the window. The sun was pretty high by now, and today was still burning with late summer heat.


    "Guess I should start working on some more blog posts¡­"


    <hr>


    Dean was up before dawn the next day and outside as soon as it was light enough to see where he was stepping. He''d packed his backpack the night before, so all he had to do was toss in some cold water bottles and fill his largest travel mug with hot coffee. He walked out into the fields behind the house, eerie and washed out into gray in the faint morning light.


    Before the sun had even peeked above the horizon, Dean had made his way to the northern side of the property and hunkered down under some trees above the pond. He hadn''t spotted any deer on the walk, which surprised him, but he could see several dark shapes floating in the pond that indicated some ducks had probably spent the night. He listened to the buzz of nighttime bugs receding and tried to remain still besides swatting at a few mosquitos that whined too close to his face.


    The sunrise could have been straight out of a painting that morning, bands of red-orange and golden, glowing fingers of clouds streaking under the fading blue of the evening sky. As the birds began singing and a slight breeze bounced the feathered grasses back and forth, Dean blinked a few times, his eyes wet. Every once in a while, he felt overwhelmed by the sheer miracle that was life on this planet. He pitied everyone still sleeping. They''d wake up in an hour or two and prepare for work, spend their entire days with their faces locked behind glass.


    He thought of Sammy in Topeka. He was probably doing the same thing as all those other office cattle. Dean had to try to get his brother outside on the weekends once he moved out here¡­ even if he had to lure him out with beer.


    Eventually, Dean''s legs were getting cramped from his position under the tree, so he pulled himself up and let the feeling tingle back through them before starting a circuit of the property edge. There was a narrow trail there, although it wasn''t quite as well used as the mown paths, and he stopped occasionally to trim back branches or clear vegetation using a pair of hand clippers he''d brought in the pack. He didn''t hurry. Even though it was getting warmer, he had his hat and sun protection on and plenty of water. It would take as long as it took.


    Sometime around midmorning, when had rounded one side of the property back toward the house and then started up the other, he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He''d silenced it. Pulling it out, he saw Benny''s name on screen. He shrugged and pressed to ignore the call without picking up. Wasn''t like there''d be some sort of literary emergency; it could wait.


    He didn''t think of it again until the afternoon, when he had returned from sprucing up the trail, showered, and made himself some lunch. Picking up the phone again, he checked and found Benny had left him a voicemail.


    "Dean, give me a call back when you decide to come in from the great outdoors. Got an interesting development for you."


    He pressed to call back. Benny picked up after a few rings.


    "Had half a mind to let you leave your own message," he told Dean as he picked up.


    Dean grinned and held back a laugh. "Hey, sometimes I am legitimately occupied."


    "Tell that to someone who doesn''t know you well enough to know you were probably out staring at your duck pond¡­"


    "Hey, ducks are legitimate." Dean tried to sound offended on the behalf of the waterfowl. He heard a huff of laughter over the connection and counted it a win before Benny continued.


    "So, you''re not going to believe this, but I got a call today from the office of another editor at Elysium."


    "...To what, offer condolences?"


    "No¡­ He wants to talk about the manuscript."


    Dean paused and thought for a moment. "...Is that something that happens?"


    "Not really." Benny sounded as bemused by the turn of events as Dean was. "I can''t remember it ever happening in my long career, to make a point. And, the editor is Gabriel Shurley."


    "Shurley. As in Chuck Shurley?"


    "The very same. One of the owner''s sons."


    "Damn... How? Why?"


    "I didn''t get the details yet, as they just called to arrange a meeting. I''m going over there in person tomorrow."


    "You ever worked with this Shurley before?"


    "No. As a matter of fact, I''ve never worked with any of the Shurleys personally. First time for everything, I guess."


    "Is this guy¡­ I mean, what''s his specialty?"


    "Very eclectic but namely diversity¡ªnew cultural voices, LGBT+¡­"


    "...That''s not really my book."


    Benny didn''t disagree.


    "So¡­ what does this mean for the Inferno deal?"


    "If I were you, I''d hold on making any commitments yet. You turn down a meeting with one of Elysium''s acquiring editors, especially son-of-the-owner level, you''re burning a bridge."


    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    "All right, let''s see what they have to say¡­"


    "Talk later, Dean."


    After the call ended, Dean stared vacantly at the background on his phone, not really seeing the Little Colorado River Gorge. What did some diversity editor want with his novel? Sure, the timeline was more current than his last, but it was still pretty traditional action and suspense. Maybe the gay characters had caught his attention?


    Dean got up and walked on autopilot to the back bay window, watching the grass move back and forth in the wind for several long minutes, trying not to think.


    "Thinking is the mind killer¡­"


    Not actually the quote, but one Dean found true in life anyway. He finally shook his head and decided to take the Impala out for a drive. She''d been cooped up long enough.


    <hr>


    Benny hadn''t been able to get in to see Gabriel Shurley until later the next day. Dean tried to keep busy, but there was only so much work he could do on the property before everything was set for another few weeks. He called Sam to start figuring out the plan for moving his brother''s belongings out of the apartment in Topeka and then began boxing away the shelves of books in the office that soon would be converted into a bedroom again. He didn''t mention what was going on with the book, and Sam didn''t ask.


    Finally, he heard back from Benny. They were going to have a video conference with Gabriel Shurley the next morning. Benny still wasn''t able to answer all the questions spinning in Dean''s head.


    "All he would say is that some folks on his team liked your last book and that he thought this manuscript had potential."


    Potential for what? Dean wondered as he lay in bed in the dark.


    Morning came too soon, and Dean had an extra cup of coffee on top of his typical three to make up for it. By the time he sat down in front of his laptop for the second make-nice meeting that week, he couldn''t seem to stop jittering his knee or tapping his fingers on it.


    Just breathe, man. Breathe.


    He thought of holding his breath and then making a slow exhale to take a shot with a rifle, then looped through the action in his mind until he got a message from Benny telling him to join.


    Gabriel Shurley wasn''t like Dean had pictured. He looked younger, for one, so much that Dean had trouble gauging whether they were around the same age or not. His face was dominated by a large, straight nose and light brown eyes; Dean noticed lots of laugh lines but none from frowning. It gave him the impression that Shurley was good humored, although right now he appeared to be sizing Dean up as seriously as Dean was examining him.


    "Mr. Gabriel Shurley, may I introduce Dean Winchester."


    "Dean, great to meet you." Shurley''s voice was a slightly twangy tenor crafted into an overpoweringly neutral Midwestern radio accent. It seemed hilariously suitable for a New York accent though, and Dean had to frantically stomp down the smirk that threatened to pop up with an image of Gabriel Shurley breaking out in stereotypical mobster speak.


    "Good to meet you, Mr. Shurley." Dean croaked and then cleared his throat.


    "Ack, Gabriel, please. There''s enough Mr. Shurleys at Elysium; we don''t need more."


    Dean nodded and glanced at Benny for help.


    "Gabriel, I think Dean is pretty curious about your take on the manuscript."


    "You''re probably wondering what the heck an editor focusing on LGBTQ+ slash BIPOC slash social justice leaning speculative fiction wants with your man versus nature suspense novel, right?"


    "Not to put too fine a point on it," Benny confirmed.


    "Well, I think it''s obvious. Look at your characters. Your story is littered with queer rep, and I have one hell of a substantive editor who took a read through and is pretty sure you edited down from the original cast."


    Dean raised his eyebrows. He had, actually, reverted several characters to more traditional character tropes. In Bobby''s words, he didn''t want to smack his readers over the head with so much it detracted from the story.


    "And, if you were going to strictly market your book to the survivalist crowd, I can see where that would be useful," Gabriel continued, pulling an understanding face. "But if, say, you wanted to cross-market in LGBT fiction or even change genres totally, we''d want you to ramp some of that back up."


    "What are we talking?" Dean asked, frowning.


    Gabriel seemed to take in his expression and get more serious again. "I''ll be straight with you¡­ We''re talking major rework. My substantive editor wants you to take a step back, unedit for the conservative America market, and then work with you from there."


    "You want me to rewrite it as LGBT fiction? I mean, I get that gay representation is important, but this is really an action plot here."


    "No, it isn''t." Gabriel''s tone bordered on patronizing, and Dean bristled. "If it was an action plot, you wouldn''t have half the scenes you do about the characters'' internal dialogue. And all those long, sweeping scenery descriptions? Also a ''no''. This book is not just an action book. Yeah, you have action. But you also have heart. You have environmentalism. You have real, three-dimensional characters with their own motivations and relationships with the other characters." Gabriel spread his hands, asking Dean to disagree.


    "So, what, I background the avalanche and dangerous supply shortages and spin up a gay love story?" Dean laced his fingers together and set them onto the edge of the laptop to keep from waving them around in exasperation.


    Gabriel rolled his eyes and openly almost put his face into his palm before recovering and sitting up in his chair. "No. We aren''t asking you to make it centered on telling a queer story. We''re asking you to take a good story and put more diversity into it, put more realness into it. Let it be more than just an action and adventure novel."


    "How do you even sell that?" Dean blurted. If there was one thing he''d learned from working with Bobby, it was that you always had to remember who you were selling to and what they would want in a book.


    "That''s our job to worry about. More specifically, our sales and marketing teams. But trust me, people are tired of the same old characters in the same old situations. People want to be able to pick up books and see people like them doing more than just being different."


    Dean frowned. He didn''t quite get it, and he wasn''t looking forward to completely rewriting a story he thought he''d had wrapped up.


    Benny was keeping his face pleasant, but Dean could see a warning in his eyes. He belatedly realized that digging in and making Gabriel Shurley explain himself probably wasn''t the tone he should have been striking here.


    Gabriel tilted his head and gave Dean a sympathetic look. "Listen, I get it. We''re asking a lot. But I told my team that I''d try, so here we are. I think what you have to ask yourself is whether you''re happy just churning out wilderness thrillers for a certain type of person. Hey, you could make a career of it, and nobody would blame you." Gabriel shrugged. "I''m offering you a chance to write a different kind of book. If that interests you, have Benny here give me a call back."


    Benny thanked Shurley for his time, and they all logged off. Dean''s phone blared almost immediately, and he answered Benny''s call before the word ''smoke'' got out.


    "Dean¡­ That was some defensive crap you just pulled."


    Dean sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Yeah¡­ Yeah. That was weird."


    "Well, now that that''s over, I can tell you that they gave me some indicators ahead of time, and I also got Inferno''s finals nailed down. The advance from Inferno is bigger, and they want minimal editing input. The catch is that they want an option on your future works. Elysium''s advance is smaller, but the royalties are higher across the board. No restrictions on future work, although you know that I''d tell you to shop them with the last publisher first anyway, in most cases."


    Dean tried to process it all, but his head just couldn''t wrap around it when Gabriel Shurley''s words were still playing on loop. "What do you think?"


    "Well, you know me, Dean. I always say take the bigger money, which in this case is apt to be Inferno, unless this thing really sells with whatever audience Elysium is trying to spin it into."


    "...I need some time to think."


    "You got it, brother. Take a day or two, but don''t let it go past the weekend."


    "Thanks, Benny."


    After hanging up, Dean looked around his silent house, out the front windows at the yard that stretched down to the empty road, and then down at his phone again. He pulled up his messaging app.


    Hey, you got plans tonight?


    <hr>


    Sam was free after work, so Dean made the drive to Topeka again, under the guise of officially celebrating his brother''s last week before the transfer to Kansas City. He asked Sam to pick out his favorite restaurant, and after some coaxing, they ended up at some sort of organic bistro where Sam ordered a salad with more types of lettuce than any one bowl had a right to. Dean was able to get a chicken dish that didn''t seem too weird; it was actually pretty good.


    "So, what''s going on, Dean?" Sam asked after they had been eating for several minutes.


    "Like I said, just wanted to give you a send off. Figure next week you''ll be too busy wrapping up loose ends and packing." He flashed Sam a closed-lip smile.


    Sam''s eyes narrowed, his lips quirked up, and then he shook his head. "No, there''s something else."


    The two of them had grown up together and neither one could really get something past the other, although Dean liked to think he had the better poker face. "Well, maybe I did want to get your take on something too," Dean admitted.


    Sam raised his eyebrows and turned his head, inviting Dean to continue.


    "So, turns out the book has two different offers on it."


    "That''s great! ...Right?"


    "Yeah, just not sure about either of them. One, I get better money up front, but less percentage if sales earn out. Plus, the publisher wants first dibs on anything I write in the future." Dean twisted his mouth in distaste. Despite what Benny said, it felt like a big difference to him to have to give Inferno every new manuscript. "Second one, less money up front, so I only cash in if the book does well."


    Sam nodded slowly. "What did Benny say?"


    "Go for the better money." Dean shrugged, then shook his head.


    "...But you don''t want to give up your options on the next books?"


    "Yeah¡­ That, and the other editor wants to take the book in a different direction, different market. I do this second book in the same market as the first, I''m locking myself into that."


    "You could always branch out later though, right?"


    "Yeah, I guess." Dean frowned down at his half-eaten chicken breast.


    "Listen, end of the day, you gotta do what''s right for you, Dean. Go with your gut." Sam put his hand on the table and looked down as he absently tapped his fingers on the surface. "If there''s one thing I know, it''s that sometimes, you can''t logic your way out of a feeling."


    Dean had a good idea what Sam was talking about; he thought about Ruby and all that she''d put Sam through. He nodded, and they sat in subdued silence for a moment.


    "Guess I''ll sleep on it," Dean said finally, just to get the conversation moving again.


    "Give me a call¡­ Any time." Sam gave Dean an insistent look.


    If there was one thing Dean knew, it was that he was never going to call Sam during work hours. Still, he gave a noncommittal nod and tried to get back to eating. In the back of his head though, he was still hearing the voice of Gabriel Shurley.


    ...Are you happy just churning out wilderness thrillers¡­?


    It kept echoing, through dinner, through the drive back to Olathe, through several restless hours in his bed, until Dean finally got up and walked through the dark house to the bay window. The moon was over three-quarters full, and the fields were sharp lines of shadow and silver light. He threw on his coat and boots and walked out the back door, following the mown path until he was surrounded on all sides by rustling grass and whirring, sluggish cricket song. The more staccato rattles of cicadas punctuated the droning every so often.


    Dean stood in the cool air for a good long while, letting his thoughts circle around the sort of story he wanted to write, the sort of story he wanted to live. He thought of moments with Sam, his mother back in Lawrence, even his long dead father, juxtaposed them against every moment he''d spent alone, the good and the bad. Tried on possible futures, felt them out.


    His hands were cold and slow to grasp the door handle by the time he had his answer. Dean crawled back into bed with determination, and this time, when he shut his eyes, sleep found him.

 Chapter 4

    Castiel was deep into an edit when Gabriel sauntered into his office, spreading out his arms as he approached the desk.


    "Hail to the king, baby!"


    When Castiel held up a finger to indicate that he needed a moment, his cousin dropped his arms to his sides with a slap and let out an annoyed exhale. Castiel tried to finish the paragraph he was on and jot down a few notes, but he was distracted by a cascade of falling paper.  Looking up, he found that Gabriel had pushed the stack of printouts from his extra chair onto the floor. The older man threw himself into the now empty seat, crossing his legs and leaning back with his hands gripping the armrests. He raised an eyebrow at Castiel, mouth flat.


    Castiel sighed and gave up trying to work; he''d have to figure out what he had been doing later. He wheeled out from behind his monitor and stared at his cousin. "Fine. What have you done to crown yourself today, Gabriel?"


    "That''s King Gabriel¡­ who got the final approval to purchase Dean Winchester''s latest and just got off the phone with his agent. We''ll have the paperwork done by end of week. This ugly baby is now yours!" He finger-gunned toward Castiel''s desk for emphasis.


    "My hero," Castiel deadpanned, unwilling to feed Gabriel''s ego. But even as he forced his face and voice to remain equally blank, something flipped in his chest in excitement.


    "Hey, show some gratitude." Gabriel glared at him, indignant. "This was no easy feat. If it weren''t for my killer pitch and that witchcraft Rowena did with the sales projections, this would have been a nonstarter."


    Castiel rolled his eyes. "Very well. Thank you, Gabriel."


    Gabriel gave him a pleased grin, but it had a vindictive edge. "Ha, don''t thank me yet. You haven''t met the guy."


    "...What''s he like?"


    "Looks like some model straight off the pages of a cowboy wholesale catalog. Gruff. Pugnacious. Talks more like a farm hand than a writer. If I didn''t recognize him from when Singer showed him around a few years ago, I wouldn''t believe he was the guy who wrote this."


    Castiel tried to resolve the rough image Gabriel was rendering with the rich, glowing prose of the two works he''d read. "...Did you talk to him about the edits? How did he receive that?"


    Gabriel cocked an eyebrow and crossed his arms. "I wouldn''t say he was overjoyed, cuz. You''re going to have fun."


    Castiel frowned, concerned. Trying to work with a writer who didn''t want to change anything was always difficult, and he''d hate to have to wave the publishing contract in Dean Winchester''s face.


    Gabriel gave Castiel a long look, then tipped his head down. "The way he said a few things¡­ Bobby Singer did a lot of work with him. Got him trained. You''re going to have to get past that somehow."


    Castiel stared at the far wall, not having any immediate ideas. If Winchester and Singer had a close collaborative relationship, Castiel wouldn''t have the sort of trust going in as a new editor to convince Dean to throw all that advice out the window.


    "Well, hey," Gabriel said as he pushed himself up out of the chair, "just remember, when the going gets really tough¡­ You brought it upon yourself!" He clapped his hands and gave Castiel a mock earnest nod. "Now, better start prepping to introduce yourself to your new star author," he commanded before walking from the room.


    Castiel rolled his eyes when he was certain Gabriel could no longer see him. His cousin''s snide comments were made to get a rise out of people; the unhealthy ways the Shurley siblings interacted sometimes threatened to bleed over into their friendship. Castiel mostly found it effective to sidestep the behavior entirely and pick up the conversation again when his cousin was in a different mood.


    He did have to figure out the best way to approach Dean Winchester though. He needed a way to diffuse any animosity Winchester felt, and he wasn''t exactly a "people person". Asking Gabriel was off the table. ¡­He needed help. Castiel shuffled his mouse to power the computer monitor back on and opened up his email.


    <hr>


    "Hey, did you hear the news?"


    Charlie pounced on Castiel a while later, scooting in with a container of reheated Thai takeout and sitting in the unoccupied extra chair. Her bright red t-shirt had a picture of a cartoon cat flopped onto an open book with the words, This is my happy place.


    Castiel didn''t have to guess what news she meant. "Yes, Gabriel came by earlier." His eyes flicked over the pages that littered the floor around where Charlie sat before settling on the container and chopsticks in her hands. Was it lunch already?


    "So, this is great, right? I already started looking at his social media feeds last week. Guy is out there building the adventure image, like, all the time. And, even better, he shares a lot of environmental concern stuff. I think we''ve got a lot to work with." Charlie spoke fast, jamming in noodles between sentences and gulping them down.


    Castiel didn''t want to dim her enthusiasm; he decided to avoid burdening her with his worries about Dean Winchester''s level of cooperation for now. "Gabriel said I should prepare to introduce myself as soon as the contracts are signed."


    "Awesome. Ooo, you could do a video intro," she suggested. She knew how much Castiel hated virtual meetings.


    Castiel imagined how awkward it would be to try to record a message to someone he hadn''t met and grimaced. It was bad enough leaving voicemails for people, nevermind adding a visual component. "I thought I would open with an email."


    Charlie wobbled her head, seeing his point. "Well, tell him what you told me, you know, when you read his manuscript. Before you go all uber-editor on him."


    "...I realized I don''t really know much about him¡­ how to talk to him," Castiel admitted to her.


    Charlie shrugged. "He''s a writer, but he''s also just a person, Novak. Just talk to him the way you would anyone else."


    Castiel thought of his track record with people outside Charlie and Gabriel and wasn''t sure that was the best plan.


    Cocking her head toward the floor, Charlie reached down to pick up a few pages from the pile. "Hey, is this the latest edit of the scifi thing?"


    "I just sent another round of feedback last week, so yes, for now."


    She pulled a pleading pout and waved the papers under her chin like a fan.


    He sighed. "All right. Most of the major plot points are solidified, but no quoting from it yet."


    Charlie beamed at him. "Thanks! Gotta run, but keep me posted on how it goes with Winchester. I''m not allowed to bug him until we do the first meetup in person¡­"


    She spent a few moments gathering up all the relevant pages from the mess on the floor and doublechecked her stack before waving fingers at him and heading back to her floor.


    <hr>


    When his office phone rang that afternoon, Castiel blinked at it for a minute, unable to figure out who would be calling him. The number that came up wasn''t familiar. He debated letting it go to voicemail but finally decided he''d better answer, even if it turned out to be some random telemarketer.


    "Hello?"


    "Castiel Novak? This is Bobby Singer."


    Castiel thought of that morning''s email; he hadn''t expected a phone call in return. "Mr. Singer. I wasn''t expecting a phone call." Castiel winced at that opening and tried again. "Thank you for getting back to me."


    If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    "So, you''re looking for intel on Dean Winchester, huh? Was surprised to find out that Gabriel Shurley had gotten dibs on his latest. Thought my clients were going to Zach Adler."


    "Uh, they did. Adler passed¡­ but we thought it was worth pursuing."


    There was a dead silence on the other end.


    "...Mr. Singer?" Castiel asked, thinking the call had dropped. The retired editor was somewhere out in the Dakotas now; who knew what the service reliability was.


    "Yeah, still here. Winchester is a good man. A good writer. Writes the world like he sees it, and he pays attention."


    "I could see that in his draft. The imagery, the character dialogue¡­ it feels very authentic." He tried to think about how to ask his questions without revealing to Singer what sort of rewrites they were asking for. He wasn''t sure Singer would approve of their plan to shift the book into other markets. "Any tips for working with him? It''s going to be an adjustment for both of us."


    Singer laughed, a sharp bark. "Wilderness novels don''t really seem like your usual thing, so you''re probably right." There was a pause before the man spoke again. "He comes off at first like small town, blue collar or farm boy... but don''t underestimate him. If you need him to change something, have a good reason and explain it to him. You give him the hard facts, he''ll do what he has to do. And be straight with him. You try to lie and or talk around something, he''ll know it. Like I said, he pays attention. He''s got a sharp eye for people."


    Castiel added Singer''s impressions to what he had already gotten from Gabriel. Dean Winchester was starting to take shape in his mind. "Thank you, Mr. Singer. I just want this next release to go well."


    There was a reserved hum over the line. "...You want to tell me what Gabriel Shurley really wants with this novel?"


    "I¡­ think that is something you should ask Gabriel," Castiel contended. He didn''t know enough about the politics to determine what he should reveal to the ex-editor.


    Singer snorted. "Smooth as a porcupine. I think you''ll be just fine, Novak."


    He hung up, leaving Castiel to look at the phone in his hand for a long moment before finally resetting it into its cradle.


    <hr>


    By the following week, Dean Winchester and his agent had all the necessary paperwork finalized, but it took Castiel two more days to finish crafting his first email to the author. He tried to compliment Winchester''s work on Salvation Ridge and the aspects of the new manuscript he''d enjoyed, and he asked if there were earlier drafts before editing that he might be able to obtain before they discussed changes.


    After sending the email on Thursday morning, he spent the rest of that day and all of Friday glancing at his inbox. When there still wasn''t a reply by Monday, Castiel reread the mail in his Sent folder, triple-checking the email address and its content. Nothing in it seemed as though it could have offended the author.


    How many business days does one wait for a reply before sending a follow-up? he wondered.


    He tried to shove the unease aside and work on his other clients, but around midmorning, there was an unexpected knock on his office door. He glared at it in suspicion. Gabriel and Charlie never bothered to knock. Whoever was on the other side apparently got tired of waiting for an invitation, because the knob turned, and the door swung in.


    "Hellooo," Rowena cooed, peeking around it and batting her eyes when she noticed the desk was occupied.


    Castiel stared at her, and at her purple and green patterned power suit, for a beat too long before remembering she was a senior employee and dusting off his manners. "Rowena. What brings you down here?"


    She entered his office and closed the door, then gracefully crossed over to stand to one side of his desk. "I just thought I would get your first impressions of our dear Mr. Winchester. I''m sure by now you''ve gotten a chance to speak with him." She leaned forward, clasping her hands in front of her stomach, and gave him an encouraging look.


    Castiel''s mouth twisted. "Actually, he hasn''t replied to the email I sent last Thursday yet."


    "Really? How odd¡­" She raised her eyebrows and lifted a finger. "Maybe he is one of those people who prefers direct contact. It isn''t too early to do a follow-up call."


    At the word ''call'', Castiel felt his face crunch into a frown. He tried to smooth it out, but from the way one of Rowena''s manicured eyebrows twitched, he wasn''t fast enough.


    "In my experience, Castiel, some individuals need a bit of a push." She arched the one brow higher, tilting her head, and her gaze became more pointed.


    He sighed. "I''ll call him today."


    "Good!" She beamed at him. "You get in touch with him, and be sure to let me know what you think. The man doesn''t post much about himself on a personal level, no videos or anything¡­ I want to see what type of personality we''re going to be dealing with."


    Castiel nodded, and watched as Rowena sashayed out. She was almost theatrical when closing the door, giving Castiel a last wave before slowly pulling it shut, careful to not even let the doorknob latch too loudly.


    Feeling vexed by all the day''s activity, Castiel procrastinated for another hour after Rowena left, using the excuse that he should wrap up the chapters he was working on, before finally digging through his files for the contact information he needed. He dialed Dean Winchester''s number in a mixture of annoyance and anxiety, trying to predict how the conversation would unfold as the line rang and rang and then fell anticlimactically into voicemail. Fumbling a bit for the right words, he managed to leave a message requesting an email reply and hung up.


    Now¡­ How long do I wait? And what do I do if he still doesn''t contact me?


    Luckily, it didn''t get to that point. A few hours later, his desk phone rang for the second time in a year, once again jarring him out of his work and making his heart jump for a moment before he managed to gather up his thoughts and answer politely.


    A low, slightly hoarse voice came across the line. "Hi, Mr. Novak? This is Dean Winchester."


    Castiel locked onto the direct and clipped phrasing, trying to get a feel for the man and his disposition. "Ah, thank you for returning my call. Please, call me Castiel."


    "All right¡­ Castiel. I got a chance to read over your email finally. Sorry, my brother moved in last week, and it''s been a bit crazy around here trying to get him settled."


    "Ah¡­"


    When Castiel didn''t immediately continue, thrown off by the foray into his personal life, Winchester spoke again, bringing the conversation back on track. "I know you''d asked about earlier drafts¡­ but those are really rough, a lot of bits and piecemeal rewrites. Can we just talk through some of the earlier versions maybe?"


    "Of course, Mr. Winchester."


    "Dean''s just fine. So, on your question about the various characters¡­"


    Castiel listened as Dean outlined things he''d cut or changed from the earlier drafts. Castiel had been right; several side characters had been simplified or eliminated. There were subplots that had been removed to keep the central story line moving faster, some more introspective segments eliminated in favor of keeping the action and suspense ramped up. He asked several related questions, trying to dig deeper, and while Dean was at first very cooperative, after about ten minutes of back and forth, Castiel started to sense their exchange becoming more contentious.


    "Listen," Dean finally said, "your boss was pretty vague about what he wanted this to turn into. I originally wrote a survivalist action piece, but he said you saw something more in it. But if I don''t get a feel for what you want, it''s going to be hard for me to make the right changes."


    Castiel paused and tried to find the proper phrasing. He suddenly pictured Charlie across from him. What would he say if he were explaining it to her?


    "All right. You know how there are plot-driven stories and character-driven stories?"


    "Sure."


    "We want more about the characters. The plot is solid, but it should be a vehicle for learning about these characters, these people¡ªtheir lives, and their relationships, and their motivations. Instead of cutting all that out, I want you to bring it back in. I want to see everything you''ve ever thought about these people, everything you''ve ever imagined outside the events they are living through in this book.  Once I know that, I feel as though we''ll be able to find the core themes, that thing that readers can take home from this novel."


    There was a very long silence after Castiel finished, and he wondered if he''d gone too "uber-editor".


    "...Do you really think people are going to want to read about that?" Dean asked.


    Castiel was struck by the softer tone, the uncertainty. He wanted to call back Bobby Singer and shout at the man. Dean Winchester was hacking the soul of his story into pieces, trying to force it into a box because someone had made him feel that it wasn''t worth telling in its entirety.


    "There are many types of books in this world, Dean. I have faith that people will read stories in which the author speaks their truth¡­ about life and humanity."


    "Huh." There was an awkward pause, and Castiel was trying to figure out what to say when Dean spoke again. "Well, it''s going to take me a little while to go through all my old notebooks. How much do you want me to polish?"


    Castiel considered how to best go about the first rewrite. "Why don''t you just send me what you have with any notes you think are necessary to connect to points in the current manuscript? Then, we can decide what''s worth exploring."


    They agreed to touch base in a week and closed the call.


    Castiel sat staring at his office walls for quite a while after, replaying bits of the conversation in his head, bothered by something. The way Dean had described certain things he had written, playing them off as useless to the story or excessive or distracting, downplaying and redirecting any time Castiel tried to compliment part of the draft¡­


    Singer and Gabriel both had been right about one thing¡ªDean Winchester came across as something less than what he was. Castiel felt the same way about his conversation with Dean as he had about Winchester''s works. He was not seeing the full picture. Parts had been purposefully edited out.


    He shook his head, setting aside his puzzlement for the time being. He had other things to attend to. After glancing around the quiet office, eyeing the phone and the door, almost daring the universe to send yet another interruption his way, he opened up one of the files on his to-do list and got back to work.

 Chapter 5

    If Dean had been able to choose the timing of events in life, he probably wouldn''t have picked having his brother move in with him the week Benny was closing the contract with Elysium. He''d spent half his week on the phone with Sam, preparing to share his home for the first time in over a decade, half his week on the phone with Benny, going over details and getting pep talks about his new direction as an author, and the other half of his week moving boxes of stuff around and out of his house. To top off the insanity, he''d overlooked an email from his new editor at Elysium in the sea of social media notifications and literary newsletters that constantly filled his inbox. The man had called him after a few days, leaving Dean feeling like an idiot and scrambling to turn around a bad first impression.


    That was why when his younger brother got in from work that evening, he found Dean sitting on the living room carpet with his laptop, surrounded by beat up notebooks, loose sheets of paper, and marked up printouts.


    Sam closed the door and paused, his eyebrows shooting up. "Whoa. What''s up, Dean?"


    Dean blinked a few times, eyes gritty from staring at the bright screen for too long and glanced up, first to Sam, and then to the front windows, where night was clearly falling outside. "Uh¡­ Crap. Is it that late already?" He tried to get up and made a face as his knees popped and protested. After a moment to balance himself, Dean carefully stepped out of the ring of material and moved to greet Sam. "Was just getting together some original draft stuff for my editor. How was work?"


    "Good¡­" Sam shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket, glancing at the floor in front of his polished black shoes. "Getting into my first assignments finally after orientation week. Not that different from Topeka. Just busier."


    "Glad it''s going all right. You hungry? Didn''t get dinner started yet, but I got some stuff to make goulash out." Dean motioned to the kitchen and started moving in that direction.


    Sam''s lips jerked into a quick smile. "You know, you don''t have to make me dinner every night, Dean."


    "Hey, cheaper than eating out all the time," Dean pointed out. "That reminds me, I go shopping Tuesdays or Wednesdays. Give me a list of things you want, and I can pick ''em up while I''m out. I know you like your healthy stuff. I''m more of a meat and carbs kinda guy."


    As Dean turned away, he heard Sam let out a soft laugh. "Dean¡­"


    Dean looked back around and found Sam shaking his head. "You don''t have to do all this. I can do my own grocery shopping." Sam looked up, an affectionate, if exasperated, smile on his face.


    "Didn''t say you couldn''t," Dean pointed out. "Just figured you''re working and commuting all day; I set my own schedule. Might as well pick up your stuff while I''m at the store." He shrugged, putting up his hands, gesturing in Sam''s direction, and holding his gaze, waiting for him to relent.


    Sam sighed, realizing it made sense. "Fine. But I want the receipts. I will pay you back."


    "You got it." Dean pointed at him and then spun toward the kitchen again. He hoped Sam still ate goulash¡­ If the stuff he ate when they went out in Topeka was any indication, the man hadn''t touched pasta in years.


    Sam disappeared for a bit while Dean chopped vegetables and started cooking, and when he reappeared, he had swapped out his dress shirt and slacks for a gray t-shirt and sweatpants.


    "Hey¡­ didn''t think you owned anything less formal than khakis," Dean joked with a grin.


    Sam tipped his hands out in a helpless gesture before coming over to lean on the island that divided the kitchen from the area on the other side that served as a dining room. He had to almost bend straight over at the waist to rest his elbows on the countertop. "So¡­ why''s your editor asking for all those drafts?" he asked.


    Dean thought about his first conversation with Castiel Novak. "I want to see everything you''ve ever thought about these people¡­" The deep, smoky voice had Dean imagining some grizzled newsroom editor, or maybe a detective noir character. The Elysium website hadn''t had any pictures¡ªDean had checked¡ªbut he was sure the guy had to have, like, massive eyebrows and jowls. The voice was completely at odds with his requests for more character depth, his praise for Dean''s scenery descriptions, his favorite scene from Salvation Ridge being the one where Rebecca tells Henry about the flower crowns she made for herself and Anna... Castiel Novak was as strange as his name, a character Dean couldn''t have imagined and would have probably thought was purposely written weird for an interesting quirk.


    Pulling himself back from his reflections, he explained the work to Sam. "The publisher wants this next book to be different¡­ less action, more character study. So the editor asked me to gather up all the backstory stuff for the characters, figure out what they want to add back in."


    Sam tipped his head, watching the pan of simmering tomatoes and macaroni. "Wait¡­ So it isn''t another survival-nature suspense story?"


    "Well, it is¡­ but it isn''t. Like, they want it to be the same plot I had but bring out the character stuff more. See, they picked it up because they liked the cast diversity and want more."


    "Wow¡­ that''s like the reverse of everything Bobby did with your last one, right?"


    "Yep." Dean stirred the pot, making sure the pasta wasn''t going to stick.


    "That''s great."


    Dean glanced over. "Yeah?"


    "Well, yeah. They''re giving you a chance to do more, Dean. Do what you can do."


    Dean checked Sam''s face again, but everything there told him that his brother was being earnest. He ducked his head and kept stirring. "Yeah, well, first I gotta dig up two years worth of scraps and try to put them into some order the editor can actually understand. Guess it''s a good thing I kept all that junk¡­"


    When the food was almost ready, Sam set out plates and forks, and the two of them ate together at the table. Dean couldn''t remember the last time he''d sat there for a meal before his brother moved in. He listened to Sam talk about Kansas City, and they went back and forth about businesses of interest between there and Olathe. After dinner, Sam sat on the couch, fiddling on his phone. Dean returned to his pile and continued to sort. Long after Sam had stood, stretched, and headed off to bed, Dean was taking photos and typing notes on his laptop. It was after midnight by the time he thought it had something resembling organization.


    "Better look this over in the morning¡­" he muttered to himself. You never knew how work done in the wee hours would look in the light of day. He turned off the lights and made his way to bed.


    He was up before Sam hours later. After making a pot of coffee, enough for two people now, he poured himself a mug and carried out his usual ritual, watching the warm dawn light creep over the hills in silence. Sam rose and took time to shower and dress; Dean was careful to stay out of his way so he could be out the door for his commute to Kansas City. They only exchanged a few words, the last being Dean''s "see ya" as he left. When the house was quiet again and Dean felt more energized, he sighed and opened up the document he''d been putting together last night.


    It was mostly cohesive, a digital collage of typed paragraphs and pictures of handwritten pages. He fixed some typos and added a few more notes where things didn''t flow easily, but there wasn''t much else to do without starting to rewrite.


    "Guess that''s as good as it''s gonna get," he figured, then typed up a quick email to Castiel Novak, to which he attached the doc. When it was sent and had left his Outbox, he sat back and took a few breaths.


    <hr>


    Dean had long since exhausted the winter prep he could do on his own property, and now that Sam was settled in, he needed something else to occupy him while he waited for Castiel Novak to get back to him. Hunting and migration season was starting in Kansas; it was one of the periods of the year where he worked a lot of jobs as a guide. While writing and blogging was finally providing some noticeable income, he couldn''t do without the side gigs. He''d already had a few voicemails asking about making reservations. These days, he did more wildlife and photography treks. They would never pay as well as the big game hunting used to, but his heart just wasn''t in ferrying rich guys to an easy shot any more. He mostly brought out the old skills when teaching youth hunting courses or when the local authorities called him up about tracking down a nuisance animal.


    Dean dove into returning calls, setting up jobs, and updating his wilderness guide website. By the third day, he had driven out to Cheyenne Bottoms wetlands to scope out conditions for a guided tour later in the week. It was for a group of birders, and the weather was looking good to get in plenty of migratory cranes and other birds. Dean always liked to make sure he went through any trails each year prior to bringing paid guests. The last thing you wanted was to lead them into a mud mire, and wildlife didn''t always frequent the exact same spots from season to season.


    His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he grabbed it to check the caller ID out of habit. He gave a start when Castiel Novak appeared. After a short debate with himself, he answered it, glancing around to make sure no other groups were nearby to disturb.


    "Hello."


    "Hello, Dean."


    Castiel''s rumbling voice sent an odd thrill through Dean''s chest. Weirded out, he took a moment to firmly stomp that down, during which the editor continued.


    "We agreed to meet for discussion in one week. Have you gotten a chance to review the email I sent yesterday?"


    Email? Crap. Dean made a pained grimace. "...I gotta be honest, Castiel. I''m bad with email. We''re talking ''inbox like a black hole'' bad. My agent always calls if he needs to send me something, and when I worked with Bobby Singer, he used to do the same thing." Dean paused, but the other man didn''t immediately respond.  He strained his ears. Was that the wind or a sigh of annoyance¡­? "If that isn''t your thing, maybe you could text me? Just trying to save us both some frustration here."


    There was another beat before Castiel finally said, "Very well. Consider this your email notification."


    The call abruptly ended. Dean pulled back to glare at the phone, feeling a combination of disgust at himself for continuing to make a terrible impression on his new editor and indignation at Castiel''s pissy dismissal. "Nice fucking morning to you too, buddy¡­"


    His phone vibrated a couple of short bursts, and a new text message popped up on screen, from an unknown number.


    Check your email.


    Dean raised his eyebrows; it couldn''t be anyone but Castiel. Ass.


    He all but stomped through the next few miles, and a background feeling of irritation dogged him for the rest of the day, including the four-hour drive home. Sam gave him a couple inquisitive and concerned looks; Dean dodged discussion with a scowl and a head shake. He avoided even looking at his inbox until long after dinner, knowing he was being passive aggressive but too worked up to care. When he finally forced himself to dig in and find Castiel''s email, he realized he was just looking for things to spin up on in the text. He sighed aloud and shut his laptop.


    Sam glanced up from his reading. "Everything all right¡­?"


    "Just not in the right mood for this. Wanna watch a movie?"


    Checking his watch, Sam pulled a face. "I have work tomorrow, so no."


    Dean looked at the time on his phone¡ª21:47. "Ug, didn''t realize it was that late¡­" He leaned back and rubbed his face. He''d taken some good pictures at Cheyenne Bottoms that day¡­ Maybe he could write a blog post, work in advertising his birding tours. "Okay, you get your beauty rest, Sammy. I''ll switch over to blogging."


    "That series from Glacier did really well," Sam observed.


    Dean dropped his hands down to look across the room. "Uh, yeah. Lots of commenters on there and on Facebook. Really pretty spot."


    "It''s good stuff, Dean. It''s really gotten big the last few years."


    Dean felt his face warm; the praise made him uncomfortable. "Yeah, wish people would get out more instead of just liking things online though," he groused.


    His brother looked down, still smiling. "Well, you get them thinking about it, at least."


    Sam stayed for a few more minutes reading and then excused himself for bed, leaving Dean to crop and adjust photos and write up copy for the day. Dean had been churning too much during his hike to really enjoy himself, but looking over the images in quiet, he felt his frustration start to melt away. Photos of pools reflecting the crystal blue autumn sky dotted with flocks of white pelicans against a backdrop of fading yellow grasses were interspersed with closeups of fall wildflowers. Dean didn''t have the right equipment or patience to get closeups of the songbirds, but he tried to summarize what he''d seen to his birding audience, hoping to get some photographers interested in coming through. By the time he''d posted to his social media accounts and blog, he felt calm, and remembering the day''s interaction with Castiel only brought up minor annoyance.


    Dean put away the laptop and headed off to bed. He knew tomorrow he''d be able to give the editing feedback the serious focus it needed.


    <hr>


    11:26


    Hey, for Jaime''s relationship issues, did you want about Ray or Richard?


    Dean sent the message, not sure if Castiel would respond. He probably shouldn''t abuse the guy''s cell number, but the idea of trying to wait for an email reply when he was in the thick of it wasn''t appealing. It took several more minutes before his phone buzzed.


    Castiel Novak - 11:42


    Both, please. Inserted at different points, obviously.


    "Obviously." Dean rolled his eyes, then got back to trying to figure out how to work in more hints and background details in ways that weren''t ham-handed flashbacks. It was about twenty minutes before he hit another question about Castiel''s email.


    12:07


    For the shed argument, did you mean Maria instead of Dana? Dana was in cabin


    12:31


    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.Not sure can move that truck scene around. sets up gas can for use in Ch18


    Castiel Novak - 13:11


    I would like Dana present in the shed for the argument. If you can''t move the trouble with the truck, move the conflict between David and Maria, with an alternate triggering situation.


    Since Castiel didn''t ask him to stop, Dean continued working in that fashion through the rest of that week and into the next. Oftentimes, the text replies would be hours later; Castiel either was purposely ignoring him or wasn''t as attached to his phone as Dean was. But still, Dean felt like they were developing a sort of rhythm. Castiel''s long text replies with perfect grammar, spelling, and punctuation vaguely amused him, and he started purposely trying to leave out words and abbreviate them until he was met with a terse, ''I don''t understand that.''


    It went on that way until the following Thursday, when Dean''s phone unexpectedly blared in response to one of his texts. He winced and picked it up, wondering if he''d pushed the limits of his editor''s patience.


    "Dean, it''s past eleven here." It was stated factually, if with a bit more emphasis than usual. Castiel''s voice was deeper when he was tired.


    Dean didn''t bother checking his phone screen. Now that he''d looked up from his laptop, he realized Sam must have already gone to bed. It was way too late to be texting. "Uh, sorry. Lost track of time. I didn''t wake you, did I?"


    "Do you ever sleep?" There.... maybe a tiny bit of aggravation.


    "A little. Don''t need much. Although I''m assuming you do, so maybe I shouldn''t text you at eleven at night?"


    "Well, realistically, you shouldn''t text me outside the hours of nine to five, New York time, but I can only blame myself for replying to you outside the office. Doing these feedback cycles via text is going to make it difficult for me to review our editing history later on."


    "...Or you could just message me feedback too. Then it would all be in one place," Dean countered, feeling contrary.


    The irked sigh was clearly audible this time; Dean could only imagine the editor''s face as angry eyebrows and a wrinkled scowl. He found himself grinning at the caricature.


    "While I have you," Castiel said, "we might as well go over something I noticed today: none of your characters talk about their family outside the cast of the novel."


    Dean blinked. "...Should they?"


    "Of course. People talk about the people they care about, whether by name or by reference. I haven''t known you for long, but I already know you have a brother who recently moved in with you. Even your backstory notes don''t describe their families or relationships."


    Dean chewed the inside of his lip, going over in his mind the histories he''d pictured for his characters. He was sure he had imagined Jaime having a sister¡­ Why hadn''t that been in his notes?


    "A lot of these spaces I''ve been pushing you to fill in¡­ the reasons some of your characters behave the way they do¡­ So much of a person is defined by the people in their lives, the way they were raised. I think you should explore that, figure out where it shapes each character." Castiel''s voice had lost a lot of its coarse edge as his tone became imploring. It made him sound younger, less careworn.


    Dean exhaled, relaxing his shoulders and pulling himself out of his tangle of thoughts. "All right. I''ll work on that over the weekend and send you notes with some more rewrites by Monday."


    "Good. Make certain you text me, so that I''ll know you sent an email. Also, in response to your previous message, no, I don''t think Eric should ''shack up'' with Atticus. The story is better served by keeping that tension unresolved. Besides which, Eric obviously tends to desire things and people that he considers unattainable. Good night, Dean."


    A beep announced that Castiel had ended the call. Dean lowered the phone. Make certain you text me¡­ Had that been a joke?


    <hr>


    Sam waited until Friday night to bring up Sunday supper. They had just finished eating, and Dean was trying to get motivated to clean up the plates, when Sam cleared his throat from across the table.


    "So¡­ Mom asked about having us over for a meal Sunday afternoon." He kept his head tilted to one side, eyes on the wood surface under his hand. "I told her I thought we could make it."


    Dean kept his expression flat, suppressing the instinct to grimace. "I dunno, man¡­ I have that all day tour Saturday out by Great Bend, and I need to get some edits done for Monday."


    "Dean." Sam fixed him with a stare, and Dean could tell he was also schooling his face and tone. "It''s a few hours. It''s been months since she saw you. Take a break to eat some food. Please."


    For a moment, the silence stretched, but there wasn''t any further argument to be made that made any sense. Dean knew he was just being difficult. "All right."


    He rose and cleaned up the table, then stepped aside without a word when Sam moved to wash the dishes. After working on his laptop for a few hours, he headed to bed, before his brother for once. It would be a very early morning drive in the dark to Cheyenne Bottoms.


    The Saturday guide job needed his full attention, so he kept his thoughts away from Sunday after he got on the road and concentrated on planning the best route for the group of bird enthusiasts. The day ended up being a huge success. In the morning, they hunted for Whooping Cranes, a rare and famous fall migrant. Dean had been keeping his eyes and ears on the local birding groups online all week, and there had been a few sightings the previous day at dusk. They raced to find the birds, with every other birder in the preserve, before the cranes took off to continue their journey south. The internet grapevine was a huge help; as soon as one person posted a photo, Dean recognized where they were and guided the cars to the right pond to find the trio of cranes. For most of the group, the two pristine white adults and their single mottled brown offspring made a "life bird", meaning it was their first time seeing the species in the wild, a big thing for birders.


    After that scramble, he took his charges on a more leisurely circuit of some of the best birding areas and some of his favorite hidden spots, working by which birds were active at different times of day. That meant the waterfowl and migrating songbirds early and late in the day and the grassland insect feeders and birds of prey in between. Weather was excellent and sunny, if a bit crisp. There were several people with scopes and cameras with the group, which meant they found good spots and camped out for a little while so members could make observations and try to capture the perfect photo. Moving from location to location in between, plus breaks for water and packed food, ate up the hours. By sunset, everyone was tired but buoyant with the day''s successes. Dean was thanked profusely, and the group''s organizer handed him an extra envelope before they parted ways with a substantial tip.


    "Today was incredible," she said, beaming beneath her wide-brimmed hat. "Never had a better trip out here, even with one guy who was an ornithologist. Thanks for getting us off the beaten path."


    Dean ducked his head and gave her his toothiest smile in appreciation. "Thank you. You were a great group to work with. Being willing to get out of the cars and hike a little makes all the difference. I even learned a thing or two."


    It was dark again on the drive back home. Dean blasted the local classic rock station and kept time on the steering wheel, staying on the highway until he had to exit and then taking the winding roads at a more sedate pace, watching for wildlife. He''d had several close calls with deer during his life and didn''t want to end up in a ditch after a long day. By the time he reached his property and pulled up to the house, it was past ten. The lights were still on in the living room, and he could see Sam sitting on the couch closest to the window, head turning to glance out as the Impala rumbled in.


    "Hey," Sam greeted him as he stepped inside.


    "Hey." Dean bent to unlace his boots, placing his pack on the floor for a moment near the entrance.


    "Good day?"


    "Yeah. Lots of birds and lots of happy birders. Worth the trip."


    "Great. Seems like you''re going to be busy the next few weeks."


    "Yep, few more birding groups, a fall color photography tour in Konza¡­ Just hope the bad weather stays away." Late October to November, right before winter, could be a rough period in the plains. "You''re welcome to come along if anything strikes your fancy."


    Dean looked up in time to see Sam give a distracted nod that he knew meant ''no way''. "Sam, you oughta get out and do something," he nagged. "Not good to sit inside the office all week and the house all weekend."


    "I didn''t sit here all day. I went into the city, checked out some of the museums."


    Dean thought for a minute, drawing a blank. "...What museums?"


    "The Mahaffie Stagecoach Stop, the Museum of Deaf History, Art and Culture, and the Automotive Museum."


    "...They have an auto museum?"


    "They do," Sam answered, raising both eyebrows high, "with cars and everything. Maybe you''re the one who needs to get out more."


    Dean glared and then shook his head¡ªalthough he did make a mental note to check online about the museum. "You know what I meant. A bit of physical activity won''t kill you." He stood, wincing and hissing as his lower back protested. It wasn''t appreciating the twenty non-stop hours of driving and hiking. His brother looked as though he was going to make a comment about it, so Dean gave him a hard scowl.


    Sam settled for pulling a bitchface. "Well, I used to go jogging in Topeka, but somehow running a single-lane road through empty farmland and getting catcalled by teenagers in pickup trucks just isn''t the same."


    Sam''s lips set into an honest-to-god pout, and it was all Dean could do not to snort in laughter. When had his little brother become such a city boy? He started counting off on his fingers. "Cedar Niles Park. Raven Ridge Park. Oregon Trail Park. I could go on. Hell, if you want a real challenge, go up to the Mill Creek Streamway Park entrance at Northgate and hop on the trail there. You can run straight to the Kansas River."


    Instead of looking annoyed, Sam looked surprised and intrigued. "Thanks."


    Dean sighed and shook his head. Whatever got Sam out in some fresh air. "All right. I''m going to get cleaned up and head to bed. Don''t wait up."


    "G''night, Dean."


    "G''night, Sammy."


    <hr>


    Dean didn''t remember to be annoyed at Sam until the following morning after a very late wakeup and his second cup of coffee. He buried his head in his writing until he had to get ready to go, barely grunting in reply to Sam''s attempts at conversation and ignoring the hurt looks his younger brother shot his way. Sam may have gotten him to agree to a family dinner, but Dean didn''t have to be happy about it.


    They pulled into Lawrence a little after one o''clock, parking in front of the two-story home that their mother now lived in alone. The siding had just been repainted a couple years prior, and it was a cheery moss green, trimmed in white. The old picket fence that had ringed the front yard when they were children was long gone, but the hedges were still there to either side of the steps, the same exact plants, looking a little more bedraggled every year.


    Mary Winchester answered shortly after Sam rang the doorbell, smiling broadly. The decades had brought more lines to her face, but her wavy blonde hair still floated around her like a halo, her sharp blue eyes missed nothing. She reached up to hug each of them around the neck. "Sam. Dean. Come in."


    She chattered about the week in town as she led them into the kitchen; she worked as an emergency services dispatcher these days, a definite step up from the job at the plastics plant she''d kept during their childhood. The work stories were certainly more interesting. Dean scanned the rooms off the hallway as they passed through; everything looked clean and tidy. Not pristine Martha Stewart¡ªthe furnishings were too dated for that¡ªbut nice, homey. Not much had changed since they were kids. The television and phones were newer, and Mom had replaced the old couch and chairs with cushier faux leather numbers. The wall-to-wall carpet in the living room was also a more recent addition. The wallpaper and interior paint were the same though. The floor outside the kitchen still creaked as they approached. The kitchen table was the same one he''d poured Sam bowls of cereal at, still set for six with faded pink cloth placemats.


    Dean let Sam carry the conversation as much as he could, making tight smiles in the right places, throwing in side comments about the move to Olathe and Sam''s workaholic lifestyle. They made it through half his plate of meatloaf (probably from a box) and mashed potatoes (definitely from a box) before their mother turned to Dean.


    "How''s the latest book going, Dean?"


    "Picked up by the same publisher and in editing already." He flashed her a quick smile.


    "That''s great!" It was the overly bright tone she used when she was trying to be supportive. "I know you were worried about what would happen when Bobby retired. Do you like your new editor?"


    "Yeah, the guy that picked it up is looking to put it into a slightly different genre. I''m working with his editor to rewrite parts of it."


    "What genre?"


    "Um, sorta more drama and suspense¡­ with a lot more character study and relationships." Dean hedged around it on instinct before realizing what he was doing and clenching his teeth, solidifying his resolve. "They want to market it in LGBT¡ªgay representation¡ªas well as the previous survivalist-wilderness thriller genre."


    "Oh." Her voice went extra bright as she raised her eyebrows.


    Dean had finally come out to Sam and Mom as bisexual after his first book was published. Sam had been somewhat surprised but really supportive. Their mother mostly avoided mentioning it since. Dean felt the tension as she paused to find the right words.


    "...Are they worried about the effect that might have on the survivalist sales?" she asked, mouth twisting in concern.


    It was a reasonable question; Dean knew that. He kept his voice calm as he answered. "No, they seem to know what they''re getting into¡­" He shrugged a shoulder and shovelled another bite of potatoes into his mouth.


    "And what about you? Have you thought about your hunting guide business?"


    Dean bit down harder than necessary on the mouthful of food, almost catching the inside of his cheek.


    "Mom, you know he''s mostly out of that now," Sam interjected, trying to turn her off the topic.


    "Still, it was something good to be able to fall back on when money got tight." Her voice took on a sharper edge, the authoritative tone she used when she knew she was right. "Dean, you''re still making payments on that land you bought. You never know when you might need to pick up a job."


    Dean shifted in his chair, sitting up straighter and resting his fork on his plate. He fixed his eyes firmly on his mother''s. "So, you''re worried that me writing a book with gay people in it means no one is gonna hire me? Too late for that, Mom."


    Her mouth slanted more deeply. "You know what I mean, Dean. You know that crowd. Your first book slipped in a few around the edges, but the more you branch into that, the more it''s going to be publicized. Eventually, someone is going to open their mouths about it and it will go viral or whatever."


    Sam opened his mouth to jump in, but Dean got there first. "Well then, guess I''ll just be picking up more ecotourism jobs. Or, hey, times get really tough, I know the fast food joint on 56 is always looking for help." He threw up his hands. "Not too old to flip a few burgers, right?"


    "Dean." His mother gave him a look that reminded him exactly where Sam got his expressions of disapproval from.


    "Mom. Mom." Sam stared at her until she broke eye contact with Dean to look at him. "I know you''re worried¡­ but the world is a different place now." He raised his fork as their mother went to speak, stopping her with the gesture. "Yes, there are certain people who will never be accepting, but there are a lot more who are. ...Especially nature fanatics." He raised an eyebrow and tilted his head at her with a beseeching look.


    Their mother bobbed her head from one side to the other and looked up in a gesture of surrender. "I guess¡­ I just don''t want you to limit your options, Dean. You aren''t out yet for a reason."


    Dean couldn''t stop the angry frown that fell across his face, but a large bite of meatloaf helped him hold his tongue. He hated that she was right.


    He could barely manage a full sentence the rest of the meal, speaking in clipped phrases when prompted, sipping water after he''d exhausted the supply of food. He slipped from the kitchen in relief as Sam helped their mother clean up and wandered down the hall to the living room. He stood in the center of the room, distanced from the murmuring voices and clinking of plates, taking deep breaths in through his nose. Eventually, he drifted over to the wall of framed photographs, running over the familiar snapshots of their lives¡ªMom and Dad''s engagement picture, their baby photos, Dean with his first big buck, graduation ceremonies. His eyes landed on a shot of him and Sam with their father. Dean had been ten, Sam six. It was the last photo of the three of them together. John had died of a heart attack a few months later. In the photo, John was smiling broadly, and so was Dean. Sam''s smile looked a bit like the Mona Lisa, Dean had always thought. He was still looking at the photo when his mother came up behind him.


    "You boys remind me so much of him," she said quietly. It was meant to be an apology; she couldn''t have known the way it made Dean''s stomach twist. "Hope I haven''t soured your appetite too much for pie¡­?"


    Later, after Sam and Dean had said their goodbyes and pulled away from their old homestead, Sam exhaled loudly. "Well, that went well."


    Dean kept his eyes on the road and turned up the radio.


    <hr>


    It felt like the longest weekend Dean could remember in years, and that included the weekend he thought it was a good idea to book a couple day-tours of the wetlands back to back. It was after dark now, and he sat outside in his fleece-lined coat and hat, lying on one of the wooden lawn chairs behind the house, face turned upward. The cool night sky was filled with a crisp dusting of stars. He was two and a half bottles deep into the emergency beer supply he kept in the vegetable drawer of his fridge and finally starting to feel the tightness in his shoulders ease. He took in a big lungful of the autumn air and sighed it out. It didn''t fog. Dean supposed it was a month too early for that. Maybe the hat was overkill.


    There was no way he was going to have those backstory summaries done tonight, he realized. Maybe he could power through them tomorrow and get them to Castiel''s inbox before close of business. Technically still Monday, right? A snippet of their conversation on Thursday came back to him suddenly in Cas''s growling tones. "Even your backstory notes don''t describe their families¡­"


    Dean picked up his phone. He typed a message and sent it before he could overthink it. After considering, he sent one more. He started typing a third, then reconsidered and deleted it. Rolling his eyes at himself, he tossed the device a few feet away into the grass. That could just stay over there for a while. A breeze ruffled the grass, and Dean drew in another deep breath, staring up into the vastness of space and letting everything else feel small, insignificant.

 Chapter 6

    As an editor, Castiel tried to maintain a good professional relationship with his clients. It meant being polite and considerate, being truthful without being cruel. He felt he was good at the work¡ªhe could sense the shape of a story, call out the weak points, find where the wording was clumsy or jarring¡ªbut he knew that social skills were not one of his strengths. He never had the close friendships that often cropped up between editors and their writers; he was accepting of that. As long as the editing was completed and the publisher was pleased with the result, did it really matter if the writer considered him a friend?


    Dean Winchester seemed to be trying to become his friend. Despite the fact that Castiel had never engaged in any of the requisite small talk or offered a single detail about himself outside of their working relationship. And in the face of something so odd and unprecedented¡­ Castiel all but went into hiding, in the virtual sense. All of Monday, he fiddled around with the final edits on one of their big LGBTQ+ releases for next year, resolutely trying to push the nagging issue of Dean Winchester''s last text messages from his mind. He was only partially successful. He had read them so many times by now, they randomly popped up on screen in his mind, making him blink and lose his train of thought.


    Dean Winchester - 9:24 PM


    You have family, Cas?


    You know about Sam. figure you owe me something about yours


    Logically, Castiel should just reply. He didn''t have to get into who his family was specifically. But every time he thought he was ready to type an answer, he found himself paralyzed. How much information was enough? What was too much? Was this sort of exchange appropriate? Had giving Dean his personal cell number been appropriate to start with?


    He sighed aloud, giving up typing notes about paragraph structure and leaning his face into his hands. This should not be this difficult. ...Also, the longer he put off responding, the more awkward he was making it.


    If Charlie had been around, he would have asked her about the correct protocol, but she''d taken a long weekend. And Gabriel¡­ well, Castiel never asked him for social advice unless it related to business etiquette. It had taken Castiel one very confused waitress, one nearly disastrous misunderstanding, and one slap in the face to learn that Gabriel just could not resist making an easy prank of giving Castiel inappropriate guidance in these situations.


    So, in the end, Castiel chose not to respond at all.


    The next morning, when he found Dean''s latest edits in his inbox, without any further probing questions, he wasn''t sure whether to feel a sense of relief or of failure. Lingering guilt caused him to set aside his planned work for a few hours to scan the new material. A disquiet grew as he digested the lines. There was something¡­ off. The attached notes for backstories made sense, but the additions seemed clich¨¦d. They didn''t have that real spark that Dean''s character voices typically made him feel. Castiel knew this feeling¡­ he''d sensed it a few times in Salvation Ridge. He had thought those spots were where Dean had been forced to rework portions he would rather have left alone, edit out sections he treasured.


    Castiel reached for his cell phone, but then thought of the text messages still waiting for replies. If he typed a work query without first answering Dean''s question, that would be a painfully obvious brushoff. With a heavy sigh, he picked up his desk phone. Dean''s number rang and rang, an echo of the first time Castiel had called it, and he wasn''t surprised this time when faced with voicemail.


    "Hello, Dean. This is Castiel Novak. I just finished reading the edits you sent. Please call me back when it''s a convenient time for you to discuss them. ...Goodbye."


    Duty done, there was nothing else for Castiel to do but try to work on his other projects.


    Gabriel stopped by at lunch, and Castiel welcomed the distraction of hearing updates on the upcoming releases, as well as getting a heads up about some of the new acquisitions.


    "So, I got a romance featuring a black trans lead, great contemporary setting. Then there''s the second in the Graces series coming in by end of year. And I''m torn between two different scifi adds. They both bring some good stuff to the table." Gabriel was sitting with one ankle up on the opposite knee, a position Castiel had seen referred to as the American Figure Four. He was certain that if the empty chair were closer to his desk, Gabriel would probably have thrown both feet up on it instead, just to annoy him. His cousin always seemed to be performing on some level, pushing against people''s boundaries in a way that might have been purposeful or might have been so ingrained by this point in his life that he just did it out of habit. The way his face had softened and the flowing hand gestures as he spoke now were things Castiel only ever saw when they were behind closed doors. Castiel always thought of these moments as the real Gabriel, if he had ever been allowed to see such a thing. This was the Gabriel he tried to remember when his cousin was at the other extreme.


    "What do you find appealing about each one?" Castiel prompted, encouraging the discussion to continue.


    "Well, one is by an Indigenous author¡ªModoc tribe¡ªand has a lot of intense themes, like the juxtaposition of exploration and colonization, the destructive nature of capitalism, the importance of oral histories... The other is a lot more space pirate adventure style, but the worldbuilding and characters are amazing. Nonbinary captain, multiple gendered individuals, crew of all shapes, colors, and abilities. Like, Hitchhiker''s Guide times a hundred." Gabriel''s hands fell to his lap. "Having to make choices like this is the worst part of my job."


    Castiel asked the obvious. "Why can''t we do both and just space out the publishing dates?"


    Gabriel sighed. "Because there''s only so much money to pass around, and I have just as many memoirs, fantasy novels, nonfiction deep topic dives, and mystery slash thriller slash suspense manuscripts to consider."


    "... I still think you should consider it. The more popular style piece could provide funding for the other, or the indigenous voice aspect might give that first one the boost. Science fiction is a big seller right now, which won''t always be the case."


    Gabriel tilted his head and looked toward the far wall. He would, as always, make the decision on his own. All Castiel could do was provide his own insights and hope that they helped.


    After Gabriel left, the rest of the afternoon was spent reviewing a contemporary fiction piece and preparing to send it off to copyediting. He wouldn''t get another look at it again until it was release time, which might still be months and months away, depending how the cards fell. At one point in the middle of that activity, his phone notifications went off a few times. He didn''t check them until he reached a convenient stopping point.


    Charlie - 3:18 PM


    Trivia night, bitches! Meet you at Morns?


    Kevin Tran - 3:20 PM


    Sure. Need to run an errand after work, but I''ll head over after.


    Charlie - 3:20 PM


    Ok, see you there! Still trying to recruit one more¡­ team of three so far for tonight. ?


    Charlie - 3:25 PM


    Novak, you''re coming, right?


    Charlie - 3:30 PM


    NOOOOVAAAAAK


    Don''t make me come up there.


    Castiel replied in the affirmative. By now, it should be understood that he would be there Tuesday nights, but Charlie asked for final confirmation every week. He supposed that it was good she took her trivia team leader position so seriously. The last hour or so of the day crawled as he forced himself to finish his tasks. He found his eyes drifting to the clock in the corner of his computer screen more than once, and no matter how certain he was that his desk phone was going to ring at any moment, it never did.


    <hr>


    After work, he made the trip home on the bus from Midtown and ended up meeting up with Charlie to walk over to Morn''s Tavern, since their apartments were only a few blocks apart. A good portion of the tables became occupied by other teams as it got closer to start time. The room was a cacophony of overlapping conversations, but the tone hadn''t ramped up to the weekend levels that would normally have had him looking for any excuse to leave. Charlie sat to his left, picking at their basket of fries. The green Reading Rainbow t-shirt she was wearing, with her porcelain skin and intensely red hair, made Castiel think of leprechauns, something even he knew not to mention aloud to her.


    Beyond her, Kevin Tran from copyediting was sipping a seasonal pale ale. He had arrived about twenty minutes after them, in plenty of time to relax before the game. Kevin was slightly younger than Charlie, Chinese-Canadian, with a dusky gold complexion, rail thin frame, and dark eyes set off by thick eyebrows. His black hair always seemed unevenly cut¡ªCastiel had a feeling he trimmed it himself. Together with the perpetual shadows under his eyes, it gave Kevin the air of a grad student who had been up too late cramming the night before.


    "I couldn''t get Harry to join in this week," Charlie complained, still chewing on a fry. "We should at least have a fourth." Her eyes drifted across the room and she suddenly smiled, catching the eye of a passing woman in a red cardigan.


    The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    "Harry was dead weight," Kevin told her without taking his eyes from scanning their competition. "He got, like, that one sports question in the past month, even though he said that was one of his best trivia areas. And he would always argue with me about biology, a subject he knows almost nothing about."


    Charlie made a face in reluctant agreement. "Yeah¡­ We need a better fourth." She grabbed her drink, a nearly fluorescent Pink Passion cocktail, and sipped at the curled straw for a moment.


    "Castiel counts as third and fourth." Kevin turned back to nod at him.


    "I believe I am second and fourth," Castiel offered in return.


    Kevin rolled his eyes and reached out for a fry.


    Castiel lifted the hammered copper mug in front of him and took a swig of his Moscow Mule, frowning. It had been a long afternoon, and he was having trouble leaving the work day at the office. Dean had not called back today; Castiel wondered if it was a form of retribution for ignoring his text.


    "What''s up, Blue Eyes?" Charlie nudged him with her elbow. "We need your game face, not your sulk face."


    Castiel only had a second of reservation before pulling out his phone and showing her Dean''s last messages. Kevin didn''t lean in, but Castiel saw his eyes flick to the screen as well.


    Charlie gave the screen a quizzical stare for a moment, a fleeting look of surprise replaced by confusion. "...So you are¡­ What? Worried about telling Winchester you''re Gabriel''s cousin? You totally don''t have to tell him that."


    Castiel shook his head. "I know that, I just¡ªIs this appropriate, from a professional standpoint?"


    "Sure! It''s pretty standard conversation material," she insisted. "I say this with complete respect and affection¡ªyou''re overthinking again. He''s just trying to get to know you."


    "...Or he''s trying to gauge whether you live alone and would make a convenient target," Kevin interjected.


    Castiel and Charlie both turned to stare at him.


    "Dude," Charlie said, nose crinkling up in distaste, "lay off the murder podcasts. The guy''s a writer from Kansas, not a serial killer."


    Her expression was lost on Kevin, who was gazing at the fry basket, brooding. "BTK was from Kansas¡­"


    "Ignore him," Charlie demanded, her face smoothing out as she turned back to Castiel and raised a hand. "Just reply with some basic info. I know that you''re like a vibranium oyster as far as revealing personal details, but it''s the currency of social interactions. Necessary evil."


    "I am not¡­ an oyster," Castiel protested.


    "Uh, getting you to give me your cell number required a five minute conversation about our respective sexual preferences. It took me two years to get you to tell me your birthday. I saw you once have a panic freeze because I asked you what your favorite band was." She narrowed her eyes. "...In fact, you still haven''t told me."


    Castiel was saved from answering by the trivia host popping her mic on and calling for attention. He pointed to the front of the room with a mock apologetic look; Charlie bitchfaced him in return before relenting with a shake of her head. Castiel''s phone went back into his pocket; it wouldn''t do to be accused of cheating in league play.


    <hr>


    After trivia¡ªa mostly successful night, coming in second¡ªthey all walked together through Kips Bay, splitting apart at their respective junctures until Castiel was left alone to make his way back to his high rise. The thirteenth floor was quiet, his unlit apartment silent as a mausoleum, not so much as the ticking of a watch or the drip of a faucet to be heard. He made his way down the hall in the dark before flicking on the light in the living room. The walls there were lined with book cases, the books on their shelves the only personal items in the clean and orderly room. Throwing himself down on the couch, Castiel closed his eyes and breathed out a sigh of relief. His ears were still ringing slightly from the hubbub of the bar¡ªalthough that could also be the last, one-too-many-for-a-weeknight drink as well.


    He stayed in that position, quiet and still for a time, trying to decide what book to read before bed. His cell phone chirped, making him flinch. It was probably Charlie or Kevin texting the group chat that they had arrived home safe, an insistence of Kevin''s that Castiel almost always forgot until someone else messaged first. He took out the phone to type a reply and was startled to see Dean Winchester''s name highlighted instead.


    Dean Winchester - 9:48 PM


    You up?


    Above that message, the last two still sat unacknowledged, making Castiel''s stomach clench. He sent back an affirmative, and a moment later felt a jolt of anxiety as his phone began ringing. Dean was calling. He only took a moment, just to make sure he could breathe and speak, before he accepted the call.


    "Hello, Dean."`


    "Castiel." Dean sounded weary and rough around the edges. "Sorry for the late response. I was on the road today, trying to scope things out for a hike tomorrow. Just managed to get myself a motel room, and the Wi-Fi here sucks."


    "I wasn''t aware you were going to be away."


    "Yeah¡­ last minute decision. Had a few guide jobs coming up, and made more sense than making the four to five hour commute there and back multiple times."


    Guide jobs? Castiel guessed Dean must have employment outside writing, something that many authors had to do to make ends meet¡­ given his outdoor skills, it made sense that he wasn''t limited to other writing jobs.


    "So," Dean asked, "what did you want to talk about?" There was some shuffling around in the background, giving Castiel the impression that Dean was doing some chores while on the phone.


    Castiel tried to phrase his criticism carefully. "Thank you for the character backgrounds. I think you did a good job working a bit more dimension into the story. I wanted to take a look at those adds in the context of the larger themes though."


    "...What didn''t you like?" Something in Dean''s voice shifted, became tighter.


    Castiel looked at the ceiling. Apparently, his phrasing had not been as careful as he had hoped. "I¡ªIt''s not that I didn''t like it. It¡­ Most of your details are relevant to the story or the tone of the scene. Here, a lot of it felt incidental. Thrown in."


    "Well, man, you asked me to add that stuff for realism."


    "No, I asked you to develop your characters with it. For example, why does Jaime choose to think of his sister and mention her while at breakfast with Eric? What does that tell us about their relationship?"


    "I dunno. Seems way outside the scope of the story." The terse reply was punctuated by heavy fabric being thrown in the background.


    Castiel tried a different tactic. "When you told me about your brother, you said that he had moved in with you, that you were making an effort to ''get him settled''. That tells me that you care about your brother, and possibly that you are giving him assistance by allowing him to move in with you. ...Or perhaps that he is giving you assistance by moving in, I suppose. My point is that the context gives me more information about you. It should be the same with your characters."


    Dean said nothing. Instead there was the sound of some more soft items being thrown around, as though Dean were unpacking with fervor.


    He''s upset, Castiel thought. Maybe this wasn''t the time for this conversation. Or maybe this is about you ignoring his texts¡­


    After an uncomfortable pause with only the sound of Dean''s activity on the line, Castiel swallowed and started talking. "Another example... If I tell you that I am an only child, raised by my single mother, how does that affect the way you see me? ...And what if I add that I grew up around many cousins, but I am only friends with one of them now?"


    The other end of the line got quieter, but Dean still didn''t respond.


    Castiel inhaled, processing. He had Dean''s attention, but it wasn''t enough. "...I live alone," he offered. "My friend says that I should get a cat. But he also told me that you could be a serial killer, so I''m not certain how sound his advice is¡­ You''re not a serial killer, are you?" Castiel paused and held his breath, hoping for a break in Dean''s silence.


    There was a soft inhale. "...Depends if deer count, I guess."


    The air rushed out of his lungs, and the knot inside Castiel''s chest loosened. Finally. He considered Dean''s statement. "Have you been hunting lately? Is that what your jobs are?"


    "No." Dean''s response was slightly too fast, a form of emphasis. "I don''t do that much anymore."


    Why did you give it up? Castiel wanted to ask, but he didn''t think they had reached that level of intimacy yet. He didn''t want to hear any more of Dean''s deflecting humor right now. "I''m sure the deer are very relieved."


    "Yeah¡­" Dean sighed and there was a sound that Castiel thought was him sitting down. "Listen, I get what you''re saying. I get the ask. I just haven''t been in the right mindset for digging into family histories lately. Nobody''s fault.  Just¡­ personal stuff."


    Castiel almost retorted that everything in life was personal stuff but thought better of it. "...Do you want to talk through some of these character histories together? If the Wi-Fi there is bad, I assume there will be limited email this week."


    "Uh¡­ Are you sure, man? It''s an hour later there, right? Don''t want to keep you up late on a work night."


    Castiel was sure. He put his phone on speaker mode and laid it on the coffee table, pulled a blank notebook and pen out of a nearby side table drawer, and started jotting down points he remembered from Dean''s backstories. With his prompting, they talked through each character''s family, how Dean envisioned the relationships with each family member, with Castiel flagging any items he thought were relevant. As the conversation flowed back and forth, he could sense when Dean slid into the writer''s mindset. His phrasing became longer. He started suggesting points where story events might bring up family memories, working out where that history shaded their perceptions. In the end, Castiel was mostly taking down Dean''s thoughts, listening as the other man spun cobwebs into the dark corners of his story.


    "Listen, I''m beat," Dean sighed, the session winding down, "and I''m not doing you any favors by keeping you."


    Castiel glanced at the time on the phone¡ªalmost midnight. They''d been on the phone for an hour and fifty-seven minutes. "All right, Dean. Since you''re going to be offline this week, why don''t I take these notes and rework the last draft. I''ll send it to you when I am done."


    "I mean, I can still work on my laptop... I could do the edits and get it to you later in the week."


    "No, I have all the notes here," Castiel insisted. "Besides, it''s about time for me to take a look at the big picture, with all the additions, and make some decisions about the final themes. Get some rest; clear your head. ...Good night, Dean."


    "G''night. ...And Cas? ...Thanks."


    Dean closed the line first this time. Castiel lowered the phone to his lap and stared up at the ceiling, a blank canvas of offwhite paint cast in a circle of lamplight. There had been a shape in the shadows of their conversation, defined by the negative space where Dean''s contributions became more hesitant, where he demurred. Castiel had long been made to understand that silence spoke as clearly as words; he wondered if Dean was aware of how much the empty spaces in his story told. Castiel would do him the kindness of filling some of them in, camouflaging the edges. The true, raw form of it was his to keep.

 Chapter 7

    Dean''s shitshow of a week was finally starting to look up. Since coming out to Hoisington on Tuesday, the weather had been completely uncooperative, causing one of his clients to cancel completely and Dean to just about pace his tiny motel room a couple of days. There was only so much work he could do in the rain and without reliable internet. His second client of the week, Mr. Baker, had called to see if Dean would be willing to reschedule for the following morning. Apparently there was a cold front coming through early tonight that would set up some north-west winds to bring down the migrants that had been piled up in the Dakotas for the past few days. Tomorrow morning promised to be a birding bonanza¡ªBaker''s words, not his. It was a lot better than a cancellation, so Dean would take it. This motel room, although the cheapest he could find in the area, was going to take a big chunk of his payment on a single job.


    Dean had rationalized that he could make better use of the driving hours if he just stayed the week out here, but that had proven pretty debatable. If he was being honest, the decision was more driven by the need to get some space from Sam for a few days than saving himself from the driving itself. They''d had it out Tuesday morning when Sam started getting on his case about his ''sulking'' since Sunday dinner. Nothing got Dean wound up faster than having his younger brother trying to pry at and analyze him. Dean had managed to fend Sam off until his brother had to leave for work or risk being late, then started packing as soon as Sam was out the door.


    It probably hadn''t been the best decision he''d made lately. And all right, it wasn''t very mature. A couple of days with little distraction besides the local cable had given him some time to reflect, and there might have been a better way to deal with it. Like lying and saying he was stressed about an editing deadline or something. Although Sam had a decent bullshit-o-meter; Dean never was sure what he''d be able to slide past him. Sam just had this bad habit of getting like a dog with a bone when he wanted to figure something out, which served Sam fine in the FBI but drove Dean a little nuts when it got turned on him. But at this point, there wasn''t much Dean could do about it besides head home when the job was done and hope Sam would lay off for a bit. Or maybe give him the silent treatment for a few days.


    Mr. Baker wanted Dean to take his party out at the crack of dawn tomorrow. There would be heavy rain coming through overnight, so they''d have to be extra careful where they took the trucks and hiked. Dean was running over maps and mentally trying to plot out safe courses when his cell phone started screaming Deep Purple. He glanced at the name and picked it up.


    "Hey, Bobby. Good to hear from you."


    "Dean. Figured I''d better give you a call before you thought I''d up and died or something¡­"


    Dean smiled at Bobby''s southern twang; the man sounded just like the last time he''d seen him. They made small talk for a few minutes, Bobby describing his new house and the area''s hunting and fishing opportunities. Dean teased him about being too busy fishing to give his friends a call, at which point Bobby turned the conversation back around on him neatly.


    "Well, I wanted to give you time to get used to your new editor without me lording over you. How''s the new book going?"


    Bobby''s tone gave Dean pause. It wasn''t just an offhand query; Bobby knew something. "Uh¡­ It''s different," he admitted. "The new editor has me doing a lot more character work."


    "Mmm, I bet. You know, Castiel Novak gave me a call some time back. Wanted to know what he was getting into, I guess."


    Dean''s eyebrows went up. "Well, what did you tell him?"


    "The truth¡ªthat you''re a stubborn pain in the ass."


    Dean snorted. "Thanks, Bobby. Trust you to put in a good word for me¡­"


    "Just tellin'' it like it is¡­ I gotta admit, I was surprised Gabriel Shurley picked up your book. Just didn''t seem like his kinda thing. But if he''s given it to his cousin to edit, I know he''s serious about it."


    It took a second for Dean to process what Bobby said, but then everything ground to a halt in his mind. "Wait a sec. Castiel Novak is Gabriel Shurley''s cousin?" That would make Castiel nephew to Chuck Shurley.


    "Yep, part of the greater Shurley clan¡ªChuck''s sister''s kid. A bit younger than Chuck''s youngest."


    What the hell¡­? Castiel had made it sound as though he was some kid from Brooklyn with the line about being raised by a single mom and having a ton of cousins. And now Dean finds out he''s part of the Shurley publishing empire? His jaw clenched. He''d never gotten a hint that Castiel was putting one over on him. So much for having a moment. Also, how was a guy with a voice like that even younger than Gabriel Shurley?


    Bobby interrupted his roiling thoughts. "So, what do they have you doing for rework?"


    Swallowing his agitation, Dean explained all the extra content that Castiel had asked for. After, there was quiet over the line as Bobby mulled it over.


    "Sounds like they''re trying to turn this into some serious contemporary fiction, Dean."


    "Yeah¡­ not really my thing, right?" Dean felt the stir of embarrassment and uncertainty under his ribs.


    "Don''t sell yourself short, boy," Bobby snapped. "You have the chops for it. Just hope they do right by the marketing. Not something I could have pulled off, but with Gabriel Shurley pitching for you, might just do¡­ He''s not Chuck''s golden boy or anything, but he and Castiel Novak have more than a few bestsellers to their names."


    Bobby tried to chat a few minutes longer, but Dean''s shift in mood caused the conversation to flag. Eventually, Bobby closed with a demand that Dean come up in the spring for fishing. "...I''m gonna need it after my first Dakota winter in a few decades."


    In the quiet after ending the call, Dean stared out the window at the gray Kansas skies, an irrational hollow spot aching in his chest.


    <hr>


    The cold front, when it did roll through, announced itself with torrents of rain and crackling peals of thunder. Dean was in bed by that point, trying to rest up for tomorrow''s hiking, but he repeatedly jolted awake at rumbling that shook the window frames, howling gusts of wind. Each time, he reflexively grabbed his phone to check for weather alerts, strained his ears for the telltale wail of a siren, before rolling over and sinking back into shallow sleep. The final time he woke, he was out of bed, striding toward the door, intending to head to shelter, before his mind grasped that the buzzing noise was the morning alarm on his phone. It took a couple cups of terrible coffee at the motel office to feel solid enough to go back to his room and double check his pack for the day. He then took his SUV rental and made the drive to meet up with the Baker party outside the refuge.


    The group consisted of Mr. Greg Baker, his wife Susan, Paul and Isa Reynolds, and Bob Dorin. They''d come from all the way from Kentucky to catch the Whooping Crane migration, and even though most of the week had been ruined by the weather, they all still seemed cheerful enough, sipping tumblers of coffee and chatting about the types of birds they hoped to see that day. He got them loaded up, and they made it to Cheyenne Bottoms just as the glow on the horizon was starting to light the landscape. Baker''s prediction had been right¡ªthe wetlands were alive with birds, and more seemed to land every minute. Dean barely had to try to get them to viewing spots. Between everything going on around them and every one of them keeping tabs on the birding groups and apps with their phones, they jumped from one fantastic find to another. Before lunch, Susan Baker, short, plump, and unabashedly dressed in stereotypical birder gear, excitedly called out to the rest of the group and waved her phone.


    "They have a pair of Trumpeter Swans at Quivira!" Her boots slid a bit in the mud, but before Dean could even get to her, she righted herself with a fierce grin. "Greg, we can''t miss this. It''s a life bird for all of us!"


    Dean had never seen that species himself, but he knew they were big and rarely spotted in this region.


    Greg was waddling his way over to Dean, being more cautious of the wet ground. He pulled up one sleeve to check his watch, a rubber-strapped digital number. "You know Quivira at all, Dean?"


    "Yeah," Dean said with a nod. "Scoped that out last week. I was supposed to take a group through Wednesday, but they cancelled due to weather. It''s about an hour plus from here though. Whatever you''re chasing might be gone by the time you get there."


    "Tell you what¡­" Baker scratched at a smear of dirt over one bushy, gray eyebrow, smudging it around. "I know we only booked you for a half day, but if you''re available, I''ll pay the full day fee plus gas for a ride down there and back. Might catch the Trumpeters, might not, but at least we can say we tried."


    Dean had one less job than he had intended that week and a motel bill to pay; he didn''t think twice. "I''m in for however long you want me, Mr. Baker."


    They shook on it, and Baker waved to the Reynoldses and Bob. The group quickly gathered and trekked back to the SUV for departure. The drive down to Quivira was uneventful, but there were already quite a few cars and tire tracks visible as Dean took them into the refuge farther south.


    "Word travels fast," Dean observed.


    Mrs. Reynolds laughed. "Yep, once something like this gets posted, the crazy birders descend¡­"


    "Including us, of course," Mr. Reynolds added.


    The subjects of interest weren''t at all difficult to find. A long line of birders and scopes were set up at a respectful distance. Dean stopped the SUV near the other vehicles, and his passengers were clambering out almost before he had the keys out of the ignition. He followed a bit more slowly, making sure everything was locked up and scanning the surroundings for any other wildlife. Positioning himself within earshot of his charges, he gave them space as they set up their scope and chatted with the other birders on scene. Minutes ticked by, and Dean zoned out, watching herons and ducks splash in the edges of the pool before them, eyes occasionally drifting to the two large white forms in the distance.


    "Dean, come have a look," Mrs. Baker called, beckoning with one hand.


    Dean took a few steps closer so he could speak without yelling. "Well, I''m a decent field guide but not a serious birder," he warned.


    Mrs. Baker smiled, face broadening and crinkling. "You take a look at this anyway. You can tell your future clients about it and impress them."


    Dean ducked his head and made his way over, leaning down to peer through the scope, which was adjusted to the Bakers'' heights. It took him a moment to focus on the small circle of light at the end, but once he did, the swans came into view, glowing brilliant white in the afternoon sun. The scope showed every feather and clearly defined their large black beaks and tiny black eyes. One bird was preening at the moment, but every few minutes, it would raise its delicate head and check its surroundings for predators. The other had its butt in the air, dabbling. Having an audience didn''t seem to bother the pair, which was a good sign. After a few moments of taking in their form and behavior, Dean surrendered the scope back to the bird''s admirers.


    The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    "May very well be once in a lifetime, at least for us..." Mr. Baker observed.


    "Jesus! Someone just reported a Snow Bunting at the north end." Bob''s voice interrupted, causing everyone in the group to turn.


    Mrs. Baker glanced back at her husband and grinned.


    "Well, we aren''t going to add to the day''s list by standing around," he said.


    Dean smiled to himself before straightening and turning toward where they''d parked the SUV. "Let''s saddle up!"


    <hr>


    The day ended with a post-sunset drive back to Great Bend, where he dropped the group and settled with Mr. Baker. Dean almost felt that he had done little but chauffeur them from one bird sighting to the next all day rather than actively guide, but everyone seemed overjoyed with the weather and the number of species they''d added to their lists. From there, he finished the drive alone back to Hoisington and turned in to his motel room, flicking on the evening news as he stripped and cleaned up. He was too tired to even think much by this point, but something caught his attention and penetrated the haze of exhaustion.


    "¡­the tornado reported in Olathe Thursday night, with initial estimates of three dead, more than thirty injured, and over forty families displaced by damage¡­"


    Dean spun to the television in time to see a quick flash of an image of a house with one wall torn away before the newscaster moved on to the next story. Sam. His heart jumped to life as he frantically scanned the room for his phone and grabbed it. He struggled with the lock screen for a moment before starting the call. It didn''t even ring, immediately dropping into Sam''s voice mail, offering no solace. Dean swore before the beep that marked the beginning of recording sounded. "Hey, Sam, just checking in. Heard you had some bad weather out there. Call me back."


    Dean hung up and clawed at his memory, digging out what little he''d told Sam about tornadoes in his area¡ªSam, who''d spent the last few decades in cities, in buildings with basements and clear tornado procedures drilled into each resident. He''d shown Sam the tornado shelter on a tour of the property, but they''d never gone over it in detail. He''d never even opened the door. Dammit! I should have done a walkthrough with the end of year storm season kicking in¡­


    He stood frozen with the phone clutched in his hand, mind racing, fatigue evaporated. Olathe was four hours away, and he wasn''t in good condition for that drive at night. A name came to mind: Stan Carter. One of the few neighbors his property had. He checked the time. It wasn''t too late. Searching his contacts, he was relieved to find he still had the man''s number. He hit the call button and waited. The pause was too long before a busy signal sounded.


    Not good. Not good¡­


    It couldn''t be helped; he was out of options. Dean immediately turned and started gathering up his belongings.


    <hr>


    The drive was hellish. Even after chugging the largest coffee he could at each truck stop, Dean struggled to keep the lanes in focus, pounding the steering wheel in time with the thumping baseline of the radio music, barely registering the passing towns. Once, he was jerked back to attention by the jitter as the SUV bounced along the dirt edge of the highway. He was lucky it wasn''t at a point where the road dropped off into a ditch.  Shaken, he pulled over and sucked in deep breaths of cold air, pacing until he felt awake again. He drove with the windows down the rest of the way.


    It was easier to pay attention after he got onto the back roads, where he had to watch each bend blearily for wildlife. He saw debris occasionally¡ªa fence plank, a tree branch, a plastic horse feed bucket. At one point, the headlights illuminated sections of what must have been the crown of a massive hackberry, fallen far enough into the road that they''d had to cut it and push it to the side. When he found the start of the dirt drive up to his property, his heart began banging against his ribs again. If it had been daylight, he could have looked out over the hills and taken stock of the trees, but all was black beyond the reach of the vehicle''s twin beams and the house was behind a rise here. When he spotted the first yellow pinpoint emerging from the dark, his breath stuttered.


    "Thank you, Jesus¡­" he rasped, bumping the rental down the road, watching the illuminated window grow.


    As he pulled in close to the house, he spotted the pickup parked out front. It was almost midnight, but it was Saturday, and apparently, his brother was still awake. Dean sprang out of the driver''s side door and almost fell to the ground. His knees wobbled, and his hands slid when he tried to grab the door frame on either side. He ended up sitting down hard on the door runner. It took a few breaths of puzzling over the way his limbs refused to respond to his demands before he could clear the fuzzy feeling. The dirt beneath his boots and the slow chir of autumn insects around him came back into focus. He pulled himself to his feet, body feeling too light.


    Better leave the bags for later, he told himself as he walked to the front door.


    Sam wasn''t in the living room. Dean wandered through the house, eventually catching sight of his brother seated at the dining table in the kitchen, phone in hand, wire from his earbuds running down his arm and onto the table. Sam jerked as Dean finally entered his peripheral vision, expression startled before settling into something more neutral, guarded. He pulled the earbuds from his head without breaking eye contact. "Hey."


    Dean had no idea whether he should feel relieved his brother was all right or angry that he hadn''t called back, but he couldn''t seem to come up with the right words to express either at the moment. "Hey," he managed. "¡­I called. ¡­Tornado?"


    Sam''s gaze flicked to his phone and back. "Yeah, pretty bad one. Cell service has been out all day. I drove into town, tried to help out with the truck as much as I could¡­ A few subdivisions were hit really badly."


    Dean''s eyes burned. Of course Sammy had run to help¡­ He blinked and inspected Sam, convincing his tired mind that he was real and whole. His brother''s hair was damp, as though he''d recently showered, and his sweatpants and t-shirt were fresh and unwrinkled. Even though Sam loomed over the table now, long legs stretching near to the other side underneath, Dean could only see his kid brother¡ªlittle Sammy used to give Dean that same uncertain, expectant look whenever he was waiting to see how the older boy would react to something. Dean wondered if he''d ever grow out of that¡­ feared it might happen some day.


    Sam''s eyes were moving over Dean in a similar fashion. Dean didn''t know what his brother read off him other than ''exhausting four-hour car ride'', but there was a shift in Sam''s eyes to concern. "So¡­ Everything go all right with the jobs?"


    "Yeah... " Dean responded on autopilot before continuing, "uh, not so much. But at least got one day around the weather." He rounded the table and stumbled into the seat across from his brother, spending a minute working out how to twist his chair so he could stretch his legs to one side of Sam''s.


    "That''s good¡­" Sam''s eyebrows were pinching the way they did when he was solving a puzzle, but his mouth had flattened into the unhappy line that meant he was holding his tongue.


    There was an uncomfortable pause. Dean realized he could turn the conversation whatever way he wanted. Sam was sitting back, letting him. It would be so easy to just make some small talk, say nothing at all¡­ but something had shaken loose this past week, starting when Castiel had asked him to dig into his character backgrounds. It was banging around inside him, refusing to sink back into the distant past and sleep, scratching at his mind across two hundred and fifty miles of Kansas highway. He took a breath. "Listen, Sam¡­" he began, then stopped as he tried to figure out how to even begin. "I''m sorry about running off like that." The words fell out before he''d really decided to say them.


    Sam''s face pulled into an expression of shock. "Uh¡­ okay. Do you want to¡­ talk? About it?"


    Dean sighed again. "Not really¡­ But if I don''t, it''s going to keep coming up, and you''re going to keep picking at it, and I''m just¡­ I''m just so tired of having to walk this line between you and Mom."


    "Dean, I don''t know if she did or said something after you came out... You can tell me¡ª"


    "Mom didn''t do anything." That wasn''t exactly true. Or maybe it was true. There was a whole history there of Dean having to become a parent to his younger brother that he occasionally reflected on in not-so-good moods. But that wasn''t really anyone''s fault, and it wasn''t what he needed to tell Sam tonight, so Dean pushed that away and concentrated on pulling together the right story. "It''s just¡­ every time we go over there, it goes all right until it doesn''t, and at some point, she always just... looks at me and says how much I remind her of Dad." Dean shook his head, trying to hold it together.


    Sam''s eyebrows collapsed down in confusion. "Well, he was our father, and the love of her life, Dean. You can''t blame her for remembering him when we all get together. ...Does it hurt that much to remember him?"


    Dean realized in that second that he could never give Sam the full truth. He didn''t have the right to mess with Sam''s image of Dad, and even if he set that idea aside, the fact was that the truth could only hurt at this point, hurt Sam and Mom like it hurt him every time their mother started retelling stories about Dad and their childhood. He took another breath, trying to figure out how to get himself out of this mess. He reached down below the big truth and pulled up one of the many little ones he''d figured out in the years since the Winchester apple pie life portrait had shattered around him.


    "You wanna know what my last memory of Dad is?" he asked Sam. "We''re on a hunt together, and I misjudge a shot on a deer. I try to correct and refire and end up wounding it in the gut. It makes a run for it, and Dad is pissed. He turns to me and says, ''I don''t get how someone so smart can be so stupid.'' And that''s it. ...Few days later, he''s dead, and that''s what I''m left with."


    Sam was fixing Dean with one of those sympathetic stares that Dean found all the worse to bear because he knew his brother''s sympathy was genuine. Dean blinked and looked toward the far wall so he could keep going.


    "It wasn''t like he was beating me or anything like that, but he just¡­ you could do a hundred things right, and he''d get on you about the one thing you didn''t. And after he was gone and Mom had to work all the time, I tried with you, I really did, to be¡­ Not that. But, you remember that time you snuck out to go to the movies with Billy and that other kid from down by the Owens Farm? And the kid takes his dad''s truck and crashes it into a fence, and I get the call to come get you. And I get there, and what the hell comes out of my mouth? His exact words. ''I don''t get how someone so smart can be so stupid.''" Dean broke off, blinking hard now.


    Across from him, Sam didn''t seem to know what to say. Dean turned back and found him waiting¡­ Waiting for Dean to get to the point. What was his point?


    "...I think back on that now, and I just hate myself. So when Mom goes and tells me how much I remind her of him¡­" Dean swallowed. "I never wanted to be that voice for you, Sammy."


    There was a long pause as Sam gathered his thoughts. "Dean," he said finally, "you weren''t. I remember you always telling me that I could do anything I set my mind to. Driving me to the library two hours over to get books I couldn''t get in Lawrence. Calling Ted Gruder and his buddies jerks for bullying me¡ª"


    "¡ªI believe the word was ''fucktards''," Dean corrected. Although they had been jerks and a few other words too. He still had a scar on one knuckle from where he''d cut it on one of Ted''s teeth.


    Sam laughed and shook his head in embarrassment before fixing Dean with his gaze again, serious. "You were the voice that gave me the courage to be myself, Dean. ...I''m just sorry I couldn''t be that voice for you back then."


    Dean gave him an admonishing look. No matter how many times Dean had tried to explain that he just hadn''t been ready, Sam continued to take it as a personal failure that Dean hadn''t come out to him as bi until he was approaching forty.


    Glancing away toward the kitchen again, Dean found a dozen different images of Sam tumbling through his mind. Little Sammy beaming and clapping his hands as Dean sung him nursery rhymes. Sam acting like Dean had hung the moon as Dean showed him lightning bugs in the fields in July. Sam showing him a collection of all the postcards Dean had sent him while he was on the road. Sam encouraging him to start a blog about his road trips and hikes. Sam, who hated hunting and sobbed openly that time he''d hit a nest of rabbits with the mower one summer and loved the things about Dean that were Dean while everyone around them was expecting him to be the second coming of John Winchester¡­


    "You were, Sammy," he managed at length, clutching at those shards of memory. The portrait may have shattered, but he knew what the good bits were made of. "You were."


    He stayed up sitting at the table until his brother excused himself, then collapsed into bed with everything but his boots on. Sleep came deep and dreamless, and Sunday afternoon brought cloudless autumn blue sky from one horizon to the other. Dean walked the fields underneath it, let it soak into his skin, let it wash away the aches, past and present.

 Chapter 8

    It took Castiel a week and a half to give the Winchester draft a serious look and its first real edit¡ªa remarkably rapid turnaround that was mostly due to the fact that Castiel was working on it in his personal time. Up to that point, they had mostly been pulling in more background, increasing the detail and depth. Now, it was time to cut away the excess to really make the story and its themes shine. What Castiel found, when he stepped back, was a narrative in which a group of friends under duress discover truths about themselves and each other. Several themes flowed through the work¡ªthe question of how well one person can really know another, the power of nature to strip away deceptions and bring clarity, the inevitability of artifice disintegrating.  One of the more interesting symbolisms in the book, one Castiel wasn''t sure Dean had done consciously, was the parallel between the disaster of the avalanche and the hidden emotions and lies crashing down on the unsuspecting travellers. Like Salvation Ridge, the natural world was a powerful influence on the characters and also a mirror, reflecting their own inner struggles.


    This new phase of editing had the side effect of putting him in the driver''s seat as far as communication between editor and author. He''d sent Dean a few encouraging comments via text message, but the responses he''d received had been short, almost disinterested. After weeks of constant back and forth, the trickle of communication was a deafening silence. Castiel at first thought it was just Dean''s outside jobs taking priority, but this was starting to feel like something more. Dean had sent a brusque message indicating that he would be out of communication totally for several days, which left Castiel in a vacuum, without the option of asking Dean what was going on.


    It bothered him, and it bothered him even more that he wasn''t sure why it bothered him. Ebb and flow in his communication with clients was part of the job. He would often go months between speaking with certain authors as their works waited in various queues or they worked on rewrites. But somehow, he''d gotten used to Dean''s random messages throughout the day. He found himself scanning his message history, reflecting on how disjointed the conversation sounded without the context of just having written the emails to which they referred. He would reach for his phone to check for new messages only to be met with disappointment. It was a nagging feeling he''d forgotten something as he tried to work on all his other projects, a silent evening at home without a single notification to interrupt his reading.


    Castiel sent Gabriel the first cut of the new manuscript. It wasn''t something he normally bothered doing, but it felt right in this case. He was the one who had sold the shape of this story to his cousin, and now that it was solidifying, he wanted him to have ample time to assess and strategize. It took a few days, but Gabriel wandered into Castiel''s office one morning with a thick printout in his hand and a troubled expression replacing his normally sanguine aspect. Castiel looked up and stopped typing, taken aback.


    "What is it?" he demanded.


    "Cassie, this is¡­ Wow. How did you even know he could write this?"


    Castiel kept staring at Gabriel, having difficulty determining what the emotion was. Disappointment? Regret?


    "I mean, hell, if I''d known, I would have pushed for a hardcover," Gabriel continued. "Not that I would have been able to get it, but¡ª"


    "¡ªHardcover?"


    Gabriel waved the stack of pages. "This isn''t some action-crossover-queer genre book. This is¡­ like John Updike meets Barbara Kingsolver¡­ maybe a pinch more Jack London. This has the smell of a bestseller. I mean, we need to go to town on this thing. I''m going to make Adler tear what''s left of his hair out!"


    Castiel blinked at him. "So, I take it you''re ''on board'', as they say¡­"


    "Of course I''m on board." Gabriel glared at him, then at the wall in distraction. "It sort of blows what I had thought we were going to be selling right out of the water, but man, if we can get this positioned right¡­ Ug, we need to get this guy here, let Rowena and Charlie get a feel for him. And we need to rework those numbers, see if we can swing a trade paperback. Seriously, what¡ªwhat did you do to this man?"


    At first, Castiel thought it was a rhetorical question, but Gabriel actually seemed to be waiting for an answer. Castiel shrugged and shook his head. "...I just gave him permission to write."


    The look Gabriel gave him was almost suspicious. Castiel wondered if his cousin had actually read Salvation Ridge¡ªif anyone had, really.


    The next several days crawled. His work was an unending line of titles to move through the house, so Castiel did his best to give each manuscript the attention it needed during office hours. Outside that, his apartment seemed quieter, smaller than usual. He wandered through the streets of Midtown, took buses to the Frick Collection and The Metropolitan, and spent too much time stalking bookstores and reading online book reviews.


    When Monday came around again, Gabriel pulled the starter team together¡ªCastiel, Charlie, and Rowena. There would be more staff working on the manuscript, of course, but they were the main people who would guide the project and interact with Dean.


    "Okay, I got off the phone with Winchester''s agent, Benny Lafitte" Gabriel said when they were all seated in the conference room. "Winchester is just wrapping up some sort of hiking trip, and we have to give him time to drive to New York, so we''re scheduled to see them next Friday."


    Rowena sat forward, hands on the table. "What, they won''t let us fly him out?" she asked. Her lips lifted in disgust. Castiel got the impression she was about to storm out of the meeting and give someone a piece of her mind.


    "Well, they probably would not have¡­ But this time, not our fault," Gabriel explained, putting a hand up. "He doesn''t fly. It''s right in his contract. Believe me, I told the guy to get on a bus for the price he''s going to pay to stay overnight and park his car, but Benny was pretty adamant that he would prefer to drive himself." Gabriel tapped at his phone, reading something on the screen. "So, we''re going to meet and greet, go over the revised release plan with him and Benny. Rowena, you''ll talk a bit about our sales plan.  Charlie, the majority of the day is going to be spent with marketing and publicity after that. Ted''ll want him to go for a few new headshots to use on event and sales materials, but for the most part, I need you to talk platform with him, start a working relationship. We''ve got to get him ramping up the social media presence."


    "Aye," Rowena interjected, "and he needs to start showing his pretty face in his photos¡ªand videos, if he can get the knack of it¡ªimmediately.  Everyone loves a majestic nature scene, but it''s not going to sell his books."


    "Yeah," Charlie agreed, waving her tablet. "He finally posted a picture a few weeks ago, after like years, and jackpot! Right? Like, I''m not straight, and even I think the man is attractive."


    Castiel''s eyes shifted to one side as he flashed back to the one photograph he''d seen of Dean Winchester, the headshot they had on file from his last release. He''d looked, well, like a lumberjack. Short dark beard, plaid flannel shirt, hair shaggy down to his ears. The picture had been black and white; he hadn''t smiled, instead adopting a stoic stare into the distance over the viewer''s shoulder that marketing had no doubt thought fit his outdoorsman image.


    "You''re not kidding," Rowena growled. "The books we could sell with his face alone¡­ The fact that this one is actually fairly good is just icing, really."


    Something in Castiel bristled, even though he knew it was Rowena''s job to look at every author as a sales tool. He tried to change the subject, looking at Gabriel. "What about me? Is there anything I need to do?"


    "I may be the lead contact for his agent, but you''re the one who''s been working with him, Cass¡ªtiel. I expect you to be walking him around, preferably staying on hand, unless he warms to Charlie real quick."


    Castiel usually would have been reluctant to be forced into so much face time, but Gabriel had made it clear from the get go that the three of them would be expected to put in extra effort on this project.  And he had to admit that he was curious to meet the man he''d been texting and speaking with for months. He simply nodded to show he understood.


    Gabriel''s eyebrow twitched, a small gesture that was smoothed out as he moved on to other topics, covering with Rowena and Charlie what people would be brought in on the next phases.


    Castiel was gratified to hear that Kevin Tran would be their line editor. Since Charlie had brought him onto their trivia team, Castiel had started paying more attention to his work, and Kevin was extremely thorough. While they were discussing editing, he proposed to the group that they also should have a sensitivity reader or two go over the manuscript. Dean had tried to add diversity to his cast, but he and Castiel both had the same white, male perspective as readers. Gabriel readily agreed and asked him to coordinate. Beyond that, he mostly listened for the rest of the meeting, trying to follow as they discussed sales and marketing strategies.


    If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    He went back to his office, intending to resume normal work, but as he sat at his computer, Rowena and Charlie''s comments about Dean floated around the edges of his thoughts, and he finally gave in to the temptation to look up Dean''s Facebook page. He barely had to scroll down to find the photo to which they had referred.


    A group of five middle-aged, caucasian adults dressed in wide-brimmed hats, vests, and outerwear were gathered around a slightly younger man, smiling. The woman closest to him was stretched up, looping a thick arm over his shoulder. The man himself, in the center of the shot, appeared to be leaning down slightly to let her, his face tipped up to look out from under his hat. It took Castiel a moment to recognize Dean Winchester. For one, he was clean shaven now, barely a hint of stubble on his lip. The toothy grin he was giving the camera transformed his face even more, revealing a set of dimples and making his eyes crinkle around the edges. A spark shot through Castiel and something in his stomach fluttered. They were right; Dean was attractive. And it wasn''t just his physical features, although they were extremely symmetrical and well proportioned. It was something in his face¡ªgood natured and open with just a hint of shyness and reserve. It might have been the glow of the late day sun across the grassland in the background, but the photograph almost emanated a warmth that Castiel could feel.


    He stared for longer than was probably necessary, trying to merge the image of the introspective mountain man he''d been picturing with this lighter, brighter individual. Here, Castiel thought, was an embodiment of those flashes of humor he found in Dean''s writing. The celebration of nature that almost amounted to worship, the deep well of human resilience his characters were forced to tap¡­ It all took on a more hopeful tone seeing this portrayal of Dean.


    Amazing how one could form an opinion of a man from a single picture that could color all their conversations, only to have it turned on its head by a second photograph.


    Next Friday, Castiel would have to guide this man around Elysium, make small talk. An unsmiling, taciturn Dean Winchester he could have handled... He wasn''t so certain about a charming Dean Winchester with an amiable disposition. Then again, Dean''s interactions with him as of late hadn''t been very cordial.


    Castiel frowned at his phone for a while, finally deciding another text wouldn''t be unwarranted.


    11:07 AM


    Hello, Dean. Please get in touch when you are back and have spoken to your agent. Thank you.


    <hr>


    It was the following Monday, just after 9 AM, when Castiel''s office phone rang. He picked up after the second ring, vaguely confused.


    "Hello?"


    "Hello, Castiel. Dean Winchester. You asked me to get in touch?"


    Castiel tried to process the tone¡­ flat, bland¡­ Barely sounding like Dean. Put together with the extended wait for a response, Dean calling his office instead of responding via his personal cell phone¡­ Castiel might not always understand people, but he recognized passive aggressive behavior when he saw it. His mouth quirked, and he made a split second decision to handle Dean more like he would handle Gabriel than he would a typical client. "I did. Why have you been avoiding me?"


    "Whoa, man," Dean objected. "I''ve just been away on a trip and busy with jobs. Nothing going on except that."


    Castiel glared at the wall. If Dean thought a flimsy excuse like that would deter him¡­ "That is, as you are so fond of saying, ''bullshit''. I can only assume you''ll be leaving Kansas soon. I am aware my people skills are not¡­ the best, and I don''t have time to do a mental review of everything that happened since we last spoke. I would very much appreciate it if you could just tell me what I did to invoke your ire so I can either explain myself or rectify the situation."


    There was an extended silence. Castiel thought Dean was going to get stubborn and double down on his justification, but then he said, "I don''t much like being lied to."


    "I have never lied to you, Dean." Castiel''s nose wrinkled in deeper puzzlement. "What could I even lie to you about?"


    "Oh, really?" Dean scoffed. "How about that nice story about being some poor kid raised by a single mom? Come to find out, you''re the owner''s nephew. Guess you''ll just say whatever you need to to get the job done, huh?" There was bitterness in his voice.


    "I never said I was poor¡­" Castiel tilted his head and looked up at the ceiling, considering a moment too late that being pedantic might not be the best approach.


    "Oh, well that makes it all better then," Dean retorted. Castiel got the impression of motion in the background, as though Dean were pacing. "You know, when we''re having a conversation, and you''re telling me a little about yourself, mentioning that you''re Gabriel Shurley''s cousin, or related to Chuck Shurley, probably oughta be front and center. You were purposely avoiding mentioning it."


    Castiel sighed; the accusation was accurate. "Fine. I was avoiding it. ¡­Frankly, I don''t like to think about it myself most days." He paused, but Dean seemed to have exhausted his initial burst of anger and didn''t interject. "...Nothing I told you was fiction. My father died before I was born, so my mother did raise me alone. I do have many cousins. Gabriel is the only one I speak to much these days, outside awkward small talk at family functions."


    Dean didn''t respond, but Castiel could hear him breathing, or maybe the sound of wind, in the background, so he knew the man hadn''t hung up on him.


    He continued, knowing Dean was waiting for an apology. "I am sorry¡­ for not being more forthcoming. My relation to the Shurleys is something of a fraught topic and not something I like to bring up." Something relevant bobbed up from Castiel''s memories, sliding in neatly to form a pattern in Dean''s behavior. "¡­Back at the beginning of this project, I spoke to Bobby Singer before I first contacted you. He explicitly warned me against lying to you. I should have known that included lies of omission."


    A slight shuffle, then Dean muttered, "Yeah, well... not like you owe me anything," the righteous anger draining out of his voice. He cleared his throat. "So, what did you want to talk about?"


    "I just wanted to make sure you agreed with my first rounds of edits. I know you''ll be in New York on Friday, so if you have anything you''d like to go over, I can prepare beforehand."


    "Naw, man, it all made sense to me. You guys know better than me what this is supposed to be at this point anyway. ¡­That it?"


    That was, technically, ''it''. Castiel found himself oddly reluctant to leave their conversation as it was though; he wasn''t sure Dean and himself were really back on good terms. He needed to ensure that before Friday, he reasoned. "...How was your trip?" he ventured. "Gabriel said you were hiking. Where did you go?" He leaned his head harder against the earpiece, listening for any nuances he could pick up from the background noise. There was the faint rasp of a drawn breath.


    "Went okay¡­ Went to help a buddy of mine scope out wolverine habitat in Wyoming. The Rockies. Not for a hunt. They''re, uh, gonna set up camera traps in a month or two, try to find out if any are up there still."


    "I''ve never been to the Rocky Mountains¡­ What''s it like there?" It felt strange to Castiel, pulling the dialogue along like this. He was out of his comfort zone, imagining what people might say in his situation.


    Dean let out a huff of amusement. "Well, it''s a pretty long mountain range¡­ Uh, big, I guess. You''re surrounded by rock and hills covered in evergreens on all sides. You can see just about forever at some points, so far that the air just starts to build up and turn everything blue in the distance. Up close, everything is so crisp and clear. Especially this time of year, when there''s already snow on the ground in some spots. Cold. Quiet. You''re out there, feels like everything for miles can hear you coming. ...I dunno, I''m not doing it justice. Better at writing it than talking about it, I guess, and even then, nothing comes close to just seeing it in person."


    "I''ve never been west of New York state," Castiel admitted.


    "You should," Dean answered without hesitation. "Out there¡­ It''s like a different planet. Only place I know where you can look horizon to horizon and see nothing but nature."


    Castiel thought of the mass of humanity, cement and glass, sheer noise that was Manhattan and New York City, pictured standing on a mountain top with not a road or building or car in sight. "Sounds¡­ lonely."


    "Hey, we walk alone in the world."


    The words were familiar, and it took Castiel a moment to place the quote. He wondered if Dean was just repeating something he had once heard and couldn''t resist expanding upon the reference, probing. "Ah¡­ well, as long as you are looking at the stars¡­"


    Dean huffed again, the quiet sound of his laughter. "Ehh, they''re up there every night.."


    A tiny wave of surprised elation pulled Castiel''s mouth into a smile. Just when he was beginning to think he had an accurate grasp of Dean as a person, the man started paraphrasing trancendentalists. He shook his head in disbelief. Somehow, it fit¡­ another piece to a puzzle that was turning out to be much more complex than he''d realized. It opened up an entirely new set of possibilities in his mind. He must have paused too long, considering whether Dean preferred the intellectual essays or the poetry, because Dean spoke again.


    "Well, I''m packing up today and heading for New York tomorrow morning. Probably could have made it in two days, but nothing sadder than making a road trip and never getting off the interstate."


    Castiel forced himself to focus on the conversation. "Yes, Gabriel mentioned that you were driving¡­" Why don''t you fly? "Have a safe trip." He winced; that last part had been spoken almost on autopilot and would be interpreted as a closing.


    "Thanks. Guess I''ll see you Friday, then?"


    "Yes¡­ I will be here." Where else would I be? Castiel asked himself.


    "All right¡­ Have a good week, Castiel. See you then."


    "Goodbye, Dean."


    After closing the line, Castiel sat quietly for a few minutes, trying to gather his thoughts. He found himself unable to start up his work again and instead ended up searching the internet for pictures of the Rockies, maps of Wyoming, and the life history of wolverines before his guilt at abusing company time finally outweighed his curiosity. The rest of the afternoon, he moved at half speed, finding his thoughts drifting and re-reading sentence after sentence.


    He pulled his copy of Nature off the shelf that night and began reading, at every page considering whether Dean had once read those same words, found meaning in them.

 Chapter 9

    To Dean, heading east always seemed like heading toward civilization. Sure, there were plenty of cities out west too... but everything shrunk down and condensed the farther east you drove from the Rockies. Instead of vast stretches of plains and fields, pretty soon you were hemmed in by houses and yards. The landscape became busier, the developed areas more frequent. Yards got smaller, disappeared. The press of people became palpable.


    He got off the interstates and tried to keep on the scenic byways for at least half of each day, but the final leg into the sprawl of New York City just about made him turn around and gun it back west. Dean forced himself to drive more slowly and patiently in the city traffic, trying not to feel claustrophobic about constantly having a box of vehicles around him. Baby was pretty enough that people seemed to understand why he was inching her around, and although every stereotype of city drivers told him he''d be getting sworn at and possibly fistfighting, a few people even let him change lanes with only annoyed hand waves. Still, by the time he reached the hotel and got her safely in a garage, he figured his blood pressure was a few ticks away from ''aneurysm''. Benny was right; he should have agreed to take a train like last time.


    To de-stress, he allowed himself a rare night of indulgence. After unpacking and shaking out his nicer clothes onto hangers, he ordered a room service dinner and ate steak tips in bed in front of the television. He ended up watching a double feature of the remake of The Day the Earth Stood Still (not terrible) and the remake of War of the Worlds (better). He thought for sure he''d spend the night tossing and turning, but three days on the road and the horrors of New York traffic apparently caught up with him because he was out a few minutes after turning in.


    Dean awoke early, before it was truly morning outside his window, and spent a few minutes brewing coffee on the miniature coffee machine the room offered, gazing out over a cityscape already alive with lights and cars. It was a view so foreign that he might as well have been in a science fiction movie. He amused himself by drawing parallels to the Badlands and the Grand Canyon, imagining the roadways as winding rivers through which the passage of cars had slowly worn down the landscape of buildings to create deep chasms. It would be difficult terrain to navigate except by following the riverbeds, finding the occasional patch of green that indicated safer stopping points.


    The coffee turned out to be pretty good, so he started making a second tiny pot while he organized himself for the day. His dress shirt and slacks still looked a bit wrinkled, but he found an iron helpfully hanging on the wall inside the closet and made a meditation out of smoothing the fabric and setting creases in the right spots. If it were up to Dean, he would have been in jeans and a flannel shirt, but his agent and his brother both seemed to agree that it was time to take the rustic image down a notch. He''d drawn the line at a jacket. He and Sam had compromised on a good quality heather green button down and charcoal gray slacks. Dean didn''t dare put them on until it was almost time for Benny to pick him up. After tying the black dress shoes he''d brought, he ran his hands through his hair one last time and eyed himself in the bathroom mirror. He felt exposed without his ever-present leather jacket and brimmed hat. His reflection was a stranger. Deep breath in; deep breath out.


    He met Benny down in the lobby¡ªhow many months¡­? Years? Had it been since they''d been face to face¡ªand followed him out to the car hired to bring them over to Elysium. They were about the same height, although Benny was a little broader, and Dean easily kept pace with him. Benny was in his signature tieless black suit today, with a bright hunter green shirt open slightly at the collar. Dean privately thought the razor-edged, closely trimmed beard and goatee made him look like a sharply dressed movie villain, but if he were being honest, that was part of the reason he liked Benny. All southern charm or sharp edges, depending what was necessary at the time.


    After they were in the car and heading over, Benny glanced across the back seat. "You ready, brother?"


    It was slow going in morning traffic; Dean wondered if they could have walked there faster. "Ready as I can be, I guess¡­ Any notes for today?"


    "¡­Be nice."


    "Nice," Dean mocked. "I''m always nice."


    Benny tilted his head, stretching his neck. "Hmm, me too." Then, he turned back to Dean and smiled one of those shark smiles he saved for contract negotiations.


    Dean sighed. "All right. I''ll try not to get on Gabriel Shurley''s nerves again¡­ but I ain''t promising nothing." He purposely played up his accent a bit at the end, making Benny''s grin slide into something more genuine. Dean spent the rest of the ride people watching as their car crept through Manhattan traffic. A colorful array of inhabitants migrated along the dingy streets, not seeming to see a thing around them, eyes on some distant destination. It was like nobody in New York could agree what the weather was like¡ªhe spotted everything from tank tops, shorts, and sandals to a full arctic puffer jacket and knit hat. From his seat in the car, hemmed in by tall buildings along every avenue, he could barely catch a glimpse of the gray sky above them.


    Elysium House was inside a bland stack of offices that seemed to take up an entire block. They took the elevator up to the fifth floor, where a set of frosted glass doors were emblazoned with the Elysium logo¡ªan orange sunburst rising over a green hill with blue waves along the left shore. The older woman manning the front desk passed them off to a younger assistant with dark terracotta skin in a black pencil skirt and blue blazer, who she introduced as Indu. Dean tried one of his friendly smiles, but Indu just raised her eyebrows in a harried fashion and directed them to follow her to another set of elevators down the hall. She walked him and Benny up to a conference room on Floor 8. Inside, Gabriel Shurley waited with an older woman, skin the color of cream with an impressive mane of red curls that fell almost to her waist.


    "Rowena MacLeod." She held out a hand, as if to shake, but when Dean reached forward, she lifted his hand in hers and held it. "I''ll be sales lead on your project. Delighted to meet you, Mr. Winchester." Her accent sounded Scottish to Dean. Brown, cat-lined eyes flicked downward and back up in a slow perusal before she loosened her grip on his fingers.


    "Dean''s just fine, ma''am." He felt himself flush as he reclaimed his hand, slipping into ''aw, shucks'' mode like a bad habit.


    "Then ''Rowena'' it is!" She gave him a playful smile and batted her eyes.


    "While we''re on the topic, let''s go with ''Gabriel'' for me too," Shurley cut in. Dean tensed up at the glance¡ªalmost a glare, actually¡ªsent his way before Gabriel met Rowena''s gaze and something unreadable passed between them. Gabriel motioned to the table, sweeping the uneasy exchange aside, returning his face to the business mask Dean recognized from their first video conference. "Rowena and I would like to take you through our revised sales plan¡­"


    This wasn''t Dean''s favorite part of the publishing meetings¡ªhonestly, no meetings were his favorite¡ªso he sat back and let Benny take the lead for the most part, following along. Watching his agent''s face out of the corner of his eye, it seemed like the changes were all good news. When the Elysium team wrapped up their presentation and took a break, he stepped aside with Benny to digest.


    "They can''t do much about the budget at this point, but they''re upgrading where they can," Benny told him. "Trade paperback release, full cover redesign, up front spot in the sales materials sent out to reps and bookstores¡­ You''re still going to have to do the platform work, and a lot of it."


    "Why the changes?" Dean asked, resisting the urge to grab some free coffee from their single-serve pod machine. He was getting jittery enough about meeting the rest of the team¡ªnamely Castiel Novak. He''d tried to keep his mind off it all week, but with it looming in the immediate future, it was becoming all but impossible.


    "Guess you impressed them." Benny''s smile this time was softer, but it reached his eyes.


    Dean turned his head as Gabriel opened the door to the conference room, stepping aside to allow Rowena to enter.


    "So, I think we''re wrapped up with the business end of things," Gabriel said when they had crossed the room. "I''ll get someone to take you down to marketing to meet the rest of the team, and the remainder of the day will be coordinating with Dean for platform ramp up. Benny, you''re welcome to stay or go. I''m sure Rowena can answer any followup questions you may have."


    Benny shook his head. "If anything comes up, I''ll give you a call, but the plan looks good to me." He glanced at Dean. "Do you want me to stick around?"


    Dean figured Benny had other clients and didn''t need to sit through a bunch of social media discussions. "Naw, I''ll touch base with you later, give you the rundown."


    "Excellent," Rowena cooed, surprisingly gleeful. "I wouldn''t want to miss this little team meeting for the world." Dean caught the way Gabriel narrowed his eyes at Rowena; she simply smiled brightly in return and spun to lead the way out of the conference room. "Come along, then, let''s get the introductions going¡­"


    Dean gave Benny a final nod and then let Rowena lead him back to the elevators. They went down two floors and made their way along a hallway where one side was all windows halfway up, showing a bustling, open floor filled with computer workstations beyond.


    The instant Rowena stopped in front of a door labeled ''Conference Room M2'', Dean''s stomach flipped, and he had to remind himself of the pressed clothes he was wearing¡ªthat he looked almost respectable that day, that he looked like a writer. Rowena opened the door, stepped through and then to one side, and Dean followed, taking in the burnt orange wall paint and the three people gathered around the conference room table who had turned to regard him with interest.


    Sitting closest to the door, there was a petite, pale young woman in funky clothes with red hair to her shoulders; she bobbed her head like a bird and flashed him a tentative smile. Along the far wall, an even younger Asian man in a baggy dove-colored shirt with short black hair and shadowed eyes examined Dean warily, mouth expressionless. The man beyond Rowena on the left was older, dressed like an office professional with a blue patterned tie. This, Dean realized, had to be Castiel Novak.


    For a moment, Dean''s imaginary version of Castiel clashed with the real thing. Bobby had said Castiel was younger than Gabriel, but Dean still hadn''t been prepared for a man nearly the same age as he was. Castiel''s well-defined brow and jawline conformed to Dean''s caricature, but his skin was smooth and barely lined, the washed out beige of someone who spent little time out under the sun. His dark hair, cut short, swirled in irregular waves, giving it an untameable quality. He had a prominent straight nose, a full mouth, and a tiny cleft on his chin that broke up the round contours of his face. It was his eyes, however¡ªtheir intense and hopeful gaze¡ªthat captured Dean''s attention and caused attraction to flutter up below his sternum.


    Castiel was staring, not at all hiding his curiosity, and Dean couldn''t look away. He kept waiting for Castiel to say something, complete the transition from phone calls to physical presence, but Castiel seemed to be struck speechless. After a few more seconds, Dean felt his cheeks warm. The look Castiel was giving him was¡­ well, if this were a bar, Dean would have stopped surfing, offered to buy him a beer.


    Out of the corner of his eye, Dean caught the motion of the younger redhead raising her eyebrows, and he broke himself free from the stalemate, inhaling and ducking his head to glance over at Rowena. She was watching him with a teasing smile that would have made him flush beet red if he hadn''t firmly shoved his embarrassment down and locked his expression into neutral. Even so, she raised an eyebrow at him before lazily turning back to everyone at the table.


    "May I introduce our author, Mr. Dean Winchester." She waved a hand in a flourish toward him. "Dean, this is Charlie Bradbury, marketing lead specializing in social media¡­"


    The young woman at the table nodded her head, giving him a cheerful wave.


    "¡­Kevin Tran, who will be taking your manuscript through copyediting once you''ve completed the initial content edits¡­"


    Kevin bowed his head solemnly.


    "¡­and, of course, Castiel Novak, who you''ve spent a great deal of time speaking with over the last few months."


    Castiel did speak then, husky voice rumbling up from his broad chest. "It''s wonderful to finally meet you, Dean."


    Oh. Dean''s breathing went shallow, and his clothes suddenly felt too tight. Or maybe that was his lungs. He spent a moment schooling his expression again, only able to acknowledge Castiel with a nod. That was going to be trouble.


    His eyes turned to Rowena again, prompting her to move on, but she just met his look with a wide-eyed prompt of her own. Dean would have sworn she was enjoying watching him flounder around. He cleared his throat, turning back to the table and focusing on Charlie instead. "Glad to be here¡­ Looking forward to working with you."


    Rowena stayed for a bit after they were seated, going over the timeline for continuing the manuscript edits while having Dean begin the platform ramp up. That would lead into the start of Elysium''s own marketing and publicity, with Charlie coordinating and acting as liaison. The team appeared to be well acquainted; they were constantly exchanging glances that Dean struggled to interpret. Kevin was a closed book, his face moving between thoughtful and neutral; Rowena seemed to be in a constant state of mild amusement. Every time he dared to venture a glance at Castiel, he found the other man staring at him. Up close, his eyes were deep blue. Dean was increasingly grateful for Charlie, with her ''I¡¯m not antisocial, I¡¯m just busy reading'' t-shirt and friendly, effusive demeanor. She filled in the awkward silences, kept the group attention from constantly settling on Dean. Unlike the rest of the group, her every thought flashed across her face in microexpressions, something Dean found reassuring.


    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    "Well, I''ll just leave you with these two for a while," Rowena said finally, sweeping her hands out to Charlie and Castiel. "Castiel, I trust you can manage the schedule until our end of day group meeting?"


    Castiel nodded, and Rowena and Kevin made their exits, Kevin giving Dean a last hard look on his way out. What was with that? Quiet fell, and Castiel and Charlie both turned to look at Dean. He shifted a bit in his seat.


    "So¡­ what''s on the agenda?" he asked, clamping his hand onto his thigh as he tried to quell the urge to pull at his shirt collar.


    Charlie perked up. "Oh! Sooo much stuff. I have some great ideas for your Facebook feed, and you really need to get your Instagram going more with all the photos you post. And we need to do some practicing with live stream, because you totally have the presence for it¡­"


    "I believe we have some photos scheduled for one o''clock," Castiel reminded her.


    "Right, for the print marketing. So, let''s see¡­"


    The morning slipped by before Dean knew it. Charlie bounced from one topic to another, rambling about social media algorithms one minute and her favorite Star Wars actors the next. She and Dean fell down rabbit holes discussing best scifi book-to-movie adaptations¡ªshe thought The Martian, but Dean was firmly in camp Blade Runner¡ªand the biggest renaissance faires in the U.S.¡ªTexas, apparently, although Dean had only ever been to the one in Kansas City. He was pretty sure he''d been bulldozed into saying he''d go to one in Minnesota next fall.


    Charlie demanded they all order in for lunch, dragging Kevin, Castiel, and Dean to a table in the marketing lunch room. They drew inquisitive stares from the other denizens, most of them looking more like hipster interns than serious publishing house staff. Kevin, Dean discovered over lunch, had a personality that was fifty percent sarcasm and thirty percent deadpan one-liners. There had to be another twenty percent something hidden under there; he and Charlie got along easily enough, where Dean wouldn''t have thought it possible. Castiel hovered on the periphery, a constant, distracting presence. He resisted Charlie''s attempts to get him engaged in their discussions, only occasionally throwing in an errant fact or correction in his forthright fashion. Mostly, he seemed to be studying Dean. At first, Dean felt self-conscious, glancing away or ducking his head, but as the day went on, he realized Castiel didn''t seem to be judging him or demanding anything. A few times, Dean saw him regarding Charlie or Kevin in very much the same way for a moment. Castiel Novak just seemed to be¡­ intensely focused, for lack of a better description. When he gave something his attention, that meant one hundred percent.


    Dean felt disappointed when Castiel left him in Charlie''s hands that afternoon; he found himself wishing he could have had a one-on-one meeting with the editor, explored their rapport in real life. The next few hours were a blur of activity though, leaving little time for reflection. He was put through posing for photos, lessons on planning and taking short videos, suggestions for engaging more viewers and getting comments and reactions. He found himself exchanging numbers with Charlie and taking down tasks to complete over the next few weeks online. It was massively different from his first book, where he''d had to do most of the publicity himself with minimal guidance. Between her and Benny, Dean thought he''d probably have a social media empire by next year.


    Returning to the big, quiet conference room up on the eighth floor was a relief. This time, the entire team was around the table, sans his agent, and Dean was struck by the strange mix of people, from business power players Gabriel and Rowena, to work-a-day Castiel, to young Charlie and Kevin. No, it wasn''t just the range of people¡­ it was the dynamic at the table too. Meetings like this with Bobby had typically been a bunch of managers in suits and sometimes their underlings in business attire, with a very clear separation in roles. Here, they all seemed to trade off taking the lead on different topics. Dean didn''t see a lot of deferential behavior to the senior employees, and Gabriel, who had struck Dean as a ''boss man'' type in their solo conferences, sat back and listened, face occasionally slipping into something more subtle and revealing, until everyone had said their piece.


    "Okay," Gabriel chimed in when it was clearly time to wrap up, "everyone knows what they''re going to be doing on this project. Dean, Benny should keep you in the loop on the final release schedule." He paused, examining Dean''s face. "The manuscript is good¡­ This could be really big. But we''ve got to get the sales and marketing right. It''s not as simple as playing to a niche or two now. We''re going for a bestseller."


    Dean felt a thrill run over him, like spotting an animal he''d been tracking for days. He''d never thought for a moment that something of his might ever get that high profile. He swallowed. "I''ll do my part; just point me in the right direction."


    "We got this," Charlie affirmed. "Go, Team We''re Here and We''re Queer!"


    Queer? Dean turned to her in shock, mind spinning for a moment, wondering how she possibly could have guessed that after a few hours.


    Noticing his look, Charlie amended, "Uh, and honorary members Rowena and Dean," her face collapsing into an apologetic grimace.


    Only him and Rowena? That meant¡­ Dean scanned the table.


    Maybe it was the way Charlie and Kevin looked absolutely the same, no big deal. Or how Castiel''s eyes were on him, clearly watching to see how he reacted. Or Gabriel''s silent, challenging stare, almost daring Dean to respond badly. "Um¡­ no honorary needed. For me," he mumbled, nerves keying up as he realized what he was doing. Across the table, Charlie blinked and tilted her head, eyebrows pinched. "Uh, I''m bisexual," he clarified.


    There was dead silence for a moment, and Dean felt himself start to sweat. He flashed back to a similar moment in Mary Winchester''s carpeted living room, the shock and dismay that had flitted across her face.


    "Well then, I suppose I''m still the token ally," Rowena sighed dramatically. Charlie grinned, and the tension broke.


    "Are you out?" Gabriel demanded, looking thoughtful.


    "Uh, not officially, no¡­ My family knows, but wasn''t really a good reason to do the public thing." And a bunch of reasons not to, Dean thought to himself.


    Gabriel seemed almost annoyed."You should be." Rowena shot him a look of disapproval, which he returned with an imperious glare that made her raise an eyebrow.


    "No one has to be." Castiel spoke with more force that he had all day, drawing everyone''s attention. "That decision belongs to Dean, and we all know the importance of that here."


    There were scattered nods, and glancing at his cousin, Gabriel''s eyes softened. "You''re absolutely right¡­ but Dean, I would like you to consider it."


    "Now, this is in no way meant to put any pressure on you," Rowena ventured, doing her best to look kind, "but if you would like to before the book release, it should be done sooner rather than later. Too close to the release date, and it will look like some sort of publicity stunt."


    "That is the opposite of ''no pressure'', Rowena," Castiel growled. Next to him, Kevin failed to suppress an amused smirk.


    "Unfortunately¡­ she''s right," Charlie claimed. "People are really cynical about stuff like that. Of course, it doesn''t mean you can''t make the announce later, just that if we''re going to do an official thing, it would have to wait a while after the book is published."


    Castiel''s unhappy glare wasn''t directed at her, but at the table. Dean knew that feeling.


    "I''ll think about it¡­ try to make a decision in the next couple of weeks," he told them and meant it.


    The table lapsed into quiet, and then Charlie spoke again. "Well, since we''re sorta on the topic, and you already went first¡­" She raised a hand. "Lesbian." Her green eyes turned to Kevin hesitantly.


    He nodded in agreement before absentmindedly eyeing his hands. "Aro ace."


    Castiel''s eyes darted to Dean before returning to the table. "Gay asexual."


    "Cishet ally." Rowena tilted her head almost apologetically.


    "Pan through and through," Gabriel declared, completing the round. When he turned to Dean, his eyes held a glimmer of mirth. "Probably not the way you saw today''s meeting ending¡­"


    Dean shrugged, giving the table a wry smile. "I try not to think that far ahead." It was weird, but sitting around with Castiel and a bunch of virtual strangers, just having outed himself, he felt¡­ okay. Was this what ''safe space'' felt like?


    His one regret, as they reached the close of the meeting, was that the schedule hadn''t managed to include a talk with Castiel. The other man agreed to walk him down to the lobby, and after Charlie and Kevin got off at their respective floors, Dean and Castiel had a moment to themselves in the elevator. Castiel turned to Dean almost immediately after the doors closed. Dean brought up his head and shifted so they were facing one another head on for the first time.


    "Dean, this should go without saying, but coming out is a big decision. I hope you will make the choice that''s right for you. Ignore Gabriel, and Rowena, and even Charlie, who is very well meaning but possibly a bit overly optimistic¡ªI just don''t want you to feel pressured."


    The wide open, earnest look on Castiel''s face made Dean chuckle, look away. That and the traitorous tingle that buzzed across his nerves as the other man addressed him directly. Jesus, Winchester, get a grip. "Cas, I''m not some teenager who''s going to give in to a bit of peer pressure. It''s¡­ I''ll be sure."


    Castiel''s mouth slanted, and his brow furrowed slightly, creating tiny creases over sloped eyebrows. If he''d tilted his head more, he would have looked like a confused puppy. The elevator chimed and opened on the Elysium''s main floor, and Castiel sighed and turned to exit. Dean trailed after, his steps sluggish. Soon, his manuscript would get passed off to Kevin, and there would be no more reason for him and Castiel to be in contact. The thought made his stomach lurch.


    "Uh, hey¡­ " He rubbed the hair at the nape of his neck out of habit, then dropped his hand into his pocket to stop fidgeting. Castiel turned and raised his eyebrows in expectation. Dean swallowed. "It''s been really great having you as an editor," he drawled. It wasn''t what he wanted to say, but at the last second, he second guessed himself. This was a professional relationship, after all. He shouldn''t get clingy about it.


    Castiel nodded, looking around the lobby. Then, he abruptly focused on Dean again, blue eyes holding his face. "I know there won''t be much more editing for me to do¡­ but feel free to keep in touch, Dean."


    The words were a lifeline; something in Dean''s chest eased. "Yeah," he murmured. "Yeah, you too."


    He left Elysium House feeling light one moment and panicked the next, his mood shifting over and over as the hired car returned him to his hotel. He hoped he could be what these people thought he could be¡­  The only thing he felt sure of, at that moment, was that it was going to be a long, pensive drive back to Kansas.


    <hr>


    Dean thought through three days of driving and two more days at home before Sam noticed something was amiss and started giving him the side eye, like he was going to open an investigation or something.


    "What''s up?" his brother asked for the third time that day. Each time he tried to put more ''subtle'' emphasis on it, throwing Dean the soulful eyes routine.


    "Uh¡­ making a salad, Sam." Dean kept slicing radishes, enjoying the way Sam sighed audibly. "Gotta eat healthy¡­"


    Sam leaned next to him on the counter, looking into the bowl he was filling. "You know, in the old days, you would have called this ''rabbit food'' and teased me about growing ears¡­ "


    Dean smirked, recalling the bucktooth face he used to pull, wiggling his nose from side to side at Sam. He hadn''t made a single salad in this house before Sam moved in.


    Sam continued when Dean didn''t respond. "Sometimes, I think of you like you were back when we were in school, but¡­ you''re different now. I mean, half the time, I''m not even sure what you''re thinking. Like old you, I would have known, but now¡­ Dean, you can talk to me. You know that, right? We''re not kids any more, and you don''t have to keep trying to¡­ I don''t know, protect me, or whatever."


    Dean snorted. "Geez, Sam, I''m not dying or anything. Just got some stuff on my mind."


    "Like what?"


    Dean tipped his head, considering. He''d have to tell Sam anyway, might as well be now. "¡­When I was in New York last week, I talked to the publisher about being bisexual. They want me to come out publicly."


    Sam inhaled sharply, held it for a second before releasing. "Well, what do you want to do?"


    Dean pushed the batch of vegetables onto his chef''s knife to slide them into the salad bowl. "I''m gonna do it." He checked Sam''s face and saw his brother''s eyebrows shoot up for an instant before Sam firmly clamped them down.


    "Whatever you want, this is your decision. ¡­You''ve thought this through? You''re sure?"


    Dean frowned, knowing whatever he got from Sam, he''d be getting ten times that when their mother found out. But there were reasons. He tried to explain. "...The last time I was in jail overnight, oh, about ten years ago now, remember how I got there?"


    Sam''s face dropped into a grim frown. "¡­Bar fight, right?"


    "Yeah," Dean nodded. "Wanna know what the fight was about?" He kept his eyes on slicing bell peppers into strips. "I overheard these guys at the table behind me¡­ laughing about how they beat up some guy in town they thought was gay. Jumped him when he was walking down the road." The rage rose up in him again just remembering that night, they way one of them had cackled after describing how he kicked the guy in the face. Dean stopped moving the knife, looked over at Sam. His brother was staring in quiet horror. "You remember Derek Hill?" he asked.


    Sam blinked at the topic change, then looked up in thought. "Yeah¡­ he was a year below you, right? Baseball team?"


    "Until junior year. Then a rumor got around that he was gay. Some of the guys harassed him so bad he quit." Dean swallowed. "A few years back, he committed suicide¡ªread about it in the paper. ¡­That next week was when I came out to you and Mom." The bell pepper lay on the board, still half whole, but he set the knife down flat, rested his hands on the edge of the counter. "You know, I knew what I was by then, in high school¡­ I never said shit to him¡­ but I never defended him either. Never offered him a word. Just kept my head down, let those bastards bully him¡­"


    Sam shook his head slowly. "Dean, you were just a kid¡­"


    Dean leaned forward, then tilted his head so he could look up at Sam. "There''s kids out there now, Sammy. The world may be different, but it ain''t that different¡ªand it won''t be, unless people stand up and make it. Way I see it, I owe a debt."


    "Dean¡­" Sam''s eyes were getting shiny, and Dean blinked, looked away at the wall.


    "My mind''s made up, Sam. I ain''t seventeen and scared anymore. High time I manned up and took on some of the work for a change." Sam''s hand clapped down on his shoulder, startling him. When he looked back, Sam was nodding down at the countertop.


    "All right," Sam choked out, giving his shoulder another pat. "I got your back."


    Dean cleared his throat, picked back up the chef''s knife. "All right." He sliced the pepper and started working on a cucumber. Sam stepped away to check the pot of rice on the stove. "Oh, had one more thing on my mind," Dean added.


    Sam turned in disbelief. "¡­Yeah?"


    "Yeah. My next book. Thinking about having the main character be an FBI agent." He raised his eyebrows at Sam. "Got myself a good real world fact checker."


    Sam laughed. "Do you now? You gonna pay him?"


    "Maybe, Sammy¡­ Maybe." Dean grinned and glanced at the salad before motioning his knife at it. "I hear he likes plenty of green."


    Sam groaned and threw a potholder at him. Dean let it bounce harmlessly off his shoulder, snickering. You had to take your fun where you could get it.

 Chapter 10

    Charlie shoved Castiel''s office door open and darted in, a tablet in her hand. "It dropped!"


    Castiel startled and then sighed. "The knock is a lost art form," he muttered.


    "Not like you''re going to be in here doing anything weird, Novak¡­"


    Castiel thought of the hours he had spent over the past few weeks researching the Bible Belt and social attitudes in Kansas and narrowed his eyes at her.


    Ignoring his glare, she trotted around to stand beside him and watched as he opened his web browser and pulled up Dean Winchester''s page on Facebook. He found the new video and took a moment to restart it and unmute.


    Dean appeared on screen in the dark brown, cowboy-esque hat he had been wearing in his last photo, a leather jacket the color of carob open to show a shirt with an embroidered collar underneath. Behind him were several trees, their branches laden with coppery dried leaves. His breath fogged slightly when he spoke, eyes slightly to the left, looking out into the distance, reminiscent of his old author photograph in Salvation Ridge.


    "Hi, everyone¡­ I have a bit of an announcement today, and it''s probably going to come as a shock to a lot of you. I''m just going to get right to it¡­" He turned then to look directly at the camera. "I am bisexual. I have been since I was a kid. It''s not anything new; I just never told anyone." Dean shifted, glancing down and then back up. "You can probably guess why. Professional hunting wasn''t exactly the right crowd for that sort of thing, back when I was into big game, especially out here where I tend to work. Even five, ten years ago, the laws in Kansas weren''t exactly friendly toward LGBTQ+ people. Always seemed to be more reasons not to tell people than there were to be honest. ¡­But the older I get, the more I realize that a man needs to walk his own path. Now they call it ''being authentic'', but it''s just a fancy way of saying that you oughta face the world head on."


    Castiel noticed how thick his accent was, wondered if that was intentional or if it was happening because Dean was feeling vulnerable.


    "Even though I''m more into conservation and acting as a hiking guide these days, I''m sure some people are going to stop doing business with me. I''ll probably get some nasty comments on here¡ªmaybe even in real life¡ªfrom people who don''t have anything better to do than lash out at other people. But I''m coming out anyway because I don''t think anyone else should have to spend half their life hiding who they are just to get by. I''m just a guy trying to work and live a good life, like anyone else. I''m no different than the man you knew yesterday, besides being a little more truthful.


    "So, if you''re out there thinking you don''t want anything to do with me anymore, well, good riddance. If you''re out there thinking you don''t give a damn, well, that''s fine, I guess. But if you''re out there thinking you don''t fit or you can''t do some job because of who you are, I''m here to say ''you do'' and ''you can''.


    "We don''t have much say over who our parents are, how tall we''ll get, what color skin we''re born with¡­ or who we love, but we can choose to be good people, every day. We can choose to be loyal, to be compassionate, to be kind¡­ and to be honest. So¡­ I''m Dean Winchester. Hunter, hiker, writer¡­ and bisexual." Dean nodded at the camera. "Nice to meet ya."


    Castiel paused the video before it could loop, letting out a slow breath, thinking. The cool, late autumn sun on Dean''s face in the final frame brightened his green eyes and showed every freckle in sharp contrast. He looked¡­ determined.


    "Let the shitshow begin," Charlie intoned.


    Castiel was certain she was quoting Dean''s phrasing. "Did you prepare him?"


    "Oh yeah. We talked multiple times about how we''re going to handle the trolls. He made me a moderator on his page, and I will be bringing down the Great Hammer of Community Standards on some heads. The rule is, ''Do not engage. Report and delete.''"


    Castiel scowled. Anything Charlie didn''t get to first, Dean would read. "Maybe he should stay offline for a while¡­?"


    "I tried to tell him that, but he just said he might as well start facing it online before he got it in real life." Charlie''s lips twisted, showing a flash of her teeth. "I will be on this, promise."


    "If you want assistance, please, let me know," Castiel told her. "People are often worse on the internet."


    "Dude, I live on the internet. I know this."


    Castiel nodded. He knew she knew, but that didn''t mean he would stop worrying. "Maybe I should call Dean later¡­"


    "I think that is an excellent idea. Distract him. Please?" Charlie nibbled her lip. "Okay, I''ve gotta get back, but¡­" She pointed at the computer. "Stay out of the comments section, okay?"


    After Charlie skittered out, Castiel resolutely closed the window so he wouldn''t be tempted to read anything. He''d been following along with Charlie and Dean''s planning, and he knew that they were going to follow up with textual post announcements later in the week, depending how the video did. The timing was deliberate¡ªat the end of bird migration season, when Dean''s guide business was tapering off for the season. Dean had run the speech draft by him via email, although he hadn''t recited it word for word on camera.


    Watching him speak was still somewhat surreal. He almost couldn''t believe he knew this man, had stood face to face with him not a month before. When Dean visited the office, Castiel had been¡­ awkward. Charlie assured him that Dean didn''t notice, but Castiel knew he stared far too much, spoke far too little. He grew so frustrated by his inability to carry on a conversation that, at one point in the afternoon, he basically ran away to hide in his office. Dean had to be the prettiest person Castiel had ever met, and every time those green eyes landed on him, Castiel had no idea what to even say. Which was ridiculous, because they had spoken over the phone more than Castiel had done with anyone outside his own mother¡ªand that was only because she''d known Castiel for quite a few decades longer.


    Castiel''s worry that the end of their editing work would mean the end of Dean''s calls and texts¡ªhe told himself over and over after Dean''s visit that he should expect the friendship to fade¡ªproved ill founded. Dean continued reaching out, asking about some of the books Castiel had edited in the past, getting reading recommendations, chronicling his hikes. Castiel was certain now that Dean''s friendship extended beyond their business relationship, which was why he was going to do whatever he could to offer support as Dean went public and recreated himself.


    Castiel sighed, set his shoulders, and brought back up the futuristic detective novel he''d been reading through before Charlie interrupted. He couldn''t do anything now¡­ or could he? He froze, hands over the keyboard. What had Charlie said? Distract him?


    Castiel pulled out his phone and hit Dean''s contact name before he overthought it. It rang a few times, and Castiel wondered if Dean was going to let it go to voicemail. Then, the call connected.


    "Hey, Cas. What''s up?" Dean sounded more awake than usual, perhaps because he usually called Castiel late at night.


    "Are you at your computer?"


    "Uh, yeah. Why?"


    "Is Sam at home with you?"


    "No, man, he''s at work."


    "Leave your computer, and go outside."


    "¡­What?"


    "Charlie stopped by to let me know that you posted your video announcement, and I don''t think you should sit there staring at it alone. So, shut it down, and go outside." Castiel listened for a moment but didn''t hear any motion on Dean''s end. "I am serious, Dean."


    After a pause, Dean sighed and started moving.


    "Thank you," Castiel said.


    "¡­You do realize I could be carrying it around, right?"


    "Please, don''t do that."


    "I won''t. Just sayin''¡­ So what am I supposed to do once I''m out here?" There was the sound of wind in the background.


    "Assuming you bothered to dress appropriately for the weather? Start walking."


    "Geez, bossy¡­" Dean muttered. "Pretty sure I can''t just walk until everyone on Facebook has seen the video."


    "It''s only necessary to get away for long enough to break the loop."


    "The loop?"


    Castiel shook his head; of course Dean wouldn''t know that term. "Um, when the mind keeps cycling on something. It happens to me more frequently than I care to admit. I''ve developed strategies for breaking out of it over the years."


    "Ok, so shoot."


    Shoot what? Oh. "Well, you can process your concerns aloud."


    "Pass."


    Castiel blinked at the flat dismissal. "Realistically, I could probably deduce many of them," he pointed out, "but if you are uncomfortable with that, next on the list would be distraction."


    "...Like walking?"


    "That was simply to ensure you weren''t looking at your computer, and you can''t look at the app when you''re on the phone with me¡ª"


    "¡ªUnless I put you on speaker phone."


    "Please don''t."


    There was a hiss on the line as Dean exhaled through his teeth.


    "No, the distraction has to be mental, so¡­ " Castiel thought back to how easily Charlie had been able to draw Dean into conversation and wished he had that skill. Dean seemed interested in popular scifi and fantasy, so maybe¡­ "Who is your favorite Marvel movie character?"


    "Um¡­ Hawkeye."


    "Why?"


    "I dunno¡­ because he isn''t overpowered or lab created¡­ He''s just there, running with the big dogs, trying not to get killed. Like, he knows he''s completely outclassed half the time, and he doesn''t give a damn. He''ll still shoot your ass with an arrow. God. Alien. Whoever."


    "A fair assessment¡­ Who is Sam''s favorite?"


    "Oh, Iron Man. Absolutely. All that cool tech and sarcasm¡­"


    Another Avenger without super powers, Castiel thought. There was some significance to that; he tucked it away to think on more later. Dean''s voice rising in a query brought his attention back to the conversation, and he mentally rewound to figure out what the question had been. "Hmm¡­ Carol Danvers."


    "Captain Marvel? Okay¡­ why?"


    "She can soar through outer space under her own power and shoot photon blasts out of her hands¡­ She knows who she is and what''s important to her."


    "Well, after the brainwashing wore off¡­"


    Dean tried to segue into talking about the Marvel spin off series, but Castiel hadn''t even seen all the movies yet, nevermind streaming series. "You know, I used to pride myself on avoiding movie franchises¡­ and then Charlie got a hold of me."


    "I knew I liked that girl."


    Castiel turned the conversation to science fiction novels, where he at least had a foothold. His knowledge base turned out to be only a fraction of Dean''s, to his surprise. "Ender''s Game," Castiel offered, when Dean asked him about his most memorable read.


    "Oof, hard to compete with that¡­ I dunno, I tend to remember the random stuff. Like¡­ The Hitchhiker''s Guide series, Alan Dean Foster''s Quozl, Vonnegut''s Slapstick¡ªinteresting book, terrible movie adaptation. If we''re saying the more serious stuff¡­ Dune. No, wait, Brave New World. Or, if we''re going newer¡­ Jurassic Park. Anything Gaiman. Or, ooo, An Unkindness of Ghosts."


    Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    "...I don''t remember that last one."


    "Rivers Solomon. Uh, generation ship like a plantation. Good stuff."


    "You seem very passionate about science fiction, Dean. ¡­Can I ask why you didn''t write in that genre?"


    Dean let out a short laugh. "I¡­ can write what I can see, if you get that. Like, ask me to write a story set in a world someone else spun up already, sure. But I could never build like some of these authors build. Mythology and technology and every-other-ology¡­ Besides, you think I''ve read a lot of scifi, I''ve read even more survival and disaster fiction. God, Jack London? I devoured his stuff when I was a kid. Island of the Blue Dolphins, Swiss Family Robinson, My Side of the Mountain, Hatchet¡­ I think my parents were probably lucky I didn''t run off into the woods and try to build my own tree house. Jurassic Park is sorta a crossover, for scifi, and for horror crossover, King''s The Stand. New stuff? The Hunger Games series. Ah, well, that one''s scifi too, I guess¡­ Life of Pi. All That Remains. Ah, there''s so many more, but I''d have to think on it a while¡­"


    Castiel listened to Dean gush, a warm glow alighting in his chest, but there was an ache there as well. Castiel wished he could see Dean''s face, see what real joy looked like on those perfect features. Because this, he felt certain, was getting closer to the truth of Dean Winchester.


    He kept Dean talking, branching out into different book genres. When Gabriel walked through the door of his office, Castiel guiltily realized he''d been on the phone with Dean for over an hour. He tried to bring their conversation to a close without making it sound as though he was dismissing Dean, all while Gabriel leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, a thoughtful frown on his face.


    Dean caught on and gave him an out. "Well, I''ll let you get back to work¡­"


    "Yes, as much as I would rather discuss novels with you all afternoon, I have to work on editing the next generation of them¡­" Castiel wanted badly to say he''d call Dean later, but Gabriel''s eyes were fixed on him. Castiel squinted at his cousin, trying to let him know that he didn''t appreciate the eavesdropping. Gabriel''s lips slipped into a smug smile; he shifted his weight to slump more fully against the wall.


    "Thanks for the ''loop breaking'', Cas."


    "Stay away from Facebook, and let Charlie work." Castiel hung up, not willing to say more in front of his audience. "Hello, Gabriel." He put the phone down on the desk with a sharp clack.


    "Helloooo, Cassie." His cousin pushed himself up off the wall and approached the desk. Instead of taking the chair, he circled slightly to Castiel''s left, hands behind his back. "Was that Dean Winchester?"


    "Yes, he made his first coming out announcement today."


    Gabriel nodded. "Charlie let me know. This is good¡­ There''s a lot of competition in the next quarter, and I probably wasn''t going to be able to get much from the corporate level on release support. Now, we can try to pull his book into the Pride releases next year, get a bit more marketing out of it." Gabriel''s eyes jumped to Castiel, then away to the wall again, and he swayed in place.


    "Was there something you needed, Gabriel¡­?"


    "You''ve been talking a lot with Dean lately, huh?"


    Castiel, already suspicious, stared at his cousin, trying to read beneath Gabriel''s carefully maintained expression. "Yes. We have a good working relationship, and you asked that I act as a main contact for him."


    "Before this, I would have described you and Windsor as having a ''good working relationship''," Gabriel observed, referring to a mystery series author Castiel had edited half a dozen books for, "but I think you''ve talked to Dean more over the phone than every other author combined at this point. And you got this book completely reworked in record time." Gabriel turned to regard Castiel directly with the steady, unreadable stare Castiel thought of as his battle mask, raising an eyebrow.


    Castiel wasn''t sure where the conversation was going, and he didn''t bother to guess. "What is your point, Gabriel?"


    "¡­The phone calls, the extra effort to get this project taken on, the way you talk about his writing¡­" Both Gabriel''s eyebrows were raised at this point in expectation.


    Castiel slid from suspicion into confusion; he had no idea what Gabriel wanted from him.


    Gabriel sighed, shook his head, and rolled his eyes, then tried again. "The texting back and forth¡­ the random facts about Kansas and wolverines! I know you, Castiel. You might as well slap up a billboard. Rowena said you could barely take your eyes off him while he was here."


    Finally, Castiel realized what Gabriel was trying to say, and he frowned. "There is nothing inappropriate going on. Dean is a client¡ªand a friend. Nothing more."


    "That wasn''t where I was going with that¡ªI know being unprofessional isn''t in your vocabulary¡ªbut if you believe there''s ''nothing more'' going on there, you''re kidding yourself. You''ve got one big, Cassie-style, infatuation-bordering-on-obsession crush going on."


    Castiel tensed, a rush of heat climbing up his neck. The assertion wasn''t exactly a revelation¡ªhe was far too self conscious for that¡ªbut the fact that other people were noticing came as an unpleasant shock. "Th¡ªthat is not something I can control," he stammered, "but I assure you, it will not affect my work on this project."


    "That''s not the point!" Gabriel let out a sound of pained annoyance, waving both hands. "The point is¡­ I haven''t seen you this wound up on someone since we were kids. And, bisexual or not, Dean Winchester is some backwoods hiking, gun wielding, country boy from halfway across the country." Castiel inhaled and fixed Gabriel with a glare. Just as he opened his mouth to make a retort, Gabriel put up his hands. "I just don''t want you to get hurt," he insisted.


    Castiel sighed, face fixed in displeasure. He was well aware how different the lives he and Dean led were, and also very conscious that, at least in level of attractiveness, Dean was very much out of his league. Adding in the difficulties asexual individuals like himself often faced trying to negotiate relationships with allosexual people¡­ He knew nothing could come of his ''crush''. He was resigned to supporting Dean from afar, watching the man grow, learning all he could about him, until this feeling, however many years it might last, faded. That didn''t mean he liked being reminded about it. "I know, Gabriel. I won''t."


    His cousin looked entirely unconvinced, mouth flattening into a pensive pout, but he nodded anyway. "All right. Sorry, but I had to say it."


    "Did you?" Castiel asked, letting his expression go flat.


    Gabriel shot him an annoyed look. "Just watching out for you, cuz¡­"


    That would be more reassuring if Castiel weren''t forty-two. He made a clear move to divert the conversation elsewhere. "While we''re on the topic, how is your own love life, Gabriel? Is there anyone special you would like to discuss? Perhaps I could suggest some effective techniques for building a deeper connection with them."


    Gabriel rolled his eyes, lifted his hands up in front of himself again. "Okay, I''m leaving."


    After he exited, Castiel picked up his phone and opened his messages.


    2:51 PM


    Really, Charlie? You ratted me out to Gabriel?


    He waited, knowing her phone was almost always on hand, then watched the typing animation go on for a comparatively long interval.


    Charlie - 2:53 PM


    OK, in my defense, he ambushed me. He had Battle Look on! I didn''t say much, just that you''d been txting Dean a lot, and then Rowena totally started going on about how you had a major crush. I couldn''t think of a way to cover for you fast enough. :( Sorry


    BTW, not to change the subject way too obviously, but do you think something is going on with him and Rowena? Like GOING ON going on?


    Castiel''s annoyance went up in smoke as his thoughts completely derailed to playback every interaction between the two as of late. Rowena he didn''t know that well, but Gabriel¡­ He considered the way Gabriel always let her precede him into the room, held the door for her. Did he normally do that? What about the annoyed looks that had flashed across his face when she was discussing how attractive Dean was? He remembered in one meeting how Gabriel had leaned over to look at some reports, placed the back of his hand on her chair¡­


    He groaned aloud, wincing and typing back to her, furious.


    2:55 PM


    I wish you had not asked me that. Now I won''t be able to stop thinking about it during meetings.


    Charlie - 2:55 PM


    SHARE MY PAIN NOVAK ??


    Castiel put down his phone to rub at his temples. Now he needed to break out of his own loop. He pulled up the detective novel he was supposed to have worked on today, hoping for distraction.


    <hr>


    Neither Gabriel''s warning nor the knowledge that most of the team was aware of his increasing fascination with their author stopped Castiel from calling Dean back that evening. In fact, he kept even closer contact with Dean as the man went through official written announcements on all his social media platforms. Reactions to his coming out were better than Castiel had feared, but there were plenty of derisive or rude comments that both Charlie and Dean worked to clean up. It was difficult for Castiel to think of Dean having to read them. Despite how Dean shrugged them off as cranks or sad souls looking for attention¡­ words could hurt. Castiel never stopped offering to listen if Dean wished to discuss it, but there were some things Dean still couldn''t talk to him about, it seemed. So instead, they exchanged thoughts on books and podcasts, and Castiel listened curiously as Dean recounted the many places he had traveled around the country.


    Winter wore on, and the holidays approached. Castiel described to Dean the glitz of the holiday season in New York City. Dean told him about nearly losing the road in a blizzard and tossing out suet, seed, and pellets for birds and deer. Even though the weather was cold and bleak, Dean was still taking guide jobs now and then and seemed to spend time outdoors for the love of it. He took to texting Castiel photos. The pictures were never of himself¡ªhe only posted selfies on his social media because Rowena and Charlie kept pestering him. Instead, Castiel got a selection of things he supposed must have caught Dean''s attention. Deer tracks in the snow, ice-coated berries gleaming in the waning sun, a pale pink sunrise, a pond covered in jagged and cracked ice¡­


    December brought a final title to Dean''s manuscript¡ªNorth Aspect¡ªand its cover design, a tower of dark rock and blue-tinged snowpack with a gloomy evergreen forest suffused with mist at its base. It was stark and somewhat sinister, and might have been a nonfiction work except for the style of the artwork and the serifed font of the title near the treeline, a mixture of thick and thin straight lines and perfectly round curves, washed out and set so that the line with Aspect sat slightly forward and to the left of North above. Castiel wasn''t sure how it worked its magic, but looking at the cover, he knew the book wasn''t a mountaineering tale but something more emotive. Elysium also set the release date, Gabriel selling his plan for a bevy of Pride releases by LGBTQ+ authors to management. They went out for drinks to celebrate, at a bar a little more to Gabriel and Rowena''s style. Castiel quietly sipped a Whiskey Highball, smiled along with Gabriel at Charlie and Rowena''s bantering, and resolutely did not wonder about the way Gabriel''s eyes drifted along Rowena''s face with noticeable frequency.


    On the way home, Kevin nodded at Charlie gravely and said, "Oh yeah."


    "See?!" she yelled with exuberance spawned from two stiff Tequila Sunrises and shot out a fist to smack Castiel''s shoulder.


    About a week before Christmas, Castiel checked a message notification from Dean to find a picture of a small, brown, ranch-style house bedecked with multicolored Christmas bulbs along its eaves and door frame. A tall, solidly built man dressed in a puffy blue winter coat with thick waves of brown hair poking out from under a black knit hat grinned at the camera, hands in his pockets, dark eyes radiating joy. It took Castiel only a moment of looking at the face, the chin and the dimples, to realize it must be Dean''s younger brother, Sam. A followup text stating, Sam made me decorate, confirmed it.


    When Christmas Eve found Castiel at the Shurley family party, struggling to make small talk and feeling alone in a crowd like he always did at gatherings, he found a moment of relief when his phone vibrated. Dean''s simple, Merry Christmas, Cas, left a warmth that buoyed him until it was late enough to politely exit the celebration. New Year''s Eve was more difficult. All the chaos at public celebrations made it impossible for him to enjoy going out, and nobody had invited him to a smaller gathering that year. Ten o''clock found him in his apartment, listening to a miniaturized crowd call out from Times Square via his laptop. His eyes drifted to his messaging app several times before he finally opened his chat with Dean and sent a message.


    10:05 PM


    What does one do in Kansas for New Year''s Eve?


    After several minutes, he didn''t see any indication of a response, so he set the phone aside and tried to pick back up his book. When the midnight countdown finally rolled past, he watched three thousands pounds of confetti rain down upon the mass of humanity gathered in the streets mere miles away, feeling disconnected, outside the world. A few minutes later, his phone began chiming with notifications, chasing away his melancholy with New Year''s wishes from friends and acquaintances alike, and he went to bed reassured, able to bear the one text conversation that remained silent.


    A reply arrived late the following morning, as Castiel was looking over an article an associate had sent him for review.


    Dean Winchester - 11:29 AM


    You up for a call?


    He confirmed and answered the phone on the first ring. "Happy New Year, Dean."


    "Happy New Year, Cas." Dean''s voice was rougher than usual. "Sorry I didn''t get back to you last night. Winchester brothers'' tradition is that Sam drags me out to a bar. There was a lot of booze, a lot of¡­ people."


    "I suppose that answers my question then."


    "New York was on TV there. You go to Times Square?"


    "I live in downtown Manhattan, within a few miles of Times Square, and there isn''t any amount of money that could induce me to go down there on New Year''s Eve."


    Dean let out a laugh. "Noted. What''d you do then?"


    "Chinese food and a good book."


    "Sounds nice."


    "Was the bar nice?"


    "...Better than being alone, I guess." There was a pause, and Castiel heard the sound of a mug being set down. "So, got any big New Year''s resolutions?"


    "It''s not a habit I ever got into. One need not wait until the beginning of the year to make a resolution."


    "True¡­ I guess people just use it as a good enough point to take a look at where they''re at, where they want to be¡­"


    "Did you make any resolutions, Dean?"


    "Yeah. I decided I should never drink that much ever again. Until next year. ¡­Uh, finish drafting my next book. ¡­Also, I''m gonna go to Sequoia National Park this year. Always been on the list, just one I haven''t gotten to yet."


    Towering redwoods came to mind as Castiel placed the name. "I imagine that it would be incredibly humbling, to stand beneath trees thousands of years old¡­"


    "You ever think of traveling? You seem to like hearing about all my trips."


    "I¡ª" Castiel considered how to phrase it. "I suffer from travel anxiety. Not about going to a new place, necessarily, but rather the actual logistics of getting there. It''s difficult for me to enjoy the journey; I get too wrapped up in organizing the itinerary."


    "Tell you what, you tell me where you want to go and when, I''ll do the driving."


    Castiel frowned at the wall, trying to determine if Dean''s offer was serious. It didn''t seem like something he would say out of politeness.


    "I mean it," Dean added, as though reading Castiel''s silence. "One of the few things I''m good at is traveling."


    "You mean outside hiking, tracking, marksmanship, photography, and writing?" Castiel contended.


    Dean grunted, then ignored his statement. "Think about taking a vacation this year. That can be your New Year''s resolution. You should get out and see some of these places for yourself. Stories and pictures just don''t compare."


    After he hung up with Dean, Castiel spent quite a while truly considering where he would want to go, if he didn''t have to worry about getting there. It didn''t occur to him until later that day that he''d be there with Dean, seeing in person those things Dean found meaningful in nature instead of catching glimpses in images sent over the phone. He knew then exactly where he would want to be.

 Chapter 11

    The fields outside Dean''s bay window were still crusted in white snow, landscape gleaming even in the gray, predawn light. The brown, bleached stalks of grass poking up throughout rattled in the January wind, making him more aware of the cold emanating through the glass pane. He took another slurp of hot coffee to combat the chill, letting his mind wander. February 1st was later that week, the point when he usually started really booking spring bird migration tours. Conversation was more stilted than usual over Christmas dinner, his mother''s eyes worried. Dean wanted her to be wrong, but in the short days of winter, faced with a silent inbox, he prepared himself for lean times ahead. He managed to make it through until now since his public coming out without much regret, but business season was approaching. He was about to find out just how much he sacrificed.


    Sam was up within the hour. His eyes had that faraway, unfocused look that Dean knew meant his mind was already churning on work for the day, so he kept conversion to a minimum, having another cup of coffee next to his brother in the kitchen, then reading email and planning his week. He wanted to take a drive to Konza, get some winter prairie photos for his social media, maybe find a few bison. The forecast for the week was cold but clear, perfect for making the drive. Baby would take a bit of coaxing to start this time of year, but she''d run well enough after that, and with Sam using the pickup for work commute, Dean didn''t have the option of letting her hibernate all winter.


    The house went quiet again after Sam left, only the occasional gust of wind outside making itself known, until Dean''s phone suddenly clamored for attention. He grabbed it and was surprised to see Mr. Baker''s name. He pressed to accept the call. "Hello?"


    "Hello, Dean? Greg Baker¡­ from Kentucky. I booked a group tour last fall?"


    "Of course. The Trumpeter Swans. How''s winter treating you?"


    "Oh, about as can be expected. Bet it''s a lot colder out there than it is here though. ¡­Listen, I''m calling because I wanted to reserve a day tour slot for end of March, beginning of April. I don''t know for sure how many people yet, but it will be at least Susan and me, probably a few more."


    "Really? Coming back to Kansas so soon?" Dean didn''t get many repeat customers from out of state; Kansas wasn''t exactly a mecca for anything.


    "Well, we never did get our Whoopers last year¡­ And Susan and I¡­ Well, we just want you to know that we, uh¡­ we support you."


    Dean wasn''t sure Mr. Baker meant that until the man continued talking.


    "We saw your announcement on Facebook. Not sure what people are saying, but we have a niece¡­ she''s got a girlfriend, and, uh¡­ Susan just thought it would be a nice gesture."


    Dean blinked at a prickle of tears, remembering the fond, motherly way Susan Baker had smiled at him, asked him if he had a special girl at home¡­ He cleared his throat. "I really appreciate it, Mr. Baker. Maybe this time we can get you some cranes."


    They closed the line with Dean feeling more at ease than he had in a few weeks. He knew that he would lose some business after coming out, but he never imagined that he''d gain some specifically because of it.


    Spring turned out to be a mixed bag, when all was said and done. He picked up another new Konza photography tour from customers who mentioned seeing his coming out video online, a gay couple from Manhattan¡ªthe Kansas city, not the New York version. The annual trip booked by the local photography club, which had been a spring staple for four years running, never materialized. One of his clients brought along her son, who mentioned that it was ''cool'' that he had come out despite being old (ouch). When a nuisance coyote was stalking a sheep ranch outside Olathe during lambing season, Dean''s phone never rang.


    He relayed each event to Charlie. It wasn''t like they were keeping score¡­ except they definitely were keeping score. Charlie seemed personally invested in his success as an out nature guide and author, strategizing about what to post and where, like a battle commander. Dean was sure anything he told her was passing through to Cas. Over the months, his initial impression that they were work teammates had been replaced by the realization that Charlie and Castiel were close friends outside work, possibly best friends. Kevin seemed to be part of their group too¡ªDean figured out eventually that he was the friend who suggested the cat and thought Dean might be a serial killer, which explained the dubious looks Kevin had given him back when he visited Elysium House.


    It was a little odd, Castiel''s closest friends being so much younger, but Dean supposed he really wasn''t allowed to judge. He hadn''t had friends that weren''t business contacts since he was a kid, and besides Sam, he went months between touching base with people. Hearing little bits and pieces from either side about how Charlie had dragged Cas over to watch another Thor movie or how Cas and Kevin had gone to some museum photography exhibit was looking through glass at something Dean had never experienced in his own life, a sort of circle of friends that existed only in fiction.


    He wasn''t sure how or why it expanded to include him, at least in the digital sense; it happened gradually. In her spare time, Charlie sent him LGBTQ+ news links relevant to nature, the outdoors, and writing, then pestered him about whether he and Sam had gone to see some latest movie release. Before he knew it, he was replying to her frequent meme messages with memes of his own. He got emails from Kevin with lists of synonyms¡ªbecause nobody ''chuckled'' as much as his characters and he''d used ''russet'' 37 times in his book¡ªand passed links about serial killers and murder documentaries on to Sam. He continued texting Cas interesting pictures and spoke with him at least once a week, discussing books and places he might want to see on the road trip vacation Dean was determined he should take. It got to the point where Sam asked what they were up to, whether Dean had talked with them recently¡­ then just friended them all on Facebook. One night in April, when Sam was out in the city for a change and nobody had left any sort of message or email that day, Dean cleaned his Smith & Wesson revolver, threw in another load of laundry, and then looked around his empty living room and wondered how he used to fill his time. ¡­He thought he probably used to rewatch classic movies from the 80s.


    Early spring also shaped Dean''s plans for the first part of the summer after bird migration ended. Elysium marketing had been ramping up since the end of the previous year for a June 1st release date, just in time for Pride Month. After the holidays, Charlie asked Dean if he was throwing a book release party.  Dean snorted, typing back that he already had the guest list all planned, adding a one bullet point list with Sam''s name on it. His phone rang a moment later.


    "Dean, you can''t not have a release party!" Charlie insisted.


    "Charlie, even if I could afford a party¡ªwhich I can''t¡ªno way you''d catch me volunteering for an awkward evening of trying to hawk my book on people. Ain''t happening''."


    "Deeeaaannn."


    "Nope."


    "¡­Fine. Come to New York then. I''m taking you out."


    "Charlie."


    "Seriously! Come on, I''ll get Castiel and Kevin, we can go have a few drinks to celebrate."


    "A bit of an expensive drink, Charles. Those New York hotels ain''t cheap."


    "Hotel schmotel, Winchester. You can couchsurf. Come on, hop a train."


    Dean sighed, looking out the front window where the moonlight shone crystal white on the ground. "I''ll think about it."


    "I''m taking that as a ''yes''!" Charlie decided and hung up on him.


    After that, Bobby Singer called in February, locking him in for a fishing weekend in mid-May. "Time for you to learn the art of fly fishing," he told Dean. Dean figured anything was worth trying. Besides, it was time he came clean to Bobby about everything that had been going on, about himself.


    There were very few people in his life Dean had felt obligated to make a personal announcement to, but his agent and his previous editor were on that list. Benny had been easy¡ªduring the time they''d been acquainted, the man had dated an array of different genders. Dean called him right after making the decision to come out publicly. Benny''s response to Dean''s declaration was a slow, "Thought it was something like that. Welcome to the limelight." He knew Benny would do whatever he could to help.


    Bobby was going to be more difficult. Dean wasn''t sure how he was going to take it, but if they were going to stay friends, Dean wasn''t going to hide anything.


    The final piece slid into place when Castiel announced that he had reserved a week of vacation time for late July. It was during prime tourist season, especially in the Rocky Mountains, which Cas picked as his top choice destination. Trying to do the drive from New York to the Rockies and back in that time would be tight. Dean talked it out with him, and Castiel agreed to take a train to meet Dean in Pittsburgh¡ªthe Amtrak line was surprisingly scenic, even if it was a grueling day trip. After the end of the road trip portion, Dean would take him back to Kansas, where he could catch a plane to New York. It would shave a few days off the driving and give them more time for stopovers. Between the first and final legs of travel, Cas told Dean to plan whatever he thought would be enjoyable¡ªand not burden him with the details.  The only other question Dean asked was whether Castiel would be okay with sharing a double room for overnights. Within a few weeks, Dean came up with a plan and called around to make reservations; no way he was going to wing the motels on Cas''s first ever road trip. That sort of thing was fine when it was just him¡ªworst case, he slept in the Impala¡ªbut that wasn''t the sort of first impression Dean wanted to give Castiel of travelling.


    Looking out across the months to come, with a fair spring guide season rolling to a close, Dean''s schedule seemed very full, a contrast to previous years'' stretches where he answered to nobody except himself, besides the occasional nag from Benny or Sam. As a rule, Dean tried not to plan too far ahead or set his heart on distant futures, but he couldn''t help feeling, this year, that he had some things to look forward to.


    <hr>


    His palms were sweating where they clutched the wheel of the Impala. Dean was stopped at the base of the driveway to Bobby''s new place¡ªhe hoped out of view of the house¡ªtaking a few breaths, going over in his head what he wanted to say. He''d been mulling it over for months, and he''d decided he better just get it over with right when he got there. No sense in playing nice for a few days before springing it on the old man. If things went south, he''d just get back in Baby and drive over to Good Earth State Park for a long walk.


    "Ready as I''m gonna be," he whispered, forcing himself to let up on the brake and ease up the dirt drive.


    Bobby''s house was a country-style new construction, made to look more rustic with broad, vertical siding panels and stained wood accents. The expansive footprint had to be triple the size of Dean''s own cottage, with an attached double-bay garage. He pulled Baby around the horseshoe drive our front and got out, leaving his bags in the trunk. Bobby swung the door open before he even reached the steps.


    The portly, older man was in a brown flannel shirt and a new pair of jeans. His hair and mustache, more gray than auburn now, were bushier than he''d kept them when he was still an acquiring editor at Elysium, but his complexion had more color and his blue eyes were brighter. Overall, Bobby looked haler than Dean had ever seen him. A wide grin split his face as he stepped partway out onto the stone stoop. "Dean, good to see you! How was the drive?"


    "Great, not a spot of rain the whole way up." Dean climbed up and entered through the door at Bobby''s nod. Inside was a long hall paneled in stained wood, with flooring made to resemble cobblestone.


    Bobby shut the door and turned back to grab Dean in a bear hug, thumping his back for good measure before releasing him. "You made good time¡­ Well, come on in. You want some coffee or something?"


    "Sure."


    Bobby led the way down the hall and took a right turn into a spacious room, divided up into kitchen, dining, and living room sections by floor style, counter islands, and furniture. After he''d brewed a few mugs out of the single-serve coffee machine, he and Dean sat down at a solid wood table set near a pair of tall, glass sliding doors that opened onto a porch along the back side of the house. The view past the porch showed rocky hills dusted with the brilliant green of emerging spring grasses.


    "I figure we can get an early start tomorrow, head over to Palisades. Today, I can show you around the neighborhood, if you''re up for it. Got a couple steaks for the grill later on¡­" Bobby blew across the top of his mug before sipping from it.


    Dean held the warm coffee up to his face, nodding, and took a deep inhale to fortify himself. "Listen, Bobby, before we get too far, had something I needed to talk to you about¡­"


    Bobby raised an eyebrow, giving Dean his full attention.


    Dean swallowed. "Uh, a lot has been going on the past year, with me¡­ well, longer than that, really. I just have been trying to be, uh, more myself. More honest with myself and other people. Not really an easy way to work this into a conversation, but I''m¡­ uh¡­ bisexual. Came out publicly last November."


    Bobby''s eyebrows lowered, and he glared at Dean, mug hovering a few inches from his lips.


    Dean swallowed again, mouth going dry, preparing himself for whatever Bobby was about to bust out with. He should have known this was a little much for someone like Bobby to accept¡­ had known it, really. But something in him was tired of lying low, getting along to get by. He''d take the consequences like a man, move on past the hurt.


    "I know that, ya idjit," Bobby snapped. "Found out from your Facebook."


    Dean''s mouth dropped open; the mug almost slipped from his fingers.


    "What, you think an old fart like me can''t figure out how to watch a video on the internet?" Bobby''s eyebrows rose, and he gave Dean a bug-eyed stare. "Hell, I ain''t senile yet."


    "Uh¡­" Dean faltered, mind blank.


    "Thanks for the heads up, by the way. Glad you got around to officially telling me before the six-month mark."


    Dean flushed and ducked his head, feeling foolish. Bobby had known all this time, and Dean had worked himself up for nothing. "So¡­ I guess that means you ain''t gonna run me out of town then?" he joked.


    Bobby scoffed at him. "Oh, so because I''m old and southern, I''m some homophobic hillbilly, that right?"


    Dean closed his eyes and shook his head, trying to escape from the pit he''d dug himself. "No, sir."


    "Damn straight. Now, if you''re done sharing your big news, how about you drink your damn coffee so I can give you the tour."


    "Yes, sir." Dean buried his face in his mug, looked out the window to avoid Bobby''s further wrath.


    The weekend, after Dean''s awkward opening, went better than he could have hoped, although Bobby continued to rib him at intervals about his ''big secret''. The weather was gray and cool, perfect for fishing, and Bobby took Dean to some of his favorite spots with a cooler of beer and sandwiches to last the day. The retired editor gamely agreed to let Dean take some videos of his fly fishing techniques to post to the social media feeds, triumphantly pulling in some decent sized carp and a bass for Dean to net. Then, he insisted on filming some videos of Dean because, "It''s your show, kid. Nobody visits to see my ugly mug." The videos mostly consisted of Bobby lambasting Dean''s fishing form in voiceover with Dean making some less-than-witty comebacks. When Dean finally managed to bring in a small carp, Bobby raised it in the net and took a closeup, saying, "There ya go! Now, next time, how about you hook one about double this size, and maybe you can keep it¡­"


    Sunday night found them rounding out a dinner of store-bought salmon with some berry cobbler Bobby''s friendly neighbor Marcy had dropped off. Dean thanked Bobby and raised his bottle of beer, proclaiming him "the superior fisherman".


    "Not much of a contest," Bobby snorted. He took a long swig from his bottle and swished it around for a moment thoughtfully. "Well, you said your piece at the start of the weekend, so I''m gonna say my piece at the end of it."


    Dean paused, setting his beer on the edge of the table.


    Bobby smacked his lips a few times and set his bottle down as well. "All I want to say is¡­ when we worked together, that stuff I said about your book, the edits we made¡­" His mouth tilted into a frustrated frown. "Maybe that''s why you thought I''d be all bent outta shape about this coming out thing¡ª"


    "¡ªBobby," Dean said, shaking his head, "that was¡ª"


    "¡ªNo, listen. The edits were for the book. For selling something¡­ and maybe that made you feel like you had to edit yourself. If that was one of those reasons you kept quiet¡­ I don''t want that for you, boy." Bobby nodded at the far wall, picked up his bottle for another swig. "A man doesn''t need friends like that."


    Dean nodded in agreement and grabbed his beer again. He couldn''t think of a response that wouldn''t send them straight into Sapsville, but luckily Bobby rose and proclaimed they could both use a second helping of cobbler, saving Dean from further embarrassment.


    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    Monday morning, they hugged goodbye on the steps, and Dean drove out to Good Earth State Park for a much different hike than he had originally dreaded. Under the gentle spring sun, looping through patchy prairie, along lush lake''s edge, among newly leafed trees, his boots felt light, as though he could turn south and walk clear back to Kansas. Before he left, he stopped to take one last photo, framing feathered tips of grass lined with pale sunlight and tilting the phone upward, so the view climbed into the cloud-dotted blue sky. Satisfied with the result, he messaged it to Cas, then made his way back to Baby¡­ then made his way back home.


    <hr>


    "Winchester!"


    Charlie bobbed out of the crowd in Penn Station, stretching up and waving one arm to catch his eye. She had on black flare pants, a denim jacket, a light blue graphic tee, and a large canvas shoulder bag slung around her hip. Having her red hair pulled up off her neck somehow made her look even more petite in the sea of large figures surrounding her.


    When Dean had told Sam he was going to hop a day and a half train ride out to New York to have drinks with the Elysium team, Sam had looked at him like he was crazy, but seeing Charlie''s bright grin, Dean knew it was worth it. As he pushed his way closer, he saw that her shirt had a prancing unicorn with the words ''A book a day keeps reality away''. A smile tugged up the corner of his lips.


    "Mister Author-of-Two-Books Winchester, are you ready to party?"


    "You said ''drinks''," Dean protested, pulling his face into a mock scowl.


    "Ah, yes, but drinks the first of June are Pride drinks, and therefore, party drinks." Charlie raised a finger as she made her point, then tilted it to point at Dean an instant later. "Oh. And it is also your first official Pride. So you, sir, are entitled to party extra hearty."


    Dean''s face had drifted into a crooked smile as Charlie went on, unable to hold up against her energetic barrage. "Not too hard. I have to get back on a train west tomorrow."


    "Boooo! I can''t believe you''re only staying a night. We could have used you as an excuse to do so many horrible tourist things¡­"


    "Maybe next time." Dean smiled at her. The only reason he had agreed to the one night was because it was necessary; he certainly wasn''t going to overstay his welcome. Besides, cities were nicest in small doses, spaced widely apart.


    Charlie walked him through getting a MetroCard, and they hopped a bus. She tapped at her phone for a few minutes once they were seated, fingers flying at a velocity that made Dean vow she should never see him trying to type a text. He scanned the bus denizens out of the corner of his eye, briefly staring at some balding guy in a maroon tie who was watching Charlie a little too intently.


    "Okay, Castiel is going to meet us at his place. We can get cleaned up and chill for a few hours before heading out."


    The reminder that he was about to be face-to-face with Cas again made Dean''s heart rate pick up. Ever since they''d met last fall, Dean''s dreams were dogged with blue eyes and gruff voices. Cas was his editor, and asexual to boot, and therefore off the table, but certain parts of his body and mind weren''t getting the message. Glancing over, Dean found Charlie watching his face intently. He immediately forced it blank. "What?"


    "Oh, nothing!" Charlie''s eyes darted away. "This is just, like, the second time I''ve ever seen you. Getting used to real life Dean instead of Messenger Dean."


    He didn''t have much time to collect himself before Charlie prodded him up and off the bus. They walked to a tall stack of apartments the color of Kansas mud. Dean craned his head up at the symmetrical rows of windows, suddenly thinking about lines of bank swallow nests dug into the dirt bank of a river. Or maybe one of those African termite mounds.


    After they were buzzed inside, they went to the thirteenth floor¡ªDean always thought buildings skipped that number¡ªand made their way to apartment 1305. The place looked nice, the almost pristine clean of a hotel. Dean''s experience with New York City apartments pretty much came from television and movies, but he thought Cas''s building was probably higher end. Charlie knocked, and there was just enough time for Dean''s stomach to flip before the door swung open to reveal Cas.


    He drank in those deep blue eyes under fretful brow, barely containable hair, broad shoulders. Cas stared back, his look somehow both pleased and unsettled. There was that same, too-long pause there had been at their first meeting, neither one of them willing or able to start.


    Charlie, thankfully, intruded upon their silent staring contest. "Hey, Castiel! Can we come in?" The toe of one of her sneakers nudged the back of Dean''s boot.


    "O¡ªOf course." Cas stepped back to give them room to pass.


    Dean glanced down to see if Charlie wanted to enter first and found the younger woman giving him a very pointed ''get on with it'' stare. Clearing his throat, he made his way into the front hall of the apartment.


    "I''ll show you where you can put your bag," Cas offered, glancing at the wall below Dean''s right shoulder before leading the way down the hall. The room he brought Dean to was small and simply furnished with a bed, side table, and wall closet. It was painted offwhite like the rest of the visible apartment, the view outside the window of gray and brown buildings under an overcast sky not adding much atmosphere. Still, it was very clean, and you couldn''t beat the price.


    "Thanks, Cas." Dean turned to him but found him studying the far wall.


    "Bathroom is down the hall on the right." Cas nodded, then turned and went back out into the rest of the apartment before Dean could say anything else.


    Good start, Winchester¡­ Dean sighed and set down his bag before heading to freshen up a bit. Farther down the hallway, he saw a door on the left that he suspected led to the main bedroom, then discovered the bathroom tucked off to the right around a corner.


    When he came out, he followed Castiel and Charlie''s voices back down the hall on the other side of the apartment, finding them standing in an open living room with a gray couch and armchair. Cas''s eyes found his face for a moment before flicking over his shoulder.


    "Let me show you around the apartment," he suggested. "Um, as you saw, your room out and down the hall. My room is beyond that, across from the bathroom. Living room here¡­" He turned farther into the room and a hidden corridor in the back right revealed a narrow kitchen area that ran along the front wall of the apartment. "Dining room and kitchen."


    A small table was set up at the end nearest the living room, and appliances lined the inner wall. Dean spotted a very nice electric range and double oven combo, and beyond that a stainless steel refrigerator model. The counters were glossy granite, with pristine white cabinets hanging above and below. Castiel turned back around and drifted to a stop when he realized he couldn''t easily pass Dean.


    "Seems nice, Cas," Dean said, for lack of anything better. His estimation of Castiel''s level of wealth had ticked up since arriving. Still, there was something familiar about the space¡­ so clean that, in fact, it looked empty. What furnishings there were looked as though they probably came with the place. The single exception he''d seen were the books in the living room. No pictures, no personal items strewn around on tables. Dean realized what it was. It reminded him of his own place, before Sam had moved in. Dormant.


    Across from him, Castiel nodded, eyes focused behind Dean. Dean swallowed and took the hint, turning and going back out to join Charlie.


    They ended up watching Futurama, as Charlie wanted to stream something in the background. Dean hadn''t gotten to watch too much of it before but found it surprisingly funny. Charlie talked over it as much as anything, elaborating on some of the more obscure pop culture references. Eventually, she excused herself to change, leaving him and Cas alone in the living room. The conversation limped along without her. Dean played with a hangnail for a minute before sighing aloud.


    "¡­I don''t know why this is so hard," he muttered to Cas. "We talk for hours, all the time."


    "It''s easier when I don''t have to look at you."


    "Gee, thanks, Cas." He looked up in time to see Cas''s wince.


    "That wasn''t what I meant¡­ I¡ª"


    "¡ªNo, I get it," Dean interjected, wanting to wipe the anxious look from Cas''s face. "Just¡­ easier to say things without someone else staring at you sometimes."


    "Yes." Castiel gave him a relieved smile, looking at him.


    "Feel free to stare at the wall and pretend I''m in Kansas. I''ll do vice versa, and maybe we can manage."


    The tilted smirk of amusement Cas gave him did funny things to Dean''s chest and train of thought. "I don''t believe that will be necessary," Cas determined, keeping eye contact.


    When Charlie emerged, she had taken her hair down and swapped out her top for a black one that showed various Star Trek ship models with a staggered rainbow of contrails, a particularly geeky Pride graphic. She pushed Dean into showing her what he was going to wear out that night. The new black jeans, gunmetal collared shirt, and navy bomber jacket Dean packed earned her pleased disbelief.


    "Wow, this is actually nice¡­"


    "Hey, I can do fashionable."


    Charlie raised her eyebrows and gave him a wordless stare.


    Dean shrugged and met her gaze until it became clear Charlie wasn''t buying it. "¡­Sam helped," he added finally.


    Charlie smirked. "I wish Sam had come to the city," she lamented as she passed the clothes back. "It would have been nice to meet him in real life."


    "Good luck getting him to take a vacation day. Kid''s picture is next to ''workaholic'' in the dictionary."


    "Mission accepted! We just need to find something he likes more than work."


    "Uh, I dunno, jogging?"


    "Ew."


    "Right?"


    Kevin showed up shortly after. Dressed in a fitted black shirt and slim jeans, he looked like a broody lead from a CW series, a stark contrast to his office attire. He joined them in the living room, where Futurama was still going, competing with Charlie in running commentary. At one point, he engaged Cas in a ten-minute discussion about genetically engineered foods, which Dean did his best to follow. The most he knew about the topic was that a lot of Kansas farmers were angry about GMO crops that turned out to be unsellable on the international market. Somehow, that segued into public land use, something more in his wheelhouse, and he found himself alternately defending grazing rights, hunting rights, and conservation until Kevin finally asked, "What side are you on?!"


    "It''s not as easy as picking sides." Dean shook his head. "It all has value, where I''m from. It''s a balancing act."


    After Charlie pointed out that it was nearing time to go, Dean changed, followed by Cas. As soon as Cas came in from the hall, dressed in a pale blue collared shirt open at the neck, Dean knew he was going to spend the entire night trying not to stare at the line of his collarbone. Off limits, Winchester.


    The bar was within walking distance. Dean was grateful for the open air as the group powered along the broad sidewalks. It wasn''t exactly ''fresh'' air, and the number of people around them made Dean miss the weight of a holster under his jacket¡ªNew York City was absolutely not gun friendly¡ªbut after a few days confined in the train, it was nice to stretch his legs. The place, Morn''s Tavern, was nestled next to a juice bar and a funeral home, a strange mix of polished wood finishes and futuristic decor and lighting. A Pride flag hung behind the bar next to a black marker board of drink specials. The crowd was casually nerdy, a little younger than Dean was used to but more sedate. What music was playing was kept in the background, the conversations far louder in volume.


    Kevin pushed forward and claimed them a free table next to the bar. When they had gotten a first round and ordered a few appetizers, Charlie raised up her glass.


    "To Dean and his second book. May it sell best and win the Pride games."


    Conversation fell to Netflix series, finding common ground with Travelers and The Good Place for a while, Kevin making a case for all of them to watch Mindhunter, Castiel mourning the exit of David Tennant from Jessica Jones. The discussions took them through a second round of drinks and even more food. Charlie periodically looked around, checking out the crowd, which was getting progressively denser and louder. Some time after, she seemed to make a decision, rising to get a round of rainbow jello shots for the table, then waving her phone.


    "Okay, guys, come on this side of the table with me and Dean¡­" Castiel and Kevin circled around to get in the frame. Charlie called out to a few nearby tables. "Drink on me to anyone who will snap a few pictures for us!"


    She caught the attention of a young woman in a flowing maroon top with shining black curls and deep brown skin. "Here, I''ll do it," she offered, giving Charlie a friendly smile.


    After handing her the phone, Charlie raised her voice even louder. They all froze as she screamed out to the entire bar area. "May I have your attention, Morn''s denizens! It''s first night of Pride Month, and we''re here celebrating the release of Dean Winchester''s second book. Please help me make some noise for this out and proud author!" She whooped and leaned down to hug Dean.


    Their new photographer grinned and called out, "Smile!"


    Everyone at the bar behind them roared and whistled while the woman with Charlie''s phone lined up the camera. She handed the phone back, and she and Charlie stepped over to get her drink order. As the people around them laughed and returned to their activities, Dean pulled at his collar and tried to get the flush he could feel in his face to subside.


    "You guys know she was going to do that?" he grumbled. Castiel shook his head at the same time as Kevin nodded. Dean shot Kevin an irritated glare.


    Kevin regarded Dean unapologetically, his lips flicking up into a smirk, and shrugged. "Are you even the guest of honor if we don''t embarrass you at least once¡­?"


    Charlie came back to her seat and flipped through the pictures, ignoring Dean''s glower. She grinned triumphantly. "Next best thing to having a release party? Making it look like you''re having a release party." She leaned over and held her phone up for Dean to see.


    The picture showed Dean, surprised but smiling, luckily nowhere near as red as he had felt, with Charlie clinging to him, a brilliant grin lighting up her features. Castiel had managed a happy expression despite his shock; Kevin''s smile over his shoulder was broad and amused. Behind them, a crowd of bar patrons filled the frame, fists and hands raised in celebration, frozen in various stages of laughing and hollering. It did look like a big party.


    "¡­You are devious," Dean conceded.


    "I know. I''ll send you a few of these to post to your feeds."


    Dean rubbed the side of his face and smiled in exasperation, gaze sliding over to Cas. The man looked as rattled as Dean had felt but met Dean''s eyes with a thin smile of his own.


    It took until after eleven, which Dean later blamed on the alcohol and the fact that he had been actively trying not to stare, for it to twig that something was off. The nagging feeling made him scan the crowd repeatedly until he realized the problem was Cas. Even though Charlie and Kevin were passionately debating horror movies and whether gore or jumpscare made the most impact, Cas had dropped out of conversation. Dean took in the way his fingers were curled under, almost a fist, the hunch of his shoulders, the fixed, pinched expression¡­ It was on Dean''s tongue to ask if Cas was okay before he realized he didn''t need to; Dean knew he wasn''t.


    "Okay, I gotta tell you, I''m beat," he groaned when there was a pause in the horror dispute.


    "Winchester, it''s not even midnight," Charlie complained.


    "Yeah, well, you ain''t the one who has to get on another thirty-six-hour train ride tomorrow," he pointed out.


    "Thirty-six hours?! You''re going to Kansas, not Hawaii!"


    Kevin gave Charlie a look that clearly meant, Are you serious?


    Dean snorted, considering it partial proof of his fear that city folks really had no idea how large the United States was. He looked to Cas. "Sorry to cut the evening a little short, but I think I am about hitting my limit."


    "Of course. You had a long trip in." His relief bled through despite the evenness of his voice. "I can walk back with you, if Charlie and Kevin want to stay."


    "Hey." Kevin leaned forward. "Brunch tomorrow? We all have the day off."


    Cas nodded. "Text us when you''re up."


    He and Dean left the younger generation to their next round of drinks, exiting into the cool air outside. The streets were bright, the sky above glowing gray with the reflected light.


    "Thanks," Dean murmured, falling into step beside him, raising one arm with the intent to wrap it over his neck before checking himself, shoving his hands into jacket pockets. Yikes, no. Cas had broad shoulders that Dean was interested in learning the shape of, and he got touchy when he''d had a few drinks. Better remember to take it easy on the beer during their road trip¡­


    "I was feeling ready to leave myself," Cas confessed, "so perhaps I should be thanking you."


    Dean smiled to himself and let them lapse into silence. There were fewer people walking around now, although the city streets never seemed empty. Cars continued to flow by them, the sound of their passing occasionally punctuated by a horn or a siren, a nighttime soundtrack that just made Dean miss the field crickets and swaying grass of home. He wondered what Cas would think during his vacation, if he might long for the racket of New York City the same way.


    After they were back to Cas''s apartment, Dean got changed for bed, then sat on the couch in the living room while Cas did the same. He busied himself writing up a ''release party'' post with Charlie''s photos, focusing on getting the right words and remembering all the hashtags she wanted him using. When he hit ''Post'' and glanced up, he did a quick double take, startled by the sight of the other man standing motionless a few feet into the room, blue eyes wide and fixed on Dean.


    The breath went out of Dean''s lungs. The loose t-shirt Cas wore revealed the lines of his forearms, his wrists, outlined by a shadow of soft hair, and Dean was absolutely not thinking about that. If it had been any other man¡­ but this was uncharted territory. He broke away from the stare, eyes bouncing down to his flannel pajamas to reassure himself that everything was buttoned up and there wasn''t any obvious reason for Cas to be transfixed.


    "Uh, guess nights are colder in Kansas," he suggested, feeling like an idiot even as the words came out of his mouth.


    Cas gave a start and seemed to break out of whatever had arrested his progress. "Yes, I expect they are. ¡­Good night, Dean."


    "Good night¡­" Dean''s words were spoken to Cas''s back; the other man had spun and exited so fast. Dean watched the doorway for a moment, mystified, but it became clear Cas wasn''t coming back. He sighed, looked down at his hands. What was that¡­?


    No answer presented itself to his tired, beer-soaked brain. He took another minute to type a reply to a text Sam had sent a few hours prior, then headed for bed, hoping he hadn''t messed something up somehow.


    The next morning, Cas seemed determined to dispel the weirdness of the night before, leading a conversation about his favorite spots in the city over cups of coffee. They met up with Charlie and Kevin for brunch, eating outside on the street at a restaurant that had about twenty kinds of pastries and anything you could think of on their breakfast menu. It was the first time Dean had seen Charlie less than bubbly, and he teased her between bites of cr¨ºpe.


    "It''s all downhill from twenty-five, Charles. Next thing you know, you''ll be heading to bed at ten with us old timers¡­"


    The bitchface she gave him wouldn''t scrape Sam''s top twenty, but he lightened up anyway, not wanting to kick a man while he was down. Kevin drank a full glass of water before picking at his scone and coffee, barely managing a few nods for the first hour. He kept shooting accusing glances at Dean''s multi-plate sampler breakfast, finally rallying enough as the meal was wrapping up to go on a rant about Rogue One and Hamlet.


    With his train slated to leave in a few hours, Charlie took on the task of escorting Dean back to the train station, ignoring his argument that he could find his own way there (probably). The group loitered for goodbyes momentarily on the sidewalk, pressing up against the patio wall to stay out of the way of the neverending stream of passersby.


    "Thanks for the hospitality, Cas." Dean locked eyes with him that last minute before they parted on the street, probing. Cas looked the same as he ever had, fixing Dean with his typical intense stare, and Dean wondered if he''d misread the previous night entirely, if there hadn''t been anything at all.


    The midday June sun lit up the depths of Cas''s blue eyes and a breeze tossed a few errant waves of his hair back and forth as he wished Dean a safe trip. There was one last beat of silence while they regarded one another, standing close and still while New York City rushed around them like a river.


    Dean thought about that moment a lot in the weeks that followed.

 Chapter 12

    Three weeks after its release, North Aspect made its first appearance on the New York Times bestsellers under paperback trade fiction. There had been a boost in sales following several inclusions on online "books to read for Pride Month" lists and the release of a podcast interview with Dean about how his experiences in the wilderness shaped his newest novel, but the book might have missed the list entirely if it weren''t for what became a media snowball effect. North Aspect continued to be cited on every Pride book article that could be found throughout mid-June, including several celebrity lists, and Dean received more invitations to do interviews. After his first video interview was posted on Instagram, social media engagement skyrocketed, and sales followed in short order.


    "They love that he''s so unexpected¡­" Charlie observed. "A thirty-something Kansas outdoorsman who within five years has gone from all-American, gun-toting hunter to bisexual conservation guide come author? Everyone wants to know why."


    Castiel didn''t have an answer to that, despite his months of getting to know Dean, and he didn''t think some internet personality was about to discover it in an hour. Dean''s public persona was friendly and charming, the smiling man from his guide photographs¡­ but not quite Dean himself. Castiel listened to each interview, noting where Dean redirected questions with humor or gave answers he could tell were oversimplifications. There was one moment, during a livestream with some YouTube literary influencer, where the woman pressed him on his relationship with his parents. Castiel held his breath as he watched something in Dean''s face flicker. In an instant, it was gone, replaced by a determined frown.


    "Uh, my mom worries more about other people discriminating against me than anything else, and my dad has been dead for years, so I didn''t really have to worry about what he thought. It was big, you know, telling my family, but a lot of the things that were really set against me were external to that¡­ my job, my business contacts, the general public¡­"


    The interviewer went on to talk about Dean''s exit from big game hunting and how that was a prelude to everything that followed. Castiel replayed the moment in his head several times, considering it yet another example of Dean telling pieces of truth without showing the entire picture.


    Gabriel predicted they would get three, maybe four weeks out of the list before sales dropped off, but with the end of July and Castiel''s vacation approaching, the midweek online announcements showed North Aspect hanging on for its sixth week, still in the top ten. Castiel felt vindicated. Something in the book was speaking to people, giving it staying power.


    Charlie was apologetic during one of their impromptu team gatherings. "Hey, sorry to horn in on your vacation time, but I told Dean he needs to keep up some updates while you guys are on the road, make some videos¡­"


    "I am sure I can keep out of the way long enough for him to create some new social media content," Castiel told her.


    "Might be better for his sales if you didn''t¡­" Rowena suggested, giving Castiel a look of consideration before she turned away.


    Castiel looked over at Charlie, confused.


    She raised her eyebrows in a quick gesture of concession before shaking her head emphatically. "No way. You do not need to join the social media circus."


    It took another moment of thought before Castiel realized what they were talking about. While he certainly wanted to support Dean''s book sales, he wasn''t sure he was willing to go so far as to turn their friendship into an object of public speculation.


    Frankly, he already had enough to think about, with the day rapidly approaching where he''d be forced to face Dean Winchester in flannel again.


    <hr>


    Castiel stared as the train entered the city of Pittsburgh, slouching in his seat. Being on a train for half a day was certainly an experience, but once he''d boarded, he found it somewhat soothing. The other passengers were quiet for the most part, engrossed in their own activities, and the train rattled rhythmically over its tracks while a constantly changing slideshow of emerald wooded hills, ochre-tinged fields, and industrial areas slipped by the window. Overall, he thought there were worse ways to start off a cross-country journey.


    The city landscape was familiar and yet foreign in the fading daylight. Stretches of trees and parks bordered the railway in spots, masking the urban sprawl beyond until they finally entered the heart of the city and the buildings grew taller. The station itself could have been any city station, but emerging out onto the street, Castiel couldn''t help but feel as though the sky was too close, the scent of asphalt and concrete just not quite right. Rounding the block as Dean''s text had directed, he spotted the old black car almost immediately. Dean was leaning on the trunk, and he waited as Castiel came down the sidewalk.


    Something tight and nervous thrummed through Castiel''s chest. Dean seemed relaxed, dressed in battered jeans and a work shirt, which was open to a t-shirt underneath and had the sleeves rolled up above his elbows. He raised an arm in a greeting as Castiel approached, finally pushing off the car when they were a few yards apart.


    "Hey, Cas. Nice train ride?"


    "That was the longest that I have ever spent on any mode of transport," Castiel replied, stopping a few feet from the back of the car. "The scenery was beautiful, however, and I''ve now added a full state to my travels, so I suppose it was a fair trade."


    A faint smile drifted across Dean''s face. "Are you dying for food or anything? I planned to get about an hour down the road, into Ohio, before stopping for the day."


    Castiel shook his head; he''d eaten a sandwich from the train''s caf¨¦.


    "All right, then. Guess we can get going¡­" Dean stepped around to open both the passenger side doors, each of which made an audible creak. "You can toss your bag in the back for now." He waited for Castiel to slide the large duffel bag he''d brought onto the smooth black leather expanse of the rear seats and then situate himself up front before closing the doors with heavy, metallic thunks.


    The inner panels and carpeting of the classic car were a nondescript beige, set off from the glossy black exterior, seats, and dashboard instrumentation. Though obviously aged, everything looked freshly cleaned and polished. Whether that was because Dean was particularly fastidious about his car or it was a special effort for this road trip, Castiel couldn''t say. Dean got into the driver''s seat, making the leather seat squeak, then pulled the last door closed. After taking a moment to adjust his seat belt and shirt, he glanced across at Castiel. The look seemed unsure, almost shy; Castiel thought he knew how Dean felt. It was strange and novel, being in such an enclosed space together. The car turned over with a deep rumble as Dean turned the key in the ignition, and rock music blared from the radio, making Castiel flinch. An instant later, Dean reached forward to decrease the volume.


    He cleared his throat and examined Castiel''s face. "Okay?"


    Castiel nodded.


    The engine growled as they pulled onto the street and began their journey.


    <hr>


    The ride to the first hotel was relatively quiet. Once Dean navigated out of Pittsburgh, the car roared down the highway alongside the setting sun, running at a level that Castiel was certain meant the engine couldn''t be very fuel efficient. Combined with the poor safety features and limited availability of repair parts, he had to imagine the car held sentimental value for Dean. Maybe he would ask about it at some point. The long day hadn''t left him much of a conversationalist; he found himself zoning out on the rolling landscape. Before he''d even managed to work up the energy to formulate discussion topics, they were exiting off and winding their way to the parking lot of a Hampton Inn.


    After parking the car in a spot a bit away from the main entrance, Dean turned off the engine. "I''m going to need you to get out," he grumbled.


    He shifted and pulled back his shirt on the opposite side, reaching over, and Castiel froze as he realized the strap running down under his arm was holding a gun. For a moment, he was so shocked that he couldn''t even breathe, but he must have made some sound because Dean''s head jerked up. Whatever expression was on Castiel''s face caused him to fall still, then slowly lift his hands to hover over his lap, palms open, his look hovering between confused and cautious.


    "Uh¡­ I meant that I need you to get out because this hotel doesn''t allow guns and one of the lock boxes is under your seat." Dean repeated, slowly.


    "Y¡ªYou''re wearing a gun?" It was a question that Castiel knew had an obvious answer, but he was trying to buy himself some time to process.


    "Uh, yeah. I usually do, unless I''m somewhere that doesn''t allow it." Dean waited a few beats, his eyes growing more concerned when Castiel didn''t respond. "I¡­ travel alone, usually out in the boonies, far from the law, in places with large predators. Just good habit to have a way to defend yourself if necessary."


    Another question fell straight out Castiel''s mouth without stopping for filtering. "Have you ever had to use it?"


    There was a pause before Dean replied. "I''ve had to fire it a few times to scare off animals over the years," he muttered. "People¡­ usually back off on sight. It just makes me feel better having it, especially after, well, you know." He dropped his hands, keeping them over the leg closest to Castiel, in sight. "Are you, uh, gonna be okay with this? ...If not, I can lock it up for the trip."


    Castiel stared at him. Something had changed. Carefully maintained neutrality blanketed his features¡ªexcept for his eyes. He couldn''t hide the uncertainty there. It reminded Castiel too much of the abrupt edits in Salvation Ridge, of the moment during their first phone call when Dean wondered aloud if anyone would even want to read his story¡­ It was on his tongue to agree before logic surged forward with one important final question. "Is it legal?"


    Dean snorted. "Yeah, once you leave New York until right before California. Except for Illinois, some other places." He shrugged. "Welcome to the country¡­"


    "Then, yes¡­ I will be okay with it¡ªnow that I know about it."


    "¡­You sure?" Dean asked, amusement creeping into the corners of his expression. "Because for a second there you looked like you thought this was gonna turn into an episode of one of those murder shows Sam and Kevin are addicted to¡­"


    "It was simply unexpected." Castiel frowned. It made sense that Dean would have a gun, but it was just as logical that, as a resident of New York City, Castiel would not be used to being around them.


    "For the record, I carry this so this doesn''t turn into a murder story¡­" Dean rambled, running one hand across the back of his neck.


    "You said there is a lock box under my seat¡­?" Castiel prompted, offering him an exit from the conversation.


    "Yeah. Uh¡­ Let me get this stuff stowed so we can go in." Dean cleared his throat before moving to take off the gun. "You can get your stuff from the back."


    It wasn''t until they were in the hotel lobby and Dean was speaking with the desk attendant that Castiel replayed something Dean had said.


    "¡­It just makes me feel better having it, especially after, well, you know."


    Unless he was mistaken, Dean was referring to coming out publicly; the fact that Dean felt less safe in his travels now made Castiel''s stomach twinge.


    The room Dean had booked was barebones¡ªtwo beds, a chair, a television, and a bathroom¡ªbut there wasn''t anything seedy about it. Still, this was the part of their trip Castiel had been regarding with the most trepidation.


    He''d prepared himself as best he could for the days of hiking ahead by purchasing new boots and clothing, breaking in the former walking around Midtown as much as possible in the preceding months. The long distances seated in a car hadn''t seemed like an issue for someone who worked at a desk as much as he did. But earlier in the year, he''d agreed to share a room for nights and split the bills, thinking he could suffer through any of the disturbance from sharing his space with another person just as well as he could deal with sleeping in a strange place. That had been before Dean''s visit in June.


    That night, in his apartment, he''d walked into the living room to the sight of Dean Winchester lounging on his couch in flannel pajamas¡­ and been struck with an intense urge to walk over and wrap his arms around him. The feeling was so sudden, so specific, that Castiel stopped dead and could barely manage to wish Dean a good night and excuse himself. It took him quite a while, alone in his bedroom, to calm down and recognize the sensation for what it was: sensual attraction. He''d read about it before, of course; most asexual people were familiar with the split attraction model. In general, he considered himself more likely to be mentally or emotionally attracted to someone, with the physical aspects of relationships being something he tolerated in varying amounts. That was the first time in his life he''d ever experienced that type of attraction to another person. The next morning, he rose and went, somewhat bravely, into the living room to find Dean already up and dressed. The feeling didn''t come back.


    In their room at the hotel, Castiel changed into sleepwear first, then sat on his bed, pretending to watch the evening news and waiting for Dean to emerge from the bathroom. This, he thought, was a litmus test. The door clicked and then opened, and Castiel tried to look without staring too obviously as Dean crossed the room in flannel pants and a cotton t-shirt. He had a long moment to gaze in expectation as Dean reorganized some items in his bag.


    Dean was attractive, of course, but beyond that recognition that he was aesthetically pleasing¡­ nothing. Castiel turned back to the television, not at all paying attention to the newsdesk broadcaster. Instead of being relieved, he felt frustrated. Why that night but not now? What had been different? Was it the shirt?


    Even after they''d turned off the television and lights and retired to their respective beds, Castiel stared in the direction of the wall, listening to the sound of Dean breathing, turning things over in his mind. He tried to drag up the fleeting sensation from memory but only found the ghost of something he knew he had experienced. At his age, he thought he understood himself well enough, managed himself well enough¡­ But maybe one never really reached complete self knowledge. Maybe there would always be new mysteries for him to puzzle over. He drifted off without coming to a decision on whether that was a disturbing or a reassuring thought.


    <hr>


    The morning alarm came early. Castiel was grateful that Dean''s first priority also seemed to be getting the room''s coffee maker to spit them out a dose of caffeine. Not a word was spoken  until their paper cups were emptied, although Dean did raise an eyebrow at the grimace Castiel made after his first sip. Obviously, one sacrifice of leaving the city was going to be dealing with whatever stood in for coffee at roadside hotels.


    When they''d both gotten cleaned up and packed, Dean briefly went over the plan for the day, which was to get on the road for about eight hours, then have a short hike at their first stop. They departed from Youngstown and got back on the interstate heading west. The ride was fairly low key until their first rest stop and third round of coffee, at which point Dean tentatively started trying to make some conversation.


    "So, Cas¡­ I''m mostly used to traveling solo, so if you need to stop or get hungry, tired, whatever¡­ you gotta let me know." He threw a look across the front seat, then put his eyes back on the road. "Sorry the scenery isn''t so great. Breaking a few of the rules of the road trip this time, staying on the interstate the entire way, but one thing about interstates is that they help you make time when you need to."


    Castiel had been watching Ohio slip by with interest. The cities, if you could call them that after living in New York City, were stouter, dotted with more grass and trees. Then, they would pass through endless fields of farmland, although most of the time, Castiel was mystified about what exactly they were growing. "You wouldn''t normally travel on I-80?"


    Dean shook his head. "Naw. Half the fun is trying to find scenic back roads¡­ but probably take you twice as long to get somewhere. If you''re on a schedule and need to get somewhere fast, the interstates are the way."


    "¡­Or there''s flying," Castiel pointed out, remembering how Gabriel had said that Dean didn''t fly.


    Dean''s mouth turned down in disgust. "Now that''s no way to get anywhere¡­" he groused. "People should experience the country, not jump over it."


    That didn''t sound like a strong enough reason for Dean to have it written into his contract with Elysium. "How else does this differ from one of your usual road trips?"


    "Well¡­ hotel reservations, I guess. Normally, I just sorta find a place when I''m getting tired. A lot easier when it''s only me though; don''t have to worry as much about a single room being available, and if I can''t find a place, there are always rest areas."


    Castiel stared at him a moment, wondering if he were exaggerating, but his face seemed relaxed, open. "Does that happen a lot?"


    "Uh¡­ I dunno, maybe once or twice a year, I''ll manage to get myself somewhere all the rooms are booked up for a convention or graduation or something I don''t even know is going on. Or I just plan badly and get too tired where there aren''t any motels."


    "I don''t think I could sleep, with traffic passing by twenty yards from my vehicle."


    "Are you joking?" Dean grinned. "I don''t know how you sleep in the city, Cas. If you can deal with that every day, I bet sleeping near a highway would be easy."


    "If you will recall, my apartment is thirteen stories up. There''s a reason for that."


    "Yeah, guess I''ve seen enough of how you react to bar ruckus and classic rock to get that reason..."


    "Sensitive hearing," Castiel insisted with force that wasn''t needed given Dean''s casual tone.


    "That''s another thing to be sad about, with the interstates and hotels¡­ You don''t get far enough away to really hear what night is supposed to sound like," Dean continued, oblivious to Castiel''s moment of defensiveness. "You know what? That last night, when you stay at my place in Kansas, we''ll have to go outside and just listen.  That''s what I think about¡ªhell, what I dream about¡ªwhen I''m stuck in these motels."


    Castiel stared anew at the smile that transformed Dean''s face in profile. It was soft, wistful¡­ free. Dean glanced over and noticed he was being watched, ducked his head, the smile disappearing with a twitch of regret. Castiel wished he knew the right way to tell Dean that he didn''t hide that part of himself away, but it felt like that might be too much, too revealing of his own feelings¡­ Castiel nearly rolled his eyes, settling for turning to look out at the passing trees. The hypocrisy, he chided himself.


    They stopped to pick up a quick lunch at a rest area in Indiana, and Castiel watched Dean lock away his gun and ammunition before they proceeded across the border into Illinois.  It was a few more hours before they pulled into their second hotel of the trip, a Super 8 where they unpacked and got changed into more appropriate hiking clothes. It was more of a transformation for Castiel. Dean simply swapped out his shoes for a well worn set of hiking boots and grabbed his pack and hat. When Castiel had abandoned his travel pants and button-down for cargo pants, a t-shirt, and a UV-blocking windbreaker, he saw Dean''s eyes flick over his clothes. The other man''s face was set in what Castiel was starting to recognize as an expression of concealment; it reminded him of the way his cousin Gabriel would mask his own thoughts during discussions.


    "¡­My first time hiking," Castiel explained. "I had to invest in some outdoorswear."


    "Looks good." Dean kept his eyes on his pack, rummaging through one of the compartments, but Castiel thought he saw a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth that might have been a repressed smile.


    Castiel frowned at him. "I''m not one of your clients, Dean. You can give me your honest opinion on my choice of hiking clothes."


    Dean looked up, a small measure of surprise showing in his eyes. Then, he gave Castiel a faint smile. "They''re fine, Cas. Didn''t expect you to be hiking around in office clothes¡­ Most of my specialized gear is for the cold. I don''t bother with much this time of year. You got bug spray?"


    They drove a short way from the hotel, into a forested area marked as ''Starved Rock State Park''. Dean trailed Castiel through the visitor''s center, while he read placards describing the history of the area and its significance to Indigenous populations before its later conversion to a park and lodge. When they left to take to the trails, their positions reversed, and Castiel let Dean lead them into the woods.


    Soon, the parking lot was far behind them, and striated cliffs of earthy gray and green grew up around them. It was mostly quiet, although occasionally the leaves swished above them in an unfelt breeze or a bird timidly sang out from the canopy. The area smelled of damp earth and rock; the atmosphere was heavy and shimmered where rays of sun came through gaps in the trees. By fifteen minutes in, both of them were sweating, and, as Dean had predicted, the mosquitos were out in full force as the heat of the day faded in the shade of the trees.  Still, there was a magic to it all that wasn''t lost on Castiel as they wove their way through twisting walls of rock and climbed wide staircases cut from the earth. Here and there, sluggish pools and trickles of water flowed through the forest floor and down the rock faces. They wound into narrow corridors cut through the stone, then back out, following the dips of the terrain. Dean didn''t say much, beyond occasionally giving Castiel a name he could match to the booklet he''d taken from the visitor''s center, although he did take out his phone to snap several photographs as they proceeded, likely for his social media pages. They finally reached a large, open canyon with broad shelves of textured rock, overgrown with lush summer greenery, where a thin sheet of water splashed down in a waterfall and flowed back into the forest.


    This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    "This is LaSalle Canyon," Dean said as he pulled a few extra containers of water from his pack, then held one out to Castiel. Castiel was grateful Dean had bothered; his own water bottle was nearly empty. "Any spring, this would be a torrent, maybe even closed; not as much water running this season." After pausing for a long drink, Dean examined his face. "How are you feeling? Okay?"


    Castiel was soaked with sweat that wasn''t evaporating in the summer humidity, and he was glad for the break, but overall, the trail was a fairly easy one. "Yes, this seems to match my hiking ability."


    Dean nodded. "We''re about at the halfway point. ¡­I almost feel bad hiking here now. This entire place is sandstone. Too many feet are just grinding it away in places. I''ll keep us on the main trails, go by the river, rather than go around on the rocks there. May come a time when people won''t even be allowed to hike down to those back canyons¡­"


    Castiel looked around as he followed Dean back out the way they had come into the canyon, seeing smooth paths worn in the terrain but unable to imagine the soles of boots being able to trample into rock. He supposed, however, that was how the canyons had been made¡ªnot by people, but by water over time.


    The second half of the hike was a much different perspective, tracing along the Illinois River. At some points, the trail overlooks opened up views of miles of woods across the water, the slanting rays of the late day summer sun heating up the air and blinding him after the cool, green light of the woods. The hazy blue sky showed not a cloud, and the puffs of breeze wherever the trees thinned out were a welcome break from the sticky July afternoon. Despite the heat, the walk left Castiel feeling as though he could have gone further, and he told Dean so as they walked back to the car.


    "So, guess I''m judging about right." Dean fell into step beside him, now that that wide walks allowed it. "Next few days shouldn''t be too much harder than this. I''ll just have to keep an eye on what I plan for Rocky Mountain National Park; miles don''t pass as easy when there''s a lot of up and down, especially that high up in the mountains."


    Cleaning up at the hotel was a bit of heaven, but exhaustion hit Castiel as soon as the warm water washed the sweat, dirt, and bug repellant from his skin. He wanted nothing more to lay on his bed, which suddenly seemed as though it had a much higher quality mattress than it appeared, and not move until morning. Dean emerged from changing in a soft, clean t-shirt with some band logo on the front and herded Castiel up and out to dinner at a nearby restaurant. They sat across from one another at a booth as far away from the bar as they could get, but there appeared to be a baseball game on television, and the sound level occasionally spiked into roars of approval or displeasure. Dean winced along with Castiel as a few of the louder spectators yelled about some game official decision.


    "If this is unbearable, we could ask Katie to pack up our stuff to go," Dean suggested.


    Katie, Castiel thought, must be their server. "No, I will manage." Dean kept examining his face with skepticism. "Besides," he decided, "if I do not remain sitting upright, I may very well fall asleep in my french fries."


    At that, Dean tilted his head and nodded. "Yeah, you''re gonna sleep like the dead tonight. Fresh air will do that."


    As Castiel watched, Dean scanned the other tables. "I have to apologize. I feel as though I haven''t been making much conversation¡ªnot just tonight, but thus far in our trip."


    "Hey, Cas, every single word you say is one more than I usually hear on a road trip. It isn''t your job to be, like, entertainment or something." He smiled abruptly to himself. "Also, I think if you''d spent the whole day at Starved Rock talking, I would have purposely lost you in a canyon somewhere."


    Castiel smiled in return. "Do you ever have to guide people like that?"


    "Usually not the birders or the wildlife enthusiasts, for obvious reasons.  I''ve had a few loud photography groups though. I just smile and remember I''m getting paid¡­" Dean stared off into the middle distance, apparently reliving some past annoyance.


    Their burgers arrived, and the smell of the food made Castiel realize he was ravenous. They both tucked into their meals for several minutes without surfacing, Castiel eating almost as enthusiastically as Dean always seemed to.


    "Damn, these are good," Dean concluded. "Not the best I''ve ever had, but decent. This is something else I don''t usually get on my road trips."


    "Burgers?"


    "Well, restaurant food in general.  Maybe a stop here and there, but usually, I''m living on trail food."


    "What''s that?"


    "Uh, mostly lightweight things¡ªtrail mix, jerky, dehydrated noodle stuff. Or, if I''m somewhere I can stash a cooler, I pick up stuff at a grocery store, like we''re going to do tomorrow morning."


    "¡­We are?"


    "Yeah, got a cooler in the trunk, and we can stock up on whatever we want to eat for the day and minimize stops.  Tomorrow is our longest drive, about twelve hours."


    "Sounds¡­ enchanting."


    Dean flashed his eyebrows, a smile still playing around the corners of his lips despite the fact that he was trying to appear sympathetic. "Well, look at it this way, Cas¡­ At least your legs will have some time to recover. And wait ''til we go through Iowa¡­ Words can''t describe it. You''ll know it when you see it."


    <hr>


    It took three rest stops and almost five hours of Iowa before Castiel finally turned to Dean. "What exactly am I waiting to see in the state of Iowa¡­?"


    Dean''s chest twitched with silent laughter; he didn''t even turn from the road to face Castiel. "You''re looking at it," he stated, voice wavering.


    Castiel glanced back out the window, where endless fields of deep green stalks seemed to eat up the horizon. "¡­Corn¡­?"


    "Yep." Dean was grinning now. "Corn, corn, and more corn."


    Castiel peered at him, wondering if there was something he wasn''t understanding about the significance.


    Sneaking a glance over, Dean caught the expression on his face and let out a sharp laugh. "And cows! Don''t forget the cows." He giggled and turned back to look out the windshield, reaching up a hand to wipe one eye.


    Castiel then understood; he sighed, not enjoying feeling gullible. Playing on his naivety was a favored tactic of bullies, back in his younger days. "I fail to see the hilarity," he growled.


    Dean''s tittering slowed, and he shot Castiel a few perplexed looks before clearing his throat. "I did the same thing to Sammy first time we drove through here. Gotta say, he did not have your patience¡­ barely made it an hour in."


    They drove in silence for a moment, Castiel waiting until Dean''s smile had flattened out into a disappointed pout before deciding the teasing hadn''t been mean spirited. Keeping his eyes facing forward, he tilted his head. "Well, patience is one of my virtues¡­"


    "You almost made it to Omaha," Dean observed. "It''s impressive."


    <hr>


    At some point toward the end of the day, most of the way through Nebraska, the landscape changed. It was as though the sky opened up, suddenly stretching above the highway in a dome that ran as far as the eye could see to the horizon in all directions.  The rolling hills, now almost the color of green tea, began to show outcroppings of pale fawn soil and rocks. Castiel sat up, took it in for several minutes, before he turned to Dean.


    "Is this prairie?" he asked.


    "Sorta¡­ Technically, we''ve been in prairie since Illinois and Iowa, but there''s different types, and the interstate runs through so much farmland and so many cities that you don''t often get a chance to really see the native habitat come through¡­ We just entered ''short grass'' prairie, which most people don''t really think of when they think of grasslands. You can also call it a ''steppe''. Lots of open land, no big trees."


    It was strange and new, and Castiel was suddenly thinking of Salvation Ridge and the open landscape that must have greeted settlers at that time.


    "This is really the point in the country when you feel like you''re out west." Dean smiled that same serene smile Castiel had seen before.


    This time, Castiel watched out of the corner of his eye, pretending to study the steppes outside the window when Dean inevitably looked over.


    Their home for the night was a lodge, a flat, single-floor complex whose architecture somehow matched the landscape. For dinner, they pulled a selection of food from the cooler¡ªmicrowave burritos, bagged spanish rice, and some remains of a vegetable platter.


    "I''m not sure these are ''burritos''," Castiel said after his second of the small wraps, "but there''s something to be said for comfort food."


    "Hell yeah. I can''t believe you''ve never had a microwave burrito. What do you even eat in New York? You know, at home."


    "I probably get takeout more often than I should¡­" Castiel tried to remember what was around his kitchen. "Pasta and sauce, toast or bagels, sandwiches, salads, pre-packaged or frozen meals¡­"


    "That is the kitchen of a man who can''t cook or can''t be bothered," Dean taunted.


    "And I suppose you are an accomplished chef¡­"


    "Well, no, but I can cook, at least simple, homestyle kinds of things. Our mom worked a lot growing up, so I had to start dinner most nights."


    Picturing the quiet, focused way Dean dealt with his packs and maintained his car, Castiel supposed cooking wasn''t entirely out of character for him. As for himself¡­ well, he''d never had a real need to learn. Travelling with Dean on the road, his life in the city seemed almost wildly extravagant at times.


    The morning brought more weak motel coffee¡ªCastiel was convinced it was the same coffee bearing different labels at every location¡ªand a short drive to Ash Hollow State Historical Park. His initial impression of the landscape proved to be entirely accurate; the area was part of the Oregon Trail. The visitor''s center provided lots of interesting information, including filling in some of the more tragic history of the area. Castiel stood reading a placard about the Harney Massacre, in which the United States army attacked a Brul¨¦ Lakota settlement, killing many women and children. Dean hovered off his shoulder.


    "That was pretty terrible. Even back then, when people still thought it was their right to take the whole country all the way to the Pacific, some of the papers back east called a spade a spade¡­ They used to call Harney ''The Butcher''."


    "Starved Rock also had a lot of history from Indigenous peoples¡­ Is that common in the park system?"


    "More often than not.  If you think about it, the places that were available for conservation were the ones that were difficult to strip and settle, either due to the terrain or because someone else was holding the territory¡­ but really, every place in America has a history long before any of us got here. You just don''t get handy signs telling you about it¡­"


    They left the building in a somber mood. He and Dean spent the later part of the morning hiking along the miles of trails that surrounded the Ash Hollow area. Castiel couldn''t stop drinking in the infinite blue sky, towering clouds, and shrub-dotted hills. A few times, he caught Dean watching him, a ghost of a smile on his face. Castiel looked at so much, so long in the bright summer sun that his eyes began to hurt. Halfway through the trail circuit, Dean offered over a pair of sunglasses, having noticed him squinting at everything. They ended up grabbing food from the car to picnic out on the hills. Neither one of them made conversation, but it was an easy silence. Looking out at a horizon that seemed states away, wind whipping under the brim of his hat, sun beating down on his shoulders, Castiel felt as though he''d been swept clean.


    Dean suggested that they take the car down the road a few miles to Windlass Hill, where they parked again and then followed a trail that soon turned into quite an uphill climb. Castiel was breathing harder than Dean by the time they reached the top overlook. The view was stunning. The steppes sloped away from them in all directions, falling down into a valley and rolling on and on until they faded into blue, indistinct shadows along the bright line where the sky met the earth. Dean paused to take more photographs and record a short video, trying to show the wagon ruts still visible in the earth.  When he finished, they took one last look out from the hill together.


    The wind died down, letting the sound of insects rise from the grass and the sun''s warmth sink in. Castiel and Dean stood shoulder to shoulder, and looking down at the green twill fabric that covered Dean''s arm, leaving only the tanned and freckled back of a hand visible, Castiel wanted to lean in and press the length of his own arm against it. This time, the sensation wasn''t as much of a surprise, but as soon as he tried to examine it more closely, it was gone, taken away by the next gust of wind.


    Looking up, he met Dean''s eyes, and they held one another''s gaze for a beat.


    "Worth the climb?" Dean rasped eventually.


    Castiel nodded. "Absolutely."


    "Well, let''s hope you keep feeling that way. Next stop, the Rockies¡­"


    <hr>


    The drive from Nebraska to Colorado was the highlight of the trip so far. It seemed as though every few hours, the landscape changed. The Rockies themselves came into sight and grew until the car was among them. Overwhelmed by so many natural features that he''d only ever seen on film, by the time they pulled into Estes Park, Castiel was starting to feel mentally exhausted, despite his excitement at his surroundings.  The city of Estes Park was stunningly picturesque, a bowl of civilization nestled inside a ring of dark, evergreen forest and crown-point mountain peaks. They unloaded their bags into the tiny lodge where they were staying. It was decorated in a charming, rustic fashion, but the room was pretty cramped once they got everything inside. Dean led them a few blocks away, to a place that proclaimed itself ''Antonio''s New York'' and turned out to serve pizza and Italian cuisine. Castiel chose not to comment on the irony of restaurant choice. Over dinner, Dean coached him on the plan for the next few days.


    "We''re high enough up here that you can get altitude sickness, so first thing to remember, hydrate, like constantly, and eat heavy on carbs, low on fat. Grains, fruit, veggies, pasta, bread, clear soup¡­" The pasta dinners they''d ordered came with soup and bread and seemed to fit the list. "Probably should stay away from alcohol and fried food. They also say you should stay away from caffeine, but we both know that ain''t happening¡­ Second thing to remember is to take it slow. Tomorrow, we''re just going to stick around the city in the morning, do some walking and touring. If you''re feeling all right in the afternoon, we can drive up over the mountains and back on the Trail Ridge Road. No hiking until Day Two¡­"


    Bunking down probably would have been a bit stranger if he''d been less tired¡ªthe room was so small that if he and Dean had both reached out an arm from either bed, they could have shaken hands. As it was, Castiel fell into a dreamless sleep within minutes of his head reaching the pillow. Morning was too early, and he met it with bleary silence until they walked to a real coffee shop, with real coffee. Insert gratitude to coffee-giving deity of choice here, Castiel thought, sighing happily over the largest, most robust cup he could buy.


    The first part of the day was spent strolling through downtown Estes Park, poking through shops, occasionally pointing out an especially ridiculous piece of tourist swag to one another¡ªa lamp with a ceramic base shaped like a moose, small wooden ''Estes Arks'', which, to Castiel''s shock, turned out to be models of an actual, full-size building down the street. Castiel sprung for admittance to one of the day tours of The Stanley, the stylish old hotel on the hill that had inspired the setting of Stephen King''s The Shining.


    "Kevin is already envious of our stop at Starved Rock State Park," he told Dean. "Apparently, it was the site of some gruesome murders in the Sixties. Touring the Stanley Hotel will be another feather in the proverbial cap¡­"


    Walking back into town after that, Dean abruptly decided, "We need pie." He pointed ahead, where the overhang of a bakery proclaimed, ''You Need Pie!"


    Castiel rolled his eyes but followed Dean into the restaurant for lunch, after which the man spent ten minutes agonizing over pie filling choices, finally going with both Cherry Rhubarb and Apple. At his insistence, Castiel tried a bite of each and proclaimed Cherry Rhubarb the winner.


    When they finally circled back to the motel in the early afternoon, Dean asked, "You feeling okay? No headache or trouble breathing or dizziness?"


    "I feel quite normal," Castiel insisted.


    "All right, let''s go for a drive."


    They headed west out of the city and soon made their first entrance into Rocky Mountain National Park, turning up a single-lane dirt road a short distance in, behind several other cars. The views only became more spectacular as they wound their way up into the mountains, passing by forests of coniferous trees and trickling waterfalls splashing down the pale gray and tan rock faces. There were no developments, no guardrails along the route. Every so often, there was a pull off where they could exit their car and take photographs of an especially pretty vista. The road rose into alpine stretches of grass and meadow, dwarfed by snow-streaked peaks around them. Castiel had never felt so small, even in the understory of New York City at the foot of a dozen skyscrapers. The Rocky Mountains stretched away from them in every direction, endless and unfathomably old. At the end of the ascent, they parked at the Alpine Visitors Center and stepped out to wander the barren ridge. The wind that pressed against their jackets was icy, picking up the scent of the snow that clung in the hollows of the slopes.


    When Dean had finished shooting another video, they got back in the car and turned onto the paved Trail Ridge Road. The drive back to Estes Park was just as beautiful, rising up to a summit before reversing the journey from exposed alpine slopes down into the lush green forests below. Just when Castiel thought he was getting used to it, he would look upon some other prospect in disbelief and awe. The world melted and warmed as they descended back into civilization. The jackets soon came off, and by the time they returned to the city, Dean had the windows rolled partway down, the scent of rocks and pine flooding the cabin.


    "That was incredible," Castiel told him back at the lodge.


    Dean smiled, a soft, warm expression. "Well, no better way to get a real taste of the Rockies when you don''t have weeks to spare. Tomorrow we''ll drive in and do a bit of hiking." He paused, looking out across Estes Park. "By this point in the trip, you probably get what a terrible writer I am¡­"


    Castiel frowned, tilted his head. "What do you mean?"


    Dean waved a hand at the skyline, rows of dark mountain peaks that faded cerulean, a towering sky pale with washes of cloud. "This. No matter how long I spend trying to tune a phrase, anything I write¡­ it''s just like a kid trying to draw with a crayon, Cas, you know?"


    For a moment, Castiel didn''t respond, pondering over the meaning of Dean''s statement. "I expect," he ventured, "that any man measuring himself up to the grandeur of all of nature would find himself falling short."


    "Yeah¡­" Dean exhaled, turned back to the view again, before nodding. "Yeah."


    <hr>


    The next day brought an early morning drive to a large parking lot just inside the park, where Castiel started his first real mountain hike. They made their way to Bierstadt Lake, a relatively flat area where tall, lime-colored grasses ringed dark blue water inside the ever-present evergreen forest. The sun had risen not long ago, and the air still had a crisp chill to it, but it was going to be a beautiful day, from what he could tell. Circling the lake, Dean led them on an easy climb that soon had them overlooking the bowl of nearby Bear Lake, nestled in a perfect ring of trees, green and gray mountains looming above. They hiked down into the forest, around the glassy surface of the water, stopping at each overlook, both of them taking endless photos on their phones. When they had completed the trail loop¡ªand Castiel had once again assured Dean that he was feeling none of the items on the checklist of altitude sickness symptoms¡ªthey continued down to Sprague Lake, crossing through areas of boulders and over one particularly large creek. It was there that Castiel got to see his first large wildlife in the park, two moose grazing in the tall grass surrounding the lake. They kept a very respectable distance, and Dean filmed the male and female pair for a long time. The only sounds were the wind gusting across the lake surface and the songs of the birds in the surrounding brush.


    The sun was high by the time they finally got back to the parking lot where they had left the car; the crowds were building.


    "How you feeling?" Dean asked as they were unloading their packs into the trunk.


    "I am still all right, Dean. I''ll alert you if that changes." His tone must have been a bit clipped because Dean held up a hand.


    "Sorry, don''t mean to drive you nuts, but you''ve never been above sea level, and I''ve had altitude sickness¡­ It ain''t fun." Dean laid the hand down on the roof of the car and looked out into the distance for a moment, thinking. "Okay, I got an idea¡­"


    They drove over to Lily Lake, another very popular area of the park, and for good reason. The area directly around the lake was fairly easy walking, but along one edge there was a ridge that they climbed to get a view back down to the lake below. It was a little bit of an effort for Castiel, but they took it at a pace he could handle, taking a long break atop the ridge to drink water and appreciate the scenery. After they''d picked their way back down, they made a second loop of the lake lower down, joining the lines of other hikers and enjoying the cool air emanating from the water in the warming afternoon air. This time, when they returned to the car, Dean suggested they use the afternoon to drive a scenic byway known as the "Peak to Peak", and Castiel accepted, his legs finally starting to feel the strain of an entire morning spent on the move. The rest of their journey was spent companionably in the cabin of the Impala, soaking in more mountain views than Castiel ever thought he''d see in person. Traversing the national forests, looking out across the Continental Divide¡­ it bordered on surreal at times, as though Castiel couldn''t possibly be the one experiencing it.


    The very full day ended with the two of them sitting outside their motel room, in front of a small fire pit. Castiel was scrolling through the Instagram update Dean had made at lunch. Every shot could have been out of a magazine.


    "You take such wonderful photographs," he remarked.


    Dean shrugged. "Hard to take a bad one up here¡­ You just point and shoot."


    The commenters seemed to be coming down on Castiel''s side of the argument, raving about the beauty of the pictures¡ªand a few about the beauty of the photographer, at least on the selfies. Suddenly, he stopped reading, his buoyant mood dented. One vicious comment, a spiteful slur embedded in an otherwise cheerful thread, swam in his vision. He didn''t want to mention it to Dean¡­ if he delayed, perhaps Charlie would see it first and delete it. Still, it shocked him, and he wondered how many times a day Dean felt similar blows, took hits to his confidence. He looked over to where Dean was gazing into the fire, quiet and content. "...I don''t think I ever told you how brave it was for you to come out publicly."


    Dean turned and raised an eyebrow, baffled by the lack of segue, then shrugged.  "Somebody''s gotta do it. Might as well be me."


    "Can I¡­ Can I ask you something personal?"


    There was a wariness to Dean''s eyes, though he answered, "...Sure."


    "Did you¡­ Is your family supportive?"


    Once again, Dean shrugged. "Yeah, doesn''t matter at all to Sammy. He''s only mad I didn''t tell him sooner. My mom just¡­ worries, mostly."


    "My mother also worries about my asexuality. I believe she is mostly concerned that I will be lonely, not any of the more stereotypical motherly worries, like grandchildren."


    Dean snorted. "My mom gave up waiting on me to bring home a nice girl and give her grandkids a long time ago. Now she''s moved on to harassing Sam, although between you and me, it''ll be a cold day in hell before that one happens either¡­"


    That was something interesting that Castiel wanted to ask about, but he didn''t want to get distracted from the current topic, so he set it aside before continuing. "Do you ever wonder what your father would have thought?" There was something there. Castiel knew it, and as much as he knew he shouldn''t press Dean on it, he couldn''t seem to stop himself.


    The change in Dean''s demeanor was immediate; his expression locked down so firmly, his face might have been stone. "He''s dead, so it doesn''t matter what he would have thought." The tone was all finality.


    Mother worrying, father deceased¡­ It all amounted to the same response he had fed his interviewers. "Dean, I¡­" Castiel tried to tread carefully. "It''s just, the change you made to leave the hunting business, the way you never talk about him¡­" Dean''s expression tightened. "I can''t help but feel as though it''s all related."


    "I just wanted a change," Dean insisted, but the way he glared at the fire pit told a different story.


    "If you think he wouldn''t have approved or¡ª"


    "No, Cas." Dean''s tone grew sharp. "It ain''t that, I¡ªI don''t want to talk about it." He pushed up from his chair, abruptly in motion. "I just¡­" He ran a hand through his hair, agitated, looking anywhere but Castiel. "I need some air."


    "Dean¡ª"


    But Dean was already striding away, heading across the parking lot to the street beyond. Castiel sighed, put his hand to his face. He had only himself to blame; he knew Dean wouldn''t respond well to the questioning and pursued it anyway. Still, it wasn''t simply his own selfish curiosity at play. There was pain there, under the surface. No matter how many times he gently offered to listen, Dean kept pushing his own emotions aside, trying to bury them and convince himself and everyone else that they didn''t matter.


    Castiel leaned back, looking up at a hazy black dome studded with only a few of the brightest stars. He didn''t know how to convince Dean, but they did matter. Dean mattered.


    Without companionship, he felt uncomfortably exposed, alone in front of the motel. After wrestling with the lid to snuff the fire pit and ensure they didn''t spark some newsworthy blaze, he went back to their room, changed for bed. Then, he got himself something to read and sat up, awaiting Dean''s return.

 Chapter 13

    Dean strode through the downtown area, looping the same streets over and over. He didn''t have a destination in mind, he just wanted to be in motion, walk out some of the anger that had surged through his body and made it difficult to breathe. Why couldn''t he stop feeling like this? Just come up with some fake story and stick with it? It had been almost six years, and he still couldn''t seem to get past it, get over it. That was one failing he knew he had for sure: he couldn''t forgive and forget.


    Even as he tried to let the emotion burn out, there was a part of him that kept holding on to the tail of it, because underneath that old rage there was something else, something that had made him flee from the motel¡ªfrom his travel companion. No matter how far under wraps Dean thought he kept things, Cas had a way of seeing straight through him, like X-ray vision. He had from the start, really, somehow reading Dean''s original drafts of North Aspect and finding that spot of hurt. And if Cas could see it, who else could? What else was Dean revealing that he''d rather have kept hidden? It was a nasty, exposed sort of feeling, when Dean almost considered it a point of pride that he was difficult to read, that he let himself be seen in just the ways he wanted.


    As he walked, the temperature kept dropping, and eventually, he started wishing he''d been wearing a jacket when he stalked off. It took a good half hour more before he figured he was ready to head back, hands and feet half numb. If luck was on his side, Cas would already be sleeping. Dean wasn''t sure how to explain his behavior away; they were past the point of Dean being able to pretend there was nothing going on. Best he could do was apologize, maybe feed Cas the same story he''d given Sam¡­ Something twinged in his gut. Spinning half truths to Sam to protect him was one thing, but lying to Cas just to save himself some grief? That didn''t feel right. And under the voice of conscience, there also was a tiny echo of fear that told him Cas would see through the lie, leading to¡­ anger? ¡­disappointment? He didn''t know which was worse.


    He passed Baby in the lodge parking lot and stood at the door to their room for a moment, being sure to enter quietly. If it had been an argument with Sam, he would have been facing a dark room, with a cold shoulder to come the following day, but this was Cas. The lights were on, and Cas was sitting on his bed, a tablet in his hand. He looked up as Dean opened the door, and Dean froze in the doorway. Faced with those intense blue eyes, concerned but also cautious, it was an act of will for Dean to step into the room and close the door behind him instead of bolting back out into the cold. He hovered for a second by the front wall before deciding to move to sit on his own bed, facing Cas but not quite ready to hold eye contact.


    Clearing his throat, he clasped his hands together and rested them on his knees to stave off any fidgeting. "¡­Well, guess it isn''t really a road trip until one of us gets angry for no good reason."


    Cas didn''t say a word, so Dean lifted his head and met his gaze. He''d put down his tablet and was giving Dean his full attention. He looked so calm and collected that irritation tried to surge up Dean''s throat again, but no, Dean was done with that for the night.


    Taking a few breaths, Dean let the quiet stretch. He could do this. He remembered that night with Sam after the tornado. "I''m sorry for storming off," Dean told him. "I¡­ have a temper, and sometimes it gets the better of me."


    "It wasn''t for ''no good reason''." Cas''s voice was low, just above a murmur, as though he were talking to himself. It sent a ripple through Dean''s chest that nearly made him shiver.


    Dean looked away. He didn''t want to lie any more, but he couldn''t tell the truth.


    "Dean¡­" Cas''s voice on his name was gentle; Dean inhaled, tensed his shoulders. "I am asking questions because I see that you''re hurting and I want to help¡­ because I am your friend. You do understand that?"


    Dean held his breath, blinking. It was just too much, hearing him talk like that. He shook his head. "I can''t."


    "Dean¡ª"


    "¡ªI can''t, Cas¡ªI can''t give you what you''re asking for. I just¡­ I''m not ready. I may never be ready. And I need you to be okay with that." He ventured a look up. The other man''s gaze was sad, and it sent a twist of regret through Dean''s chest.


    "All right, Dean."


    It didn''t sound all right, the silence that pressed in after that soft concession. And it didn''t feel all right, sitting like cold gravy in Dean''s stomach. But he didn''t have any better ideas, so he nodded, pretended like he was satisfied.  "All right."


    They didn''t exchange another word outside ''good night''. Dean lay awake for some time, staring at the wall, missing having the option of slipping out of bed and padding out his back door into the Kansas nighttime.


    <hr>


    The next day, they were scheduled to leave Colorado and make their way southwest into Kansas. It marked a week that he and Cas had been on the road together. Before his ridiculous outburst the night before, he was surprised how easy it had been. He expected Cas to have one annoying habit or another, but honestly, they got along better than he and Sam did. He supposed he and his brother had more history and a tendency to push one another''s buttons though¡­ often on purpose. The trip also turned out to be a little bit of torture, in a way, because Dean found himself looking at Cas when he could get away with it and constantly shoving his hands in his pockets to stop himself from reaching out and touching him. Now, there were only a couple days left before Cas would fly back to New York and become just a voice on the phone again. It was better than nothing, but all in all, Dean preferred having him sitting in the passenger seat of the Impala, where he could watch expressions of puzzlement and wonder cross his face.


    They went to get a final cup of coffee at the little shop Cas seemed so enamored with, then made a stop on their way out of the city for some groceries for the cooler. Dean felt like he was walking on eggshells, constantly trying to check Cas''s face for¡­ well, anything, really.  It was like nothing had happened at all, the way Cas was acting. Dean was starting to wonder whether the guy might have a better poker face than he thought. They were about a half hour out of Estes Park when Cas spoke up.


    "The rocks are more reddish here, almost like I''d imagine the Southwest to be."


    Sneaking a look over, Dean found his passenger looking out the window, serene. "Uh, yeah, drive far enough south from here, you start getting into desert, then New Mexico."


    "Will we pass through any of that?"


    "Naw, you''ll see, once we get down out of the mountains, it drops off fast. Seriously, one minute you''ll be in foothills and the next it''s the Great Plains all over again, not like Nebraska."


    "Sounds like another road trip, someday¡­"


    His tone was casual, but Dean understood the implication. The hunch in his shoulders started to uncoil. "Yeah, the Great American Southwest is a whole ''nother experience."


    True to Dean''s description, they exited the mountains into rolling hills a short way from Boulder, then followed the highway down the flats parallel to the Rockies for a time, rounding Denver before taking that final turn due west on I-70, out into the sparse grasslands. It was another interstate, but this one felt like home to Dean. Soon, the mountains were just a shaded line in his rearview mirror, and great stretches of farmland started appearing to either side of them.


    "Welcome to the Central Great Plains," he announced, when they were far enough through Colorado. "From here through Kansas, you''ll see five kinds of prairie and not a mountain to be found. We''ll be on my home turf by end of day."


    They stopped to gas up, and Cas leaned against Baby in the summer sun, squinting upward. "There''s so much sky here¡­"


    Dean turned to follow his gaze. The ocean of blue above them was dotted from one horizon to the other with marching lines of puffy clouds that billowed up into mounds and gleamed dazzling white up top. "Yep, this is why I feel so hemmed in back east¡­ Compared to this, feels like everything''s pressing in on you. New York might as well be a maze of canyons."


    The sunbaked asphalt hummed under Baby''s tires, singing home through the soles of his shoes. As often as wanderlust made him walk the country top to bottom, the sight of Kansas sweeping by always felt right, and at the end of a trip, he viewed it with new appreciation. Late afternoon, he turned south off the interstate. Rather than push it straight home, he couldn''t resist taking Cas on a tour of his stomping grounds at Cheyenne Bottoms. They ate lunch from the cooler at the rest area across from the Education Center along the refuge''s southern border. Then, Dean took them on a loop through the refuge itself, stopping often to point out various bird species: fat, white pelicans, an almost constant feature of any plains wetlands, elegant herons and egrets, early migrating sandpipers, buzzing sparrows singing in the tall grass, a kingbird with its stark white chest and black hood, scolding them from its perch.


    "Is this what you do when you work?" The look Cas gave him was almost fond, and something warm turned over under Dean''s breastbone.


    "Yeah, sorry, guess I went into guide mode there¡­" Dean felt himself flush, and glancing at Cas''s slow smile just made it worse. He turned to gaze out over the water instead, using the excuse of scanning for birds.


    "It''s lovely."


    Something about the way he said it, like maybe it wasn''t the wetlands he was talking about, made Dean''s stomach give a distinct flutter. Are you fucking kidding me? he asked himself. He thought he''d been doing a pretty decent job of ignoring whatever bit of one-sided chemistry was going on between them so far. There was no way he was going to blow it with a day left.


    They finished the drive with him rambling about the wetlands and wildlife, trying to stop being so goddamn aware of the moments Cas drifted into his personal space. It''s a loop, he told himself. Just gotta distract yourself.


    Music came to the rescue on the final hours back to Olathe. He talked his favorite bands¡ªLed Zeppelin, Metallica, CCR, Van Halen, Kansas¡ªand songs.  "What about you, Cas?"


    Cas lips flicked in a brief smile. "Well, you were one type of Gen Xer¡­ and I was another. The Smiths, The Cure¡­ Fleetwood Mac, U2 were more to my liking, at least back in the day, but I wouldn''t call them my favorites. Not sure I have a favorite band. These days, I keep exploring new things.  Mostly folk and alternative, I suppose."


    "Thought you were going to tell me you only listened to classical and opera or something," Dean joked. "Okay, so¡­ No favorite band. What about favorite songs? Just a few off the top of your head."


    Castiel looked out his window, squinting against the sun that was starting to hang lower in the sky. "''How Soon Is Now?'', The Smiths, ''Burn'', The Cure, ''The Chain'', Fleetwood Mac¡­ ''Have You Ever Seen the Rain?''¡ª"


    "¡ªThat one''s CCR."


    "Yes, you reminded me of it." Castiel turned back for a moment. "I tend to prefer specific songs versus bands. ''Radio Ga Ga'', by Queen¡­ ''Immortals'', Fall Out Boy. ''Devils and Dust'', Bruce Springsteen¡­''Rocks and Water'', the Madison Cunningham cover version¡­ I enjoy listening to programs that focus on different artists or genres every week."


    Only about half of the songs rang a bell. Dean thought of the way he continuously played certain albums or always tuned to the available rock stations. It seemed completely at odds with Cas''s listening style. "I dunno, I guess I find something I like and stick to it. Don''t you have, like¡­ an anthem, or something?"


    "Do you?"


    "Sure¡­" Dean paused. The conversation suddenly felt more personal than he had intended; Cas was staring at him across the cabin, like he knew it. It had been Dean''s choice of topic, though. Didn''t make sense to back down now. "Like¡­ Zeppelin''s ''Good Times Bad Times'', or ''The Song Remains the Same''."


    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    Cas didn''t show any immediate sign of recognition but nodded. "I suppose right now that song for me would be ''Spirits'', The Strumbellas. If you decided to ask me that same question a month or two from now, the answer would be completely different¡­ an old Seventies glam rock song, or a new Americana release, or perhaps even a random piece of pop."


    Dean grimaced. "Yeah, seems like no matter what you do, pop worms its way in¡­ I would swear I have never listened to Taylor Swift, but then she comes on the radio somewhere, and somehow, I know the damn words¡­"


    "Her ''All Too Well'' is nice¡­"


    Of course Cas would just admit to liking a Taylor Swift song¡­ Dean wondered what it would have been like, to grow up somewhere that produced someone like Castiel Novak. Kansas, for all he loved it, had been a tough mother.


    Soon enough, they were off the interstate and winding south down the narrow roads that would take them to Dean''s place. Cas sat up when Dean slowed and pulled onto the dirt drive, peering out across the rolling hollows. The tiny brown house came into view, with Dean''s gray pickup truck sitting out front.


    "So, this is it¡­" Dean tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, watching Cas''s expression. It was possible his house was smaller than Cas''s apartment, now that he was thinking about it. As they got out and started grabbing the bags, Dean caught movement behind the front window and saw Sam''s face peaking out. He shot him a disapproving look. What the hell are you doing?


    Sam raised his eyebrows, tilted his head toward Cas, pulled an impressed expression. Not bad.


    Dean glared. Bitch.


    Sam sneered back. Jerk. His face disappeared from the window before Cas turned around.


    By the time they came in the front door, he was sitting over on the coach, pretending to be working on his laptop. "Hey, welcome back¡­" He got up, setting the computer aside and ambling over to them. He held out a hand to Cas first. "Castiel, nice to meet you in person finally."


    "Sam, good to meet you." Cas exchanged a handshake with him.


    Dean couldn''t help but watch his face out of the corner of his eye; if he was surprised by Sam''s height, his expression didn''t show it.


    "So, good day?" Sam queried, glancing between them.


    "Yeah, came straight through on the interstate. Took Cas by the Bottoms this afternoon. Sun shining¡­ what else can you ask for?"


    Sam shoved his hands in his pockets, rocked on his heels. "You guys hungry for dinner? I was thinking we could order some takeout from the Deli."


    "Nice. I think there''s a menu in the kitchen drawer somewhere." He turned to Cas, who appeared to be cataloguing the living space. "Come on, we can dump the bags in my room."


    <hr>


    "¡­and then she slapped me." Cas explained.


    Dean laughed even harder, he and Sam both wiping tears from their eyes over the remains of pastrami and reuben sandwiches and fries.


    "I can''t believe your cousin did that," Sam gasped.


    "Yes, well, needless to say, that''s the last time I asked him for advice. Or let him take me to a club." Cas was eyeing the tabletop, looking vaguely traumatized.


    Dean snorted. He could picture the confusion and shock on Cas''s face, even if he hadn''t been there. Given what Cas had told him before, it was highly likely the ''cousin'' was Gabriel Shurley. If so, he had a mean prankster streak. "What an ass¡­"


    Sam raised an eyebrow at him. "Like you wouldn''t have done the same thing to me, if you had half a chance."


    "Hey, ask Cas. I have been a perfect gentleman on this trip. No pranks."


    "Iowa," Cas retorted, impassive.


    Sam rolled his eyes, snorting.


    "Okay, almost no pranks," Dean winced. "Nothing that got anyone slapped, anyway."


    Turning to Cas, Sam observed, "You should have slapped him."


    "I will keep that in mind for next time," Cas promised.


    Dean pulled a displeased pout.


    "Next time?" Sam''s eyebrows went up. "You spent a week on the road with my brother and are already coming back for more? Brave man¡­"


    "Hey, I do this for a living, you know¡ª" Dean protested.


    "It works out well for me." Cas smoothly spoke over him, keeping eye contact with Sam. "I get nervous about traveling, and Dean enjoys driving. So much so that he put it in his publishing contract that he won''t fly to New York."


    Sam''s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. "Is that what he told you?" he asked, a gleam in his eyes.


    "Sam¡­" Dean warned.


    "He can''t fly," Sam continued with far too much glee. "Our Mom took us on a trip to San Antonio, the year I graduated high school? He spent the entire flight with his eyes closed, hyperventilating."


    "I can fly," Dean growled. "I flew out to Alaska a few years ago."


    "Wow, how many fingers of whiskey did that take you?"


    Dean scowled. Once there, he had considered how much money and time it would take to drive back instead; it wasn''t doable, at the time. "Listen, Sammy, I don''t bring up your fear of damn clowns over dinner, do I? So do me a favor and lay off."


    Sam gave him a superior glare, but since Cas was looking at them both a bit wide-eyed, obviously uncomfortable, he sat back and relented.


    "I apologize, I didn''t mean to reignite an old argument," Cas mumbled quietly.


    "Oh, no, Castiel¡­" Sam immediately wiped the last of the sulk off his face, turning sympathetic and waving a hand. "This is very standard sibling behavior."


    Dean grinned, also trying to reassure his friend. "Yep. What''re brothers for if not for bickering with¡­ Lemme clean up these plates." He rose and started collecting the dishes and wrappers. As he leaned over Sam''s shoulder to reach for his stuff, he spoke under his breath, trying not to move his lips, "Bitch."


    "Jerk," Sam likewise muttered, clearing his throat after to cover it.


    <hr>


    After dark, Dean sat with Cas out back in the wooden lounge chairs, sipping at a bottle of beer. Cas had barely touched his; Dean wondered what he typically drank, if anything. Sam had declined to join them. Even if he''d wanted to, it occurred to Dean that he didn''t have enough chairs out here. He hadn''t ever needed more than two.


    "You hear that?" he asked, breaking into the drone of cicadas and crickets, as thick in the air as the summer humidity. In the pause after, a slight breeze rustled the stalks of grass in front of them and, as though on queue, a whip-poor-will yipped, far down the hill where the open woodlands would be. He waited a long moment, he and Cas both remaining motionless and letting the night''s song swirl around them. Then, he tilted his head back, letting the summer constellations fill his view. "This is my little piece of heaven. Whenever I need a break or get stuck on some chapter or life is just too crazy, it''s right here, waiting."


    "You must come out here a lot." Cas''s voice was low and soft, seemed to run through Dean''s chest like a river.


    "Yeah¡­ Sometimes, if I can''t sleep, I''ll just come out here in the middle of the night. Look at the stars. In the winter, without the haze, it''s clear as crystal." He glanced back down and, in the dim light of the crescent moon, found Cas studying the spot where Dean''s hand rested on the arm of his chair. Dean swallowed, fingers tingling as though the weight of Cas''s gaze was tangible. In any other context, he''d know what that look meant. The chairs were close enough that Cas could have reached across, if he''d wanted, but it wasn''t something you could do by accident. As he watched, Cas turned away to stare out into the grass, oblivious to being observed. Dean took a breath and turned away himself, recognizing the swell of disappointment under his ribs.


    When Dean''s beer was gone and the annoyance of hovering mosquitos was starting to overpower the spell of Kansas in the evening, they made their way back to the house. There was a sharp clack as Cas''s shoe hit a rock, and he stumbled.


    "Ope!" Dean grabbed hold of Cas''s shoulder without thinking. Cas all but righted himself on his own, but he was solid and warm under Dean''s palm. As he turned to look up into Dean''s face, it took every ounce of will Dean had to resist the urge to pull him closer, run his other hand along his jaw. "Uh, sorry¡­" Dean gave his shoulder a couple of awkward pats before recalling his hand into a fist at his side. "There''s a floodlight, but I don''t use it unless I really have to."


    That night, Dean gave Cas his room and took the couch. He stared at the ceiling, trying to convince himself that things would be easier after Cas left for New York, that he would be glad to get some space, ignoring the stubborn tightness in the hollow of his throat and his stomach.


    <hr>


    The next morning, Dean kept busy, making a full breakfast¡ªeggs, toast, bacon, sausage, and pancakes¡ªand enjoying listening to Sam and Cas chat at the table. He tried to smile and keep his tone light when he did participate, but there was a somberness underneath that he couldn''t shake. All too soon, it was time to leave for Kansas City, to get Cas to the airport in plenty of time to go through security before his flight home. The drive was an hour through unscenic urban sprawl. Dean struggled to find things to say, settling for playing the radio quietly and responding to Cas''s occasional questions about places along the way.


    Once into the airport complex, he navigated the Impala to the terminal for American Airlines, hopping out to help Cas with his bag. He knew you weren''t supposed to stop long curbside, and he''d never been great with goodbyes, so he just nodded once. "Thanks for the great trip, man. Hope we can do something again next year."


    A bunch of gears in his head locked up completely as Cas abruptly stepped in and wrapped his arms around him. This wasn''t like the side-hugs he generally exchanged with people. Cas was full on leaning in. Dean rested his hands around Cas''s back in return¡ªit would have been rude not to?¡ªand tried to keep his cool. He worried his body might take this as an opportunity to get completely inappropriately turned on, but instead, he felt a warm lightness spread through his chest, causing him to exhale almost reflexively. For a moment, he felt oddly euphoric, the sensation spreading with a tingle he could feel up his spine to the top of his scalp. Then Cas was stepping back and fixing him with a look of concentration.


    "Take care, Dean," he entreated.


    He turned and walked away, disappearing through the sliding doors into the terminal beyond.


    At an annoyed glower from one of the patrolling security officers, Dean stumbled back into the driver''s seat and pulled away, navigating back onto the highway with some difficulty after losing track and looping around another terminal a few times before succeeding in locating the exit ramp. The entire way home, he breathed shallow, as though afraid to disturb the lingering sensation of warm arms wrapped around his chest.


    <hr>


    "So, Cas seems really nice," Sam observed from across the living room.


    Dean had whiled away the afternoon walking the property, unpacking, and doing up the last week of laundry. Now, he was starting to organize his trip photos for full blog posts. He didn''t glance up. "Yeah, he is."


    "...You guys get along okay on the trip?"


    "Yep."


    "...So, did you tell him how you feel?"


    At that, Dean snapped his head up to give his brother a look, narrowing his eyes. "¡­What?"


    Sam raised eyebrows. "Well, you basically brought the guy home to meet me, Dean¡­ I''ve been waiting for you to tell me that you''re together or something."


    "You just happened to be here, Sam," he pointed out.


    "So, you''re saying that if I had been in Topeka, you wouldn''t have driven him out to have dinner in the city?"


    Dean practically heard the sound of tires screeching in his head as he realized that''s exactly what he would have done. He blinked, trying to clear the thought from his mind. "We''re just two buddies who took a road trip."


    "Uh, yeah." Sam''s face dropped into a skeptical frown. "I have eyes, Dean. I see the way you two stare at one another."


    Dean wasn''t sure he could pull off lying about his own attraction, so instead, he insisted, "Cas doesn''t think of me like that. He''s a¡ª" He stopped; he didn''t have the right to disclose Cas''s orientation, even to his brother. "¡ªCas," he finished weakly.


    "Are you sure, Dean? Because I saw just as many looks going the other way¡­"


    "No. I mean, yes. Shut up." Dean frowned back at his laptop, trying to end the speculation. "We''re just friends."


    "Okay, one, I don''t think I''ve ever met any of your occasional hiking buddies in person, and two, I''ve never seen you act like that with any other person. Ever."


    "Act like what?" he grumbled, refusing to look at Sam.


    "Like¡­ normal. Like you." There was a pause. "I think you should consider that maybe there''s some mutual attraction and attachment there."


    Later, having fled outside with a bottle of beer, Dean looked up at the stars, panicking. He''d never had a classic ''Big Gay/Bi Panic''. He was always very aware of what he and his body wanted and did not want, and while he certainly took steps to manage how much that showed on the outside, he never had a moment of surprise or shock about his own sexuality.  But, sitting there in his yard, he was certainly having a Big Something Panic. He''d always thought that he and Sam were cut from the same cloth, that there''d never be any bringing someone home to meet the family, marriage, or apple pie life on the horizon for either of them. But after an hour of trying and failing to come up with any friends (or lays) in the past that he''d felt similarly for, contemplating how much future time he saw himself spending (or at least hoped to spend) with Cas, and purposely picturing domestic scenarios in an effort to disgust himself (it all backfired miserably because they turned out sorta cute or too sexy), Dean had begun to consider that, in the slang the kids on the internet used these days, he had caught feelings.


    What the hell am I supposed to do with that? he asked the expanse of space above him.


    The distance from Kansas to New York had never seemed so far.

 Chapter 14

    Castiel was looking out his bedroom window, thinking about how Dean had called New York City a series of canyons. Getting back into his work routine after over a week on the road bordered on surreal. It was unsettling, the way the daily rhythm of waking early, driving, and hiking clashed with his short commute to work and long hours in the office. It was as though he had been on a different planet, in a different dimension, and now returned back to his own Earth.


    Charlie had made him promise to hang out and tell her about the trip that night. She''d also tried to get Kevin to come, but a new episode of the Generation Why podcast was out, so he had declined the invitation. Castiel didn''t mind; they could catch up later in the week. He finished changing and started over to her building, grateful for the opportunity to walk. Moving along the sidewalks, he was hyper-aware of the dull roar of the city¡ªthe resonating hum of thousands of vehicles running between endless blocks of Manhattan¡ªthe smell of concrete, the sharp punctuations of car horns, brakes, and flapping pigeon wings. It was the soundtrack of his existence, had always been, but after a week of open vistas and soft birdsong, the city felt like an echo chamber. He looked up at the narrow corridor of blue-gray sky. Before, he had known what the sky was only in theory.


    Charlie met him with a smile at her door, proclaiming, "Well met, traveler! Back from the far reaches of yon Mountains of the Rocks¡­"


    "Hi, Charlie. I''d say it''s good to be back, but I''m not so certain yet."


    "Eh, it''s only Monday," she replied with a tilt of her head, stepping back to let him enter the apartment. "Guessing it will take you a while to get back into the swing of things¡­ or are you sad to be leaving Dean?"  She waggled her eyebrows as she closed the door.


    Castiel sighed in exasperation and started walking toward the living room area.


    "Oo, I hit a sore spot, I guess¡­" She stepped in beside him, gently bumping her shoulder against his. "I don''t mean to pry.. Okay, no, I do mean to pry. Spill. You guys still friends, or¡­?"


    "Of course." He paused, not sure how much he wanted to reveal to her. Charlie was one of his best friends, but she also was, for lack of a better term, a meddler. She and Gabriel had that in common. The instant he so much as had a cup of coffee with someone, they both became relentless. The fact that they had discovered his crush on Dean was bad enough; he didn''t want to add fuel to the fire.


    "¡­But not more than friends?"


    Castiel kept his eyes on the far wall. "No."


    "Okay¡­" She sounded anything but convinced, but she didn''t press him further.


    They decided on Thai delivery and got their order sent in, then settled onto the couch, where Castiel began describing stops on their trip. It was more difficult than he thought it would be¡ªthe pictures on his phone seemed tiny, inadequate, and he couldn''t find words large enough. He ended up surrendering his phone to her so she could flip through the photos. She did so with concentrated intensity, occasionally making an impressed noise or showing him one she thought was particularly good.


    "These are incredible¡­"


    Castiel thought of the way he had looked at pictures of the Rockies before last week, believing he was prepared for the reality of them. "It was an exceptional vacation."


    "So¡­ Think you might be up for another trip this year?"


    He raised an eyebrow at her.


    "I''m going to try to hold Dean to going to the Minnesota Renaissance Festival in October. Have a feeling he''d be more likely to go if you were coming too¡­" She fixed him with a hopeful look.


    "How long?"


    "Oh, I dunno, maybe just a long weekend. I have a big LARP week in the spring, so don''t need to go too crazy. We could do one of their theme weekends."


    "I''ll think about it." Privately, Castiel knew he would have trouble resisting an opportunity to spend more time with Dean, but he was beginning to wonder if it was a good idea.


    Charlie paused, examining him. "Okay¡­ You''ve got something going on, just, like¡­ here." She waved a hand over her own face. "I know you don''t like being bugged over and over about stuff, but seriously, I''m here if you want to talk about it."


    Castiel reconsidered. If he was going to talk about the situation with Dean to anyone, it would be Charlie. Gabriel had already made his misgivings clear last year and wouldn''t have anything positive to add, and there really wasn''t anyone else he trusted with that sort of personal information. He tried to decide where to start. "¡­I hugged him."


    Charlie''s eyes grew wide. "Whoa, even I don''t get to hug you that often. Did he just, like, spring it on you, and you felt like you couldn''t say ''no'' without making it weird¡­? Although I''m kinda surprised Dean went in for a hug; he didn''t really seem like a hugger."


    "No, I hugged him," Castiel corrected, "and he was the surprised one."


    "Oh." Charlie gave him a confused look, then gazed up at the ceiling, processing. "Okay¡­ so, what, you''re feeling awkward about it? If he was weirded out, he''s already over it, I''m sure. You''re probably worrying for nothing." She waved a hand, dismissing it.


    Castiel took a breath before trying again to help Charlie to understand. "No, it''s not that it was awkward¡­ although I suppose it might have been for him, if he is indeed not a hugger. No, it''s more that¡­ I hugged him because I wanted to touch him. I have been wanting to, since June, and that is¡­ very strange for me."


    "Oh. So you''ve been wanting to touch him in, like¡­ a romantic way?"


    He nodded. "Exactly."


    "So¡­" Charlie''s face jumped from thoughtful, to approving, to confused again. "¡­What''s the deal? Why are you stewing over it?"


    "I¡ªI purposely did it in the context of saying goodbye at the airport so it wouldn''t be construed as what it was. It felt¡ªfeels¡­ deceptive. I suppose I had hoped that I would hug him and, I don''t know, be satisfied with it? Stop thinking about it? But instead it feels as though I''ve fallen further down the path of unrequited attraction."


    The sympathetic look that she had adopted dropped abruptly from her face. "Uh¡­ hold up, Novak. I saw Dean and you together back in June. That attraction is very requited."


    Castiel shook his head. "Even if that were true¡ª"


    "¡ªWhich it is.¡ª"


    "¡ªthere are too many factors that would make it a bad idea, Charlie."


    "Oh, come on¡ª"


    "For starters, there''s the problem of him being bisexual and me being asexual. Even if we somehow managed to negotiate something that worked for both of us, which in my experience has proved highly unlikely, there''s the fact that he lives in Kansas. And I could never ask him to move to a city¡ªhe wouldn''t be happy here¡ªand I, well, there''s the company, and¡ª"


    "¡ªCastiel."


    Charlie''s use of his given name stopped the anxieties spilling over his lips. She always pronounced it as his own family did, with a slight, extra emphasis on the ''-el''.


    She gave him a look of understanding. "I get it. Relationships are scary, and not just for aces. But even if you''re the same orientation, live in the same city, check all the boxes on the imaginary list¡­ things still don''t just magically work out. Sometimes, you have to take chances."


    Castiel frowned, looked down at the soft pink fabric of the couch cushions. Charlie didn''t know all the details of his past relationships¡ªthey were before her time¡ªbut in a few instances, when younger, he''d found himself pressured to do things he wasn''t completely comfortable with in the name of maintaining a relationship. Gabriel at least suspected some of that, which was perhaps why he had felt it necessary to warn Castiel off Dean¡­ Castiel was older and more sure of himself now. He didn''t want to end up in that sort of situation again. But he liked Dean, and the more that attraction grew, the more it seemed as though it could make him susceptible to repeating those mistakes.


    "Just think about it, okay? I feel like you and Dean really get one another, and that sort of thing doesn''t come along all that often¡­" Charlie gave a shrug. "Like, look at me. Utterly fabulous, and yet, utterly single." She sighed and dramatically looked into the distance.


    "I thought your plan was to remain the lovable rogue with a woman in every village," he reminded her, quoting from a speech she had given him in a previous conversation about dating.


    "Yeah, well¡­ It might be nice to have a special lady someday, somewhere¡­" Her gaze turned tender for a moment, then she blinked and raised her eyebrows. "Oh no." She shook her head. "Is this what getting old feels like?"


    Castiel stared at her stoically. "Charlie, may I remind you that you are over a decade the younger. There is no sympathy for you here."


    "Yeah, well, you were born old, Novak. Just, like, popped out in a suit and trench coat like Boss Baby and started analyzing Steinbeck novels. Some of us are forced to grow into it."


    Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    <hr>


    Weeks passed, and while the daily sensation of wrongness about his schedule eventually faded, the city continued feeling smaller than he remembered, its streets narrower, the walls closer. He never used to dream often, but multiple times, he found himself waking from a vision of looking out across a snow capped mountain range or staring up at a blue dome of sky.


    His mind fixed on Dean repeatedly without being any closer to resolution. He thought about the car radio turned down low for an entire week, the way he would often turn from the landscape to find Dean watching his face, the moments on Windlass Hill and in Dean''s own backyard where their eye contact had stretched and Castiel felt certain they were on the cusp of something.  He knew that Charlie was correct; the term ''unrequited'' did not apply to his situation. Why else would he have so carefully planned the hug in that last moment? It was easier to pretend this all was one sided because it was easier to ignore his own feelings than it was to push aside Dean''s without consideration.


    Unfortunately, all that reflection revealed another deception he had perpetrated. When Dean asked him to accept that he might never be ready to discuss certain events in his past, Castiel had agreed¡­ but it was a lie. Castiel spent every day of his life refining raw manuscripts into completed stories, seeing patterns in chaos and matching like pieces together until a final image was revealed. It wasn''t a job selected by chance. Since he had received his first detention at age eleven for skipping class to solve a puzzle cube, it had been clear that the one thing he was unable to do was to leave a mystery unsolved. He thought he could back off, try to respect Dean''s boundaries¡­ but true acceptance was likely impossible. There would always be a part of him collecting data, trying to complete the picture. He wasn''t certain if that was problematic.


    Whenever he and Dean spoke on the phone, all his reservations seemed to sail out the window. Castiel called Dean the evening North Aspect''s glorious ten-week run on the bestseller''s list ended, congratulating him on the accomplishment. He ended up listening to Dean cook dinner for himself and Sam, allowing the other man to narrate the mundane details of chopping and seasoning as though it were a radio cooking show.


    They chatted off and on about how Dean''s fall season was shaping up. A few pre-registrations for his youth gun safety course in August were cancelled. Even though officially no one complained, Dean was certain it was due to public knowledge of his sexual orientation. Castiel felt helpless. He ended up quoting statistics from a recent Human Rights Campaign publication that named Lawrence as the most LGBTQ-inclusive city in Kansas¡ªand Olathe, where Dean had chosen to live, as one of the least. Whether it came off as encouraging or discouraging was anyone''s guess.


    When the time for the course came, Dean called that evening with an update that his class included a nonbinary student named Remy. "They said their mom didn''t even want to let them sign up until they showed her my video from last fall," he explained. "Guess she was worried about them having a bad experience¡­"


    Castiel didn''t need Dean to explain how much hearing that meant to him, how much it went toward healing some of the other wounds. "Good things do happen, Dean."


    "...Yeah, they do," Dean replied, voice gruffer than usual.


    The rhythm of their conversations shifted a week later, becoming more halting, with significant pauses littering Dean''s side of it. Castiel finally worked up the courage to make another foray into Dean''s personal life.


    "Dean, you seem¡­" Without the benefit of being able to check Dean''s eyes, he was probing blindly. He took a breath, readying himself for Dean to lock up again, or maybe even hang up on him. "Is something the matter?"


    The silence went on for a beat longer than Castiel could stand before Dean rasped, "¡­Sam''s found a place in Kansas City. We''re moving his stuff out there in a couple of weeks."


    Castiel selfishly felt grateful that it wasn''t a problem between the two of them before it registered that Sam moving out meant Dean would find himself living alone again.


    "I mean, it isn''t like I didn''t live plenty by myself before last year," Dean blurted, pushing words into the space where Castiel should have replied, echoing Castiel''s track of thought. "I just¡ª" He stopped, leaving dead air on the line.


    "I understand," Castiel insisted, letting Dean know that he need not explain further. Castiel knew the ache of emptiness where there used to be presence, of silence where there was once conversation. In fact, he found himself thinking quite often about how contained and quiet his life must have been before there were texts and phone calls from an author in Kansas to fill his days. Words to comfort Dean weren''t coming to mind; his arms had impulses that were completely impractical given their locations. Hearing that now familiar voice reaching out for connection from states away¡­ it made Castiel want to hop on the next train west. "Maybe I could come visit this winter."


    Dean let out a bark of laughter. "Kansas in the winter ain''t for the faint of heart, Cas. I''ll manage until spring."


    It was, Castiel thought, false bravado. "I don''t know, it might be good for me to start building up a tolerance¡­"


    Dean''s slightly flustered reply made Castiel smile, and he was glad Dean could not see his face as he continued to expand logically upon the scenarios where cold tolerance would be beneficial.


    <hr>


    "...Charlie''s got this new hashtag, ''out in the parks''. Out, like, you know¡­ out."


    Castiel could picture the exact wave of the hand Dean was giving as he spoke. There was noise in the background as Dean walked around what Castiel assumed was his house. The amount and type of motion Dean was in was often a better barometer of his mood than anything. Today, it all told Castiel that Dean was trying to keep himself busy. Given that Sam had moved out that past weekend, it wasn''t surprising.


    "Anyway, I guess there''s some big stuff going on with New York City organizations next year and National Park Service and Stonewall National Monument¡­ She''s trying to see if she can get them to pick up the hashtag too. But she says October and National Coming Out Day would be a good time to start using it."


    "Ah, yes, she was going on about the LGBTQ Heritage Initiative last week¡­ You know, Little Bighorn in Montana is on their list."


    "What, seriously?"


    "Yes, as part of teaching the history of Indigenous Two Spirit people."


    "Huh¡­ Will have to keep an eye on the weather, see if I can get up there. Might be covered in snow by then. Maybe I should see what else is out in this stretch of the country. Is there, like, a website I could go to¡­?"


    "I will send you the link." He listened as Dean spent a few more minutes talking about his plans for the fall. His guide season wouldn''t really wind down until late November. "Did Charlie ask you about Minnesota¡­?" he asked, when there was a convenient break.


    "Yeah¡­ I mean, technically, I don''t have anything booked yet that weekend. Crane migration doesn''t really kick in until later in the month. ¡­Do you think you''ll go?"


    "Yes, although I am still attempting to convince Kevin. I don''t suppose you could convince Sam to come?" Castiel grimaced; he hadn''t meant to remind Dean about Sam. It had just occurred to him that Kevin and Sam seemed to get along fairly well and might enjoy meeting.


    Dean snorted. "Better chance of getting the Pope there." The motion in the background paused. "Sure is quiet around here with him off to Kansas City. But it''s for the best. I mean, can''t expect the kid to keep commuting forever and living with his older brother, right? Sam''s a city slicker at heart."


    "I used to think I was as well¡­" Castiel sighed. "I always knew the city was loud, but it seems so much less tolerable now that I''ve experienced the alternative. The Great Plains have ruined me."


    "Well, let''s see if I can turn you back to the Dark Side¡­ Sam''s top bitch list about country living¡­ Local food options are good Americana, not-bad barbecue, okay Chinese, okay Mexican, or okay Thai. All the shopping is at least a half hour away. The internet outages are real, like weeks possibly if there are a lot of lines down. Farmboys think it''s funny to beep at him when he''s jogging¡­ I told him the country boys here just never seen a running moose before, but he didn''t seem to think that was a good reason¡­" Dean started laughing to himself, and his voice muffled slightly.


    Castiel remembered how he had looked that evening when they ate dinner at his house, mirthful to the point of tears. "¡­If the Thai food is only ''okay'', I suppose that could be problematic. Although for all I know, the Thai food here is the same level of ''okay''. Who in the United States really knows what Thai cuisine is supposed to taste like?"


    Dean began laughing harder. "Only you, Cas¡­ Only you could turn takeout into a critical thinking exercise."


    "I turn everything into a critical thinking exercise," he quipped. Charlie would have said it was funny because it was true. He''d never been certain if it was a skill or a curse.


    "You and me both, buddy¡­ Except food. For some reason, I am exempt on that count."


    "How nice for you." Castiel feigned annoyance, making Dean snort again. Dean did love food¡­ and cooking. Castiel had listened to him cook dinner so many times that he felt he was owed a meal. He almost told Dean that, pushed just that bit past his comfort zone, closer to the territory of flirting¡­ but suddenly, the fact that Sam had just moved out and Dean was probably feeling lonely made it seem too contrived, as though he might be taking advantage of a moment of vulnerability. Instead, he cleared his throat and solemnly said, "Dean, if you need anything¡­ or just want to hear another voice, please call. Any time. And I mean that."


    There wasn''t any segue, and it took Dean a moment to rein in his laughter. "Yeah¡­ okay. Thanks, Cas."


    After they closed the line, Castiel spent an inordinate amount of time thinking about the moment Dean had been sitting on his couch in flannel pajamas, then tried to reverse the situation by placing himself in Dean''s small living room. He didn''t own any flannel pajamas. If he was seriously considering visiting Kansas in the winter, maybe he should order a few sets. Never mind that he hadn''t actually gotten Dean to agree to a visit yet; he was certain the issue would come up again eventually.


    <hr>


    When communication stopped, it did so abruptly. Castiel had caught a horrendous cold, which he was nursing with green tea and hot-and-sour soup on his couch, so it took him a few days to realize that he still hadn''t received any reply to a text he sent asking if Dean had heard about the new release, An Excess Male. On day three, Castiel left a voicemail, just to touch base. By day four, when he discovered neither Charlie or Kevin had heard from Dean either, Castiel''s concern spiked up into true anxiety. That night, when his phone rang with a strange number, it took him a moment to answer, fingers shaking.


    "Hello?"


    "Hello, Castiel? This is Sam. Winchester."


    "Sam." Castiel felt as though he couldn''t breathe; the reasons Sam Winchester might call him instead of Dean all were terrible.


    "Hey. I just wanted to let you know that Dean went off to Glacier National Park for a bit, which is why you haven''t heard from him. Cell coverage is really spotty up there."


    Castiel gasped, and it turned into a brief coughing fit. "Thank you," he wheezed after it had passed. "I was beginning to worry."


    "Yeah, Kevin sent me a text today asking if he''d been in touch."


    Castiel tried again to clear his throat, having more questions than answers. "He never said he was going to be traveling."


    "I got a text three days ago telling me he was going to Glacier and would be out of touch.  And that''s it. I left him a few texts and a pretty annoyed voicemail today, but I haven''t heard back. He must be up on the trails." There was a beat of silence before Sam continued. "¡­He does this sometimes. Our mom calls it ''pulling a wayward son'' because, you know, the song¡­"


    Castiel could only vaguely place the song; he''d have to look it up. "¡­Goes to Glacier on short notice?" he asked Sam.


    "Uh¡­ Not just Glacier, just¡­ Listen, Dean¡­ isn''t the best at talking things out. So, something happens, like, something with emotions, and he just¡­ gets himself some space. Literally."


    Something with emotions? "Nothing seemed amiss when I spoke to him earlier in the week."


    "Oh. Well, that''s good¡­ I was worried that something had happened¡­ between the two of you."


    "N¡ªno. I don''t know what it could be." Castiel''s throat felt scratchy, and he turned his head to let out a few more coughs.


    Sam sighed. "Okay, well¡­ Try not to worry too much. He''s an experienced hiker, and I''m sure he at least told the park rangers his plans¡­ He''ll be back in touch when he figures out whatever he''s dealing with."


    "Thank you for calling, Sam."


    "No problem. You take care¡­ That cold sounds terrible."


    Castiel lay on the couch after ending the call, trying to guess what could have happened that would have caused Dean to drop everything, including at least one guide job Castiel knew he had booked for the week. He couldn''t come up with anything. Whatever it was, it floated in the blank space that was populated with all the other things Dean couldn''t tell him.

 Chapter 15

    It was sheer luck that the weather that year had left the roads open into early October, allowing Dean to access the trailhead needed to hike the higher alpine trails in Glacier National Park. A hike for the experienced at any time of year, this late, basically past season, it was something few attempted, between the cold, unpredictable fall weather, the removal of the guidelines and bridges of summer, and the increased bear activity before hibernation. He''d sent an email to the park office to check in and detail his itinerary, then skimmed the list of cautions sent back, fully intended to discourage him.


    The past few days had suited Dean''s mood just fine. The first day, the landscape had been covered in fog, and it spit cold rain the entire time. Overnight, icy winds froze it all into a glimmering coating that made him give every step his attention until temperatures rose enough for it to melt again. As he hiked higher, the backdrop of green grass fading into burnt reds and yellows was increasingly dominated by gray rock, until he was winding his way along a narrow, worn path on the steep mountainsides. Flakes of snow occasionally appeared as the temperature dropped that second night, swirling and floating away, never seeming to touch the ground. By the third day, it was obvious they were in a cold snap, and he was wearing every layer he''d packed, hands and feet still starting to numb up if he paused too long. Dean wasn''t worried; he knew how to handle cold-weather backpacking.


    The events that had sent him all but bolting from Kansas constantly whirled through his head. It had been chance, really, scrolling down Facebook, seeing that tagged post, following the conversation to a recent obituary. Dean felt like he was spinning and spinning, unable to find something to hold onto, incapable of feeling anything other than his own regret and guilt. Logic tried to tell him that it wasn''t his fault, that he had done the best he could at the time, but he couldn''t help feeling as though, if he had done things differently, it could have been avoided. A life could have been saved.


    He was having another good session of beating himself up and berating himself for being so damned selfish, something he never should have been doing on the section of trail he was on. There would have been a guide cable running along the rockface during peak season, but there was nothing within reach when he misstepped and his boot slid out on loose scree. Totally unprepared for the shift, he was caught with his back foot lifting off the ground and went down hard, landing on his hip and hearing his teeth crunch on the side of his mouth as his cheek bounced off a rock in a way that was going to hurt like hell when he had time to think about it. But his body was still sliding, and pulling up his head, his heart pounded to life as he realized there was a rapidly approaching edge with nothing to see behind it but open air and the far off valley. He flipped and starfished, digging in elbows and hands, heels and thighs, ignoring the sharp jabs of pain as jagged edges pressed into him through layers of clothing. His slide slowed, then finally stopped as his boot soles caught enough of the surface to create some resistance.


    Dean lay there, breathing hard, heartbeat hammering in his ears. As the roar of the adrenaline rush subsided, he dared to lift his head and survey the situation. There was about four or five feet between him and the edge below. He could see areas where the rock debris was shallower or absent to either side, but he took a few long minutes to breathe and plot out a safe course back up to the trail before he started moving. He rolled over and crawled up on his belly, rather than getting to his feet, keeping his weight spread out until he was well away from the drop off. Sore spots and pricks of pain told him he probably had a few good bruises and scrapes going under his clothes, but nothing seemed twisted or broken. The worst pain point was where he had bitten the inside of his cheek. A swipe across the side of his face brought a smear of blood away on his glove; he must have split it on the rocks.


    He sat on the trail for a while, having some water, trying to let the shaky feeling in his legs fade. Eventually, his feet and butt started going numb from the cold though, so he forced himself back up and began moving again, a bit more slowly. His hip and knee ached on the one side, but it was workable. He wasn''t going to get stranded up here.


    You''re an idiot, he told himself. It suddenly seemed like an incredibly bad idea, tackling this trail when his head wasn''t on straight. Unfortunately, there wasn''t anything to do but complete the loop at this point; it was farther to turn back than continue. He''d stick to his plan and finish out the next day. He wasn''t sure what came after.


    <hr>


    Reliable cell service didn''t make an appearance for another day and a half. Dean checked his messages at a rest area a short way outside the park, and his eyebrows rose higher and higher as he listened to the last voicemail message from Sam. In the silence after it ended, a good, solid F-bomb ringing in his ears, Dean stared out Baby''s front window, not really seeing the road beyond.


    Shit. Cas.


    It wasn''t that Dean hadn''t thought of letting him know¡ªin fact, Cas was the next person to come to mind after Sam. But, at the time, everything had been choking him, threatening to spill out of him the way it had wanted to back in Estes Park, when Cas had asked him about his father. He had, for an instant back then, looked into those earnest eyes and wanted tell him everything. And he was afraid that if he called or even texted, and Cas asked him what was wrong¡­ He hadn''t trusted himself to keep it locked up. So he just shut off his phone and headed out, convinced that maybe nobody would notice a tiny blip in conversation, just assume he got busy. In the past, it would have been easy; sometimes, people didn''t hear from him for weeks, and that was totally normal. But things weren''t like that now, especially not with Cas, and Dean, if he had been thinking more clearly, would have known that he''d worry.


    There was no escaping it; he''d have to call him. But it would hold until he was off the road, he reasoned. The damage was already done. He kept driving until he got far enough back onto the main roads that he could find a reasonable motel that wasn''t closed for the season. Dean took his time after he checked in, stripping, showering, and doctoring up his various injuries. An ugly-looking purple and red bruise had developed across his cheek, centering on a split that he closed up with a few steri-strips. His right side was similarly decorated, especially the top of his hip. The knee on that one side was too warm to touch and swollen. He''d have to ice it all later. The rest was superficial, although it certainly stung and oozed at points.


    When he had himself situated, he made some decisions about what he was going to say to Cas. He felt calmer now, if not really better about anything, and more equipped to face him without having his will just dissolve. A time check showed him that, at least in New York, the work day was finished by a few hours. Dean blew out a breath from between his lips slowly, then hit the button to call.


    Cas''s voice sounded gravelly as hell, almost garbled. "Dean, are you all right?"


    Dean checked the time again in confusion, making sure he hadn''t messed up the calculation and caught Cas in bed. "Hi, Cas. I''m okay. Sorry I didn''t let you know I was going to be out of touch for a few days."


    "We were worried, Dean." There was a rasp of drawn breath over the line following the accusation.


    "Yeah¡­ Yeah, Sam left a message. He was pretty mad I didn''t let you guys know." That was a vast understatement; Sam had sounded angrier than Dean had heard him in a long time. "Guess I''m too used to dropping things and going where I want half the time. I didn''t even think about it." Liar, his brain helpfully added.


    "Sam said¡­ well, he thought something might be wrong. Did something happen?"


    Dean swallowed. "I¡ªuh, let''s just put that on the can''t list for now." He blinked and cleared his throat, taking a breath. "I, um, almost got myself killed up here, so I figured that was probably a good point to wrap up and head home." There, that should send the conversation off in another direction.


    "What?!" There was a gasp and a series of heavy, wet coughs that went on for several seconds, after which Cas could be heard breathing hard.


    "Jesus, are you all right?" Dean felt a wave of alarm.


    "Yes, I just have a cold," Cas growled, recovering. "What do you mean, you almost got yourself killed?"


    "I, uh, took a fall on the trail, almost slid my ass right off a cliff."


    Cas responded in a whisper. "How close was it?" There was an edge to it; Dean couldn''t decide if it was anger or horror.


    Dean thought about lying, but the impulse to tell the truth won out. If he wasn''t going to be truthful about some other things going on, he should at least give this much. "Oh, about five feet¡­" His voice wobbled a bit on the last part, outside his control, and Dean blinked in confusion.


    There was silence. Dean''s eyes started to burn, and the next instant, he was shocked to realize tears were sliding down his cheeks. One ran across the cut on the right side, making it sting. He felt incredibly grateful that Cas couldn''t see his face, even as he simultaneously wished they were in the same room.


    "I''m so glad you''re all right."


    The simple statement, Cas''s deep voice colored rough by his cold, was probably the tenderest thing Dean had heard in years. The tears ran faster, and he concentrated on keeping his breathing steady. Jesus christ, I''m a mess. This was a mistake. But even as he thought it, it didn''t really ring true. A bigger part of him wanted that reassurance on the end of the line than wanted to crawl away and hide. "I''m sorry, Cas," Dean muttered. He didn''t have the composure to continue; he just hoped Cas would know he meant it about a lot of different things.


    "I¡ªJust remember that I''m here, Dean. Even if you feel you can''t talk about what is bothering you. I''m here." There was another round of coughing, muffled as though Cas were trying to smother the sound.


    "Yeah. I''m here too, Cas." Dean wiped at his face and nose, trying to get a grip. "That cold sounds like a hell of a bad one. Wish I could send you some soup or something¡­"


    "Well, it can''t last forever. Cold medication and bed rest are on the agenda."


    "All right. You take care and rest up. I''ll call you again tomorrow."


    Dean didn''t have the energy to move after hanging up. The room felt cold, and the idea of icing his side now seemed completely unappealing, although he was sure he was going to pay for skipping it tomorrow morning. He made a text group consisting of Sam, Cas, Charlie, and Kevin, and sent a single message, a combined apology and notice that he was back in touch. The inevitable storm of sarcastic responses followed almost immediately.


    Kevin - 17:20


    Well, I didn''t see any stories about a hiker getting eaten by a bear in Montana, so I figured you were ok.


    Charlie - 17:22


    Who is this¡­?


    Sam - 17:25


    ¡­ So you DO know how to send a group message. I am stunned.


    17:26


    Bear wasn''t hungry??


    Dean Winchester, friend and/or jerk


    and/or fucking idiot


    Charlie - 17:27


    And/or self-absorbed ass


    Sam - 17:27


    And/or bitch AND (not or) jerk


    Kevin - 17:27


    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.And/or meat popsicle


    Cas - 17:29


    Welcome back. It''s good to hear from you again. I will take this as proof that you did not, in fact, lose your fingers to frostbite.


    17:30


    Youre supposed to be resting


    Dean looked at the messages, struck suddenly by the feeling of having them all gathered around him. It pushed back the emptiness of the motel room, made the things gnawing at him feel less like a tidal wave. Whether he deserved them or not, these were his friends, and they were there.


    <hr>


    Dean went home, rescheduled the tour he had cancelled, and generally forced himself to get back to normal. He couldn''t change anything that had happened; all he could do was keep moving forward.


    Some hours were easier than others. He tried not to lean on Cas as much as he seemed to want to. The man was still trying to shake the aftereffects of his cold. The past few days, most of their conversations had been via text messages; too much talking aggravated Cas''s cough and left him winded. Dean missed the sound of his voice.


    Wednesday found him on his way to Kansas City to meet up with Sam. He wasn''t really sure if he still owed his brother an apology¡ªhis brother''s voice over the phone had that bland, forced nonchalance that could be masking just about anything¡ªbut one look at Sam''s face when he got there would settle that.


    Sam''s new place was inside a rather stately old building in the residential sprawl on the Kansas side of the Kansas River. It had been a school at some point in its past. Now, they had converted it into cheap apartments. Things were brown and gray this time of year, looking all the more rundown without the benefit of green grass and leaves, but the place was affordable without being unlivable. On a good day, without traffic, the apartment was a ten-minute drive from the Bureau, although Sam had refused Dean''s offer of the truck in favor of a half-hour ride on public transit.


    He pulled up to the curb and waited for Sam to lower himself into the Impala''s passenger seat. "Hey," he greeted.


    "Hey." Sam looked over at him. His mouth was purposefully slack, eyebrows slightly raised in that way he did when he was making an effort not to glare, but it turned to shock a moment later. "What the heck happened to your face?"


    Yep, Dean needed to work in an apology at some point that evening. "Uh¡­" The cut was still healing, and the bruise across his cheekbone had added mottled green and yellow to the mix at this point. "I took a header up in Glacier. Nothing too serious, but I get to look like the idiot I am for a few weeks¡­"


    He negotiated with his brother over food, trying to push Sam to pick some vegan or sushi place, but Sam was determined that they were going to do barbecue. Uh oh. When Sam wanted to do ''Dean food'', that usually meant he was in for some heartfelt conversation.


    When they''d picked a spot, found street parking, and were seated with a couple beers, Dean glanced around, taking in the glossy wood and sedate crowd. "How you liking your new place?" he asked, trying to get the small talk rolling.


    "It''s nice." Sam scratched at the side of his nose and looked over at the bar. "Good being able to go out after work and check out events without worrying about the drive back later. People in the building are pretty quiet¡ªhaven''t met too many of them yet." His eyes bounced to Dean''s face and then to the tabletop. "¡­How are things going for you?"


    "Ehh, pretty good." Dean shrugged. "Getting into the next wave of bird tours, going to be busy through end of November at the rate things are going."


    Sam nodded; his lips pursed before twitching flat again.


    Dean sighed and picked up his glass for a few gulps of beer. When he''d set it back down and wiped his mouth, he focused across the table. "Okay, I''ll start.  I''m sorry for bugging out and leaving you to do damage control. It was a shitty thing to do. None of you deserved it. I just¡­ wasn''t thinking."


    Sam''s head had come up, and his eyebrows couldn''t seem to decide whether to be confused, surprised, or suspicious. "Dean¡­" He shook his head. "I dunno, these past few years, I think I''ve heard you make more apologies than you did the first three-plus decades of our entire lives. Something''s changed."


    "All part of my ''be a less shitty person'' effort¡­"


    Sam made a wobbly smile. "Not saying you don''t have stuff to work on, but you were never a ''shitty person'', Dean."


    Dean looked away, focusing on the rows of bottles over the bartender''s head. "Yeah, well, you wouldn''t know that given some of the shit I''ve pulled on you¡­"


    "Maybe I should be the one apologizing," Sam muttered. "You know, I moved out, concentrating on this image of how I wanted my life to be, and I never really considered how it might affect you¡­" He cleared his throat. "¡­I didn''t really think whether it might be hard for you, this time of year, uh, being alone¡­"


    Dean saw where Sam was going, heard the guilt underneath. "No, Sammy. That whole Glacier thing¡ªit wasn''t you leaving."


    "Then what was it, Dean? You can talk to me. Did someone give you trouble in town¡­?"


    His lips jerked into a frown. There had been a few things he didn''t mention to anyone this past year. Like the way a few of the cashiers at the grocery store now fixed him with cold stares when they had previously laughed and smiled at his easy charm. And the way Ed had none-too-gently told him to find another place to work on the Impala¡ªDean had kept a friendly acquaintance with the guy for years and used his lifts to do oil changes and tire rotations. There was no explanation given for the overnight change of heart. When Dean had come out, he had visions of men yelling slurs at him in bars and angry Christians with signs. The reality was more sinister¡ªan unmistakable hardness with no clearly stated purpose.


    "No, nothing like that," he told Sam. "I¡­ I don''t really want to talk about it, honestly." He held up a hand when Sam made to protest. "I get it, Sam. You''re there for me. I just¡­ don''t feel comfortable with it." He put his hand down on the table and fixed his brother with a look of resolve. He could do this. It was setting boundaries, right?


    "Have you¡­ considered a therapist, maybe?"


    Dean examined Sam''s face, but it wasn''t meant as a joke. His brother looked concerned, with a slight wariness, as though worried the suggestion might trigger an outburst. "Not really¡­" Dean grumbled. "Just trying to work through it on my own for now."


    "Running off into the wilderness isn''t really a solution, Dean." A bit of anger crept into Sam''s voice.


    "Sam¡ª" Dean paused, recognizing the surge of defensive ire before it grabbed the reins from him. He took a breath, going over the motion of setting up a shot and pulling the trigger in his head to give himself something else to concentrate on. Calmer, he continued. "I''ve worked through a lot in my life out on the trail. Don''t underestimate the power of nature to heal what''s ailing you." Or to smack you over the head with a life-threatening situation when you''re wallowing too much¡­


    Sam''s mouth pinched into a flat line. "All right¡­ as long as you know you have options. You don''t always have to do everything on your own." He took a swig of his beer and stared at his hands for a moment. "Anyway¡­ thanks for the apology, but the person you really need to apologize to is Castiel."


    "Already did," Dean replied, glad to be able to slap down that bit of sanctimony at least. "Called him before I even sent out that text."


    Sam let out a breathy laugh. "Geez, he got an actual phone call, and I got relegated to the group text. Guess I know where I stand now¡­"


    "Oh, please," Dean scoffed. "You think I was going to give you a call after that voicemail you left? Figured I''d give you some time to cool off."


    Sam winced, then smiled. "At the time, I was so sure you''d had some emotional freak out about Castiel and made a run for it¡­ I''m glad that wasn''t it. I know I haven''t said it yet¡­ but I''m happy for you. Happy that you found someone."


    "Hey, not like we''re dating or anything, Sam." Dean fiddled with one of the extra coasters, frowning. "Like I said, he doesn''t see me like that."


    "Fine, whatever you want to call it, however you want to describe it¡­ He''s your person. Like on Gray''s Anatomy."


    Dean glanced up, surprised before he remembered that Sam had caught him watching the show at least a couple different times while they were living together. Cas being his person¡­ that felt right. And he was pretty sure he was one of Cas''s, even if they''d never be anything else to one another. "What about you?" he asked Sam.


    "Well, I''m your brother¡­ and one of your other people, I guess."


    "No, Sam, I meant¡­ you ever feel like you''re missing something?"


    Sam made a face of disgust. "Oh god, don''t start that. I get enough harassment from Mom."


    "Hey, I''m serious. I¡­ want you to be happy."


    "So, what, I can''t be happy without my ''one true love''?" Sam rolled his eyes. "I''ll pass, thanks."


    "I know we''re not ''apple pie life'' kinda guys, Sam, and your ''one true love'' is your job¡­ I just don''t want you to throw yourself into work so hard that you feel like you missed out later on."


    Sam tilted his head, and for a moment, Dean got the feeling the roles had flipped around, and suddenly Sam was the one making decisions about what to tell his prying brother. "Everyone doesn''t need apple pie, Dean. Some people like pumpkin pie, or pecan pie, or cake, or¡­" he trailed off, raising his eyebrows.


    Dean snorted, then rubbed a hand across the side of his face that wasn''t currently sporting an injury. "You know, outta the two of us at this table, you woulda thought I would be the one making a pie analogy¡­"


    "What I''m trying to say is¡­" Sam paused, and Dean swore he saw a suppressed shake of the head. "¡­I will happily pass on the apple pie."


    "All right, all right¡­" Dean waved a hand, not wanting to beat the topic to death. He sipped his beer again. "Just take a vacation or something once in a while. Please. The job don''t love you back."


    Sam looked amused. "For your information, I am taking a vacation next year. To Nashville."


    "¡­You suddenly develop a love of country music I should know about? What''s in Nashville?"


    "CrimeCon." Sam grinned.


    "CrimeC¡ª" Dean stopped. "Wait, the Kevin thing? He actually got you to agree to go?! Son of a¡ªYou just cost me twenty bucks!"


    Sam laughed vindictively, then finished off his drink in a long pull.


    Dean shook his head. "Whatever. Whatever! I don''t care if it''s jogging or museums for the blind or wacko conventions.  Just get out of the office."


    "You want to come?" Sam''s smile was teasing. "Not too late to book an extra room¡­"


    "Nooo thank you. I get thinking too much about all the crazies out there, stalking women and stuff, I start itching to take my gun on the road for some very illegal hunting, if you catch my drift¡­"


    "Like Dexter?"


    Dean glared, causing Sam to laugh again and tap his empty glass lightly on its coaster.


    They ate and had a second round, and by the time Dean dropped Sam back at his apartment and headed home, he felt more settled, as though some part of him that had been dragging and throwing sparks had snapped back onto its tracks. Dean watched the first stars emerge after the sunset, letting them guide him down the highway and back home.


    <hr>


    The next night, Dean was sitting on the coach, fiddling with some passages in his new story. He''d let the initial draft sit a few months, and first look after that was proving horrifying. His fantasies of being able to send it off to Benny this year had been replaced by hoping to at least get the plot in working order before year end.


    His phone rang, and Dean''s eyes jumped between Charlie''s name and the timestamp, 23:26, before he picked up.


    "Charlie?"


    "Dean! Hey! Uh, so, don''t panic. I''m calling because I thought you should know, and Castiel can''t¡ªum, can''t call, not can''t know. Because, obviously, he knows. I mean, I think he does¡ª" Her voice was tight, warbling, and she was going at least twice her normal speed, which was virtually supersonic.


    "Charlie, whoa, slow down. Take a breath."


    She huffed audibly over the line. Is that Lamaze breathing? "Okay, let''s try this again. Dean, don''t panic, but Castiel is in the hospital."


    Dean''s lungs seized up, and it took a second for him to figure out how to suck in enough air to demand, "What?"


    "He texted me, like, a few hours ago because it was getting hard for him to breathe. He was, like, trying to say maybe I could walk with him there, which was ridiculous because his lips were, like, basically blue, and he could barely talk. I think he was delirious?" Her voice spiked up into a squeak at the end, and Dean heard the gasp of a repressed sob before she went on. "So, I called 9-1-1 and made them send an ambulance¡­"


    Dean took a breath, then another, then another, trying to absorb it all as she kept rambling, talking about everything they had done in the emergency room.


    "...and the dilator stuff helped, but they said they needed to admit him to the ICU. Gabriel is here now, and they are going to run some tests to see if the meds are the right thing. We won''t know anything else until they get the results back."


    Charlie finally paused, and Dean swallowed. "Charlie, I¡ªthanks for the call. Means a lot."


    "Okay. Okay, I should, um, send a message to everyone. I mean, Gabriel is here, but I just¡ªI can''t leave. I don''t even think they''ll let me see him. Oh god, what if¡ªNo, no. He''s going to be fine. He''s going to be fine."


    "Yeah, Charlie, he is." Dean kept his voice steady, firm, knowing that was what she needed from him at that moment. "You did the right thing and got him there. They''re going to take care of him now."


    He made sure she sounded calmer, reminded her to sit down and get herself something to eat and drink, and then closed with a request to keep him posted when they got an update from the doctors.


    In the silence of his living room after, he stared out the front window, into the empty black beyond, taking breath after breath. Then, he stood abruptly. The laptop tumbled onto the floor and did a cartwheel on the carpet, ignored, as he spun and strode toward the back of the house, already pressing Sam''s name in his contacts.

 Chapter 16

    Waking up in the hospital, a pinching IV taped onto his hand, an oxygen delivery tube poking into his nostrils, continued to be as disorienting as it had been the first time.  It was Castiel''s fourth day there, and although he had been moved out of the Intensive Care Unit yesterday, the doctor had indicated that morning that it would likely be a few more days before she could think about discharging him.


    "You are extremely lucky sepsis did not occur," she told him, looking grave. "We are going to let the antibiotics do their work and make sure no secondary infections present themselves. The level of oxygen in your blood must continue to improve as well."


    Mostly, Castiel felt tired. He hadn''t been alert enough to hold an entire conversation at first; he had only blurry memories from the ICU of Gabriel standing over him, looking worn and worried. Charlie finally was allowed to visit him the day before, and she had filled him in on what happened the night he was admitted. He himself had no memory of texting her or the ambulance ride that followed.


    "I''m not surprised," she said. "Your temperature when they took it at the ER was over one-oh-five. You wanted to walk here." She had laughed, but it was a brittle sound. Her face was pale in the white overhead lighting, the areas under her eyes smudged with purple shadows above the edge of the paper mask she had to wear. The mask was to protect them both. Castiel had been diagnosed with bacterial pneumonia, and while he was on enough intravenous antibiotics to kill just about anything, he was still considered infectious until they were sure nothing else was lurking in his system. They also didn''t want him picking up anything new from his visitors and nurses on top of his current infection.


    After Charlie left, he fell asleep again and woke up in the dark, aching and thirsty. Today, he was determined to try to stay awake a bit longer, start shifting his internal clock back to a more normal cycle. He glanced around, but there were no clocks anywhere in the room. He''d have to ask Charlie and Gabriel about getting his cell phone, now that he was staying awake for more than an hour at a time.


    Despite himself, he drifted, lulled by the hum of the monitoring equipment, occasionally blinking and stirring as a nurse rushed by in the hallway outside or an alarm went off somewhere in the ward. At one point, he awoke to see Charlie hovering at the side of his bed. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and her sweatshirt was open enough to reveal the black shirt underneath that proclaimed ''Coil up with a book'' above a cartoon of a snake hugging a hardcover.


    "Charlie," he croaked, then tried to clear his throat and ended up coughing, mucus rattling in his airway. He sighed after, feeling frustrated.


    "Hey¡­ Do you feel up for visitors? If not, I can come back¡­" Her green eyes seemed more alert that day. He was certain that, behind the mask, she was biting her lip.


    "Please stay. I''m tired of sleeping, but it''s difficult to stay awake in this quiet atmosphere."


    "Okay. I won''t stay too long; there''s other people waiting to see you out there.  I brought you some supplies¡­" She raised a reusable shopping bag and started taking out books and putting them on the tray near his bed.


    "Please tell me my cell phone is in there somewhere¡­"


    "No way, you still need your rest."


    "Charlie¡ª"


    "Nope! You can have it when you can stay awake under your own power."


    He sighed. Perhaps Gabriel would be more reasonable. "I probably have quite a few missed messages¡­ You said you''re keeping in touch with Dean, correct?"


    "Uh, yeah¡­ Dean knows everything that''s been going on." Her voice crept a bit higher. She flipped one of the books over to read the back of it, as though she weren''t the one who had packed the bag.


    Castiel narrowed his eyes at her, unable to decide if she was being evasive. "¡­Is everything all right?"


    "Oh. Yes. I just¡­ You know, this has all been really crazy. Um, I also talked to Kevin today. He sent some of these, but he isn''t going to come over. He just¡­ doesn''t do hospitals, apparently? He had that tone like, ''don''t ask'', so¡ª" She shrugged, then turned back to him, eyeing the back of his hand where tape held down a loop of tubing running to the inserted needle assembly at his wrist. "So, how are you really feeling?"


    "Tired," he admitted. "They said the cough might not go away for weeks, and my chest hurts."


    "You know¡ªYou said you were fine. I checked on you, every day, and every day, you said you were fine." She blinked a few times, her eyes shiny.


    "I was¡­  At least, I thought I was. That day is still very fuzzy. I remember feeling cold. I should have realized I was running a fever, but I was just so miserable, I was trying to sleep¡­"


    She nodded, glancing toward the door. "Okay, just¡­ just rest and get better. I''m, uh, going to go and let the next person come in because yesterday you pretty much stayed awake for only me, and I felt like I stole all the visit time."


    Castiel couldn''t imagine who else would be here besides Gabriel, especially if Kevin wasn''t. He hoped his mother hadn''t flown in to make a fuss¡­ He said goodbye to Charlie and then waited, busying himself by scanning the spines of the books she''d stacked next to him. They were on the side with the IV, and he wasn''t sure he wanted to try to reach for one.


    Someone entered, and Castiel startled at the unexpected sight of Dean Winchester walking toward the bed.


    "¡­Dean?"


    "Hey, Cas." His tone was hushed. Like Charlie, a mask covered the lower part of his face, so Castiel could only watch his eyes take in the medical equipment surrounding the bed before settling on Castiel''s face. He looked as exhausted as she had.


    "Wh¡ªWhat are you doing here?"


    "Uh¡­ visiting you?"


    Castiel huffed. "Not what I¡­ You didn''t have to drive all the way out here. I''m not dying."


    "Well, when I left Kansas, they didn''t sound so sure of that, and once I was here, figured I might as well see you at least¡­" He turned to look around the room. Spotting a wood-framed chair by the wall, he moved to pick it up and placed it beside the bed before taking a seat. "There, now I don''t feel like I''m looming¡­" He glanced at the IV bags, the stack of books, and Castiel''s hand before meeting his eyes again. "You''re probably sick of hearing this by now, but how''re you doing?"


    Castiel breathed out, letting his head sink back against the pillow. Dean seemed to radiate warmth from his spot in the sterile room, and Castiel wished he could lean up and hug him. It seemed like a grueling exertion, even without all the tubes and risk of infection to deal with. "I am¡­ very tired and feeling foolish. I was lucky that, in my altered state, I managed to get in touch with Charlie."


    Dean raised a hand, as though to rub his masked face, before flexing it and putting it back in his lap. "She called me that night."


    "She did?" Castiel hacked as something caught in his chest, wincing at the pain in his ribs.


    "You don''t have to talk," Dean stressed. "Just¡­ let me do the rambling. ¡­She was pretty upset. You scared the hell out of her, you know."


    Castiel groaned and nodded, spending a moment concentrating on pulling oxygen in through his nose, trying to slow down the beat pulsing in his neck.


    Dean turned to watch the numbers on the monitor above his head. "I should have known that cough didn''t sound right¡­ had been going on too long. I dunno, looking back, you having to text instead of call should have been a giant red flag."


    Castiel went to speak, then rolled his eyes as Dean fixed him with a stern frown. He stared into Dean''s face, challenging him to hold a one-sided conversation.


    "You know¡­ she wasn''t the only one who got the hell scared out of ''em." Dean''s eyes cast down to the floor before moving back to Castiel''s face. "You¡­ you just gotta take care of yourself better, okay?"


    "You can''t talk," Castiel bit out. The shock of Dean''s story about nearly falling to his death a week or so ago was still fresh in his memory.


    Dean blinked, looked off toward the wall. When he turned back, Castiel saw his eyes were watering. "Yeah," he breathed, "guess I can''t¡­ That was¡­ You¡­" He looked up at the ceiling, seemed to take a moment to regroup. "Listen, I''m not good at this stuff¡­ You, Castiel Novak¡­ are my person. So how about we both try not to get ourselves killed for the foreseeable future."


    Castiel studied his eyes. Dean was toeing the line that neither of them dared to cross. His tone held all the feeling of a declaration; the words rang with importance despite being so vague that Dean could have meant just about anything.


    Dean must have noticed his confusion because he cleared his throat, swallowed, tried to go farther, "Cas, I¡­ I mean, you¡­" He took a deep breath, working up to something.


    "Dean, don''t," Castiel said quietly. "Don''t force it." What he suspected Dean was trying to say¡­ he didn''t want to hear it spoken out of fear, in a hospital room. "¡­There''s time."


    Dean looked pained. "I am¡­ really shit at this stuff," he whispered.


    "I won''t lie." Castiel spoke slowly to avoid another coughing fit. "I want to hear¡­ so many things from you. I will always want to know the things you feel you can''t tell me. I will wait, hope you can, someday¡­ But I want those things when you are ready. If that is never¡­ I will still wait."


    Dean had been watching him, blinking fiercely. "That¡­ It''s just going to keep coming up between us, isn''t it¡­" He sighed, looking down at the edge of the bed and shaking his head. After a few breaths, he spoke without raising his eyes. "Cas¡­ I have a story I''ve been wanting to tell you, but it can''t go beyond these walls. Not Charlie, not Sam¡­ not ever. ¡­Okay?"


    Castiel nodded, making the oxygen line pull at his nose, then, realizing Dean wasn''t looking, murmured, "Of course."


    Dean was silent for a long time. Castiel almost spoke up again, told him he didn''t have to¡­ but curiosity burned stronger in that moment than empathy. Finally, Dean took a glance over his shoulder, as though making sure no one was eavesdropping, and began speaking.


    "When we were kids¡­ our dad was our hero. He was a mechanic¡ªused to think there was nothing he couldn''t fix¡ªand he loved the woods. He''d spend all weekend hiking us around, or taking us fishing or hunting¡­ Sam always hated hunting, but he''d be rarin'' to go anyway¡­ Our dad wasn''t always easy on us¡­ but that never seemed to matter, back then. We just wanted to be with him. The three Winchester boys.


    "He died a month after I turned eleven¡ªheart attack." Dean swallowed, tilted his head. "After that¡­ things were tough. I tried to step up, be the man of the house, take care of Sammy while Mom was working as many shifts as she could get at the factory, get a job and help out when I got old enough¡­ I tried to fill his shoes. Did it for near twenty years. ¡­It wasn''t wasted. Got Sam through school. Made sure Mom paid off the house.


    "Six years ago, there''s this knock at the door, and there''s this twenty-year-old kid standing on her steps. Says his name is Adam and that he''s looking for John Winchester. ¡­That he came there looking for his father." Dean stopped, slowly exhaled, then shook his head, bringing up a hand to rub at the back of his neck before continuing.


    "Turns out my dad had been seeing some lady up in Minnesota for years off and on, I guess some of the times he said he was going on hunting trips. Doing the math, he had to have been seeing her just about up to the day he died. I¡­ didn''t take it well. I didn''t run the kid off the property with a gun or anything, but I made it clear that John Winchester was dead and gone and there wasn''t anything there for him. Sent him on his way. And, after that¡­ I got angry. Really, really angry. Didn''t want anything to do with anything that reminded me of my dad, hunting included. Could barely even look at Sam and Mom half the time because they just kept asking me what was wrong¡­ I quit my job at the garage and started traveling more as a way to keep away. I stayed that way for a good, long while."


    "I''m so sorry, Dean," Castiel whispered, seeing the anguish in Dean''s eyes as he relived the memory.


    Dean bowed his head and laced his fingers together. "That''s not all¡­ Adam¡ªAdam''s dead now. I found out a couple of weeks ago. It was a car crash¡ªa DUI." He breathed in deep and let it out slowly, shakily. "I read the obituary online, did some searching around after. In the writeup, there wasn''t any ''survived by'', you know, people left behind. There was just this note, that his mom had gone before him, cancer, in 2011. ¡­That would have been the year he showed up in Kansas.


    "The kid came out there looking for something to hold onto. And I just¡­ sent him away. I was so damn scared that my mom would find out. My dad¡­ he was her world, and when he died¡­ there was something else that died too. Yeah, she had to work a lot, but even when she was there, it was like we only had part of her. There was mom before¡­ and mom after.


    "You know, I remember thinking I would rather die than let her or Sam spend one minute thinking they were ever worth anything less than every last bit of John Winchester''s time and effort¡­ but it''s Adam who''s dead now. I screwed up, Cas. He was just about to turn twenty-seven, and he had no one. And that''s on me. I''m gonna to have to live with that."


    When Dean raised his face, Castiel saw that his eyes were wet. There were a good number of things that fell into place all at once¡­ The destruction of the homestead and the end of innocence in Salvation Ridge, the avalanche wreaking havoc and the devastating secrets that ruined relationships in North Aspect¡­ It was all Dean. Dean''s life. It felt so real because he was writing what he knew firsthand. Castiel now understood the fury had led a man to walk away from his own career and reshape himself. And he had done it alone, shouldered the weight of that knowledge alone. And then, Adam, to feel that he was somehow responsible¡­


    Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    All the things Castiel could think of to say fell short. Instead, he stretched out his hand toward Dean, reflexively offering it before he remembered that it was currently occupied by an IV needle. Dean didn''t hesitate though. He reached back and slid his hand, palm up, underneath to allow Castiel to grasp it. Dean''s skin was rough but warm against Castiel''s cold fingers. They sat that way in silence for a long time. For Castiel, the whir of the monitors and the beeps and bustle of the hospital outside faded away.


    <hr>


    It ended up being three more days before Castiel was allowed to go home. Dean, Charlie, and Gabriel swapped out spending time with him as he got back his strength, but the doctor warned him he was facing weeks out of work and a long recovery. The prescription for an at-home oxygen canister brought that reality home to him, as did the fact that getting dressed and moving back and forth to the bathroom in the small room left him winded. Gabriel rode from the hospital with him in an Uber.


    His living room looked clean, although he was certain it had been littered with takeout containers and tissues when he was last home. A humidifier was running there, and another in his bedroom. Charlie and Dean had stocked his kitchen with endless teas, bottled sports drinks, and cans of soup, as well as picked up medications from the pharmacy. Kevin brought several stacks of books and a few printouts of tips to ease pneumonia recovery. There was a laptop set up with the company login and VPN, for when he started feeling bored enough to work from home.


    For two more days after that, Dean hung around Castiel''s apartment during the daytime hours, with Charlie, Gabriel, and even Kevin stopping by for periods when they could get free from work. They mostly read and watched movies together; even though Castiel was starting to nap less during the daytime, talking still triggered coughing fits after a while. The afternoon of the second day, Castiel turned to Dean, who was seated next to him on the couch while Back to the Future Part II played on the television. The side of Dean''s face that was toward Castiel still sported a green and brown bruise and the scar of a cut that was healing up from his misadventure at Glacier National Park.


    "You''re going to have to head back to Kansas soon," Castiel said bluntly. He''d been thinking about it the past few hours; it was nearly October.


    Dean''s expression went guarded as he turned from watching the movie.


    Castiel tilted his head and met Dean''s gaze with a sigh. "It''s not that I want you to leave, Dean¡­ but I know how important this time of year is for your guide business. You''ve been talking about the migration season since the beginning of summer. I don''t know how many jobs you have cancelled, being away for nine days, but it can''t go on forever."


    Dean exhaled audibly through his nose, letting out a slow breath. "I just want to make sure you''re all set, Cas¡­"


    "I''m as set as I''m going to be for several weeks," Castiel pointed out. "Charlie lives only ten or fifteen minutes away on foot."


    "I could run it in five or so, if i had to¡­"


    Dean had been staying with Charlie, apparently since arrival. Castiel had offered use of his apartment, but Dean had refused, saying he didn''t want to add the burden of a guest. It seemed to Castiel there might be more to it than that. Dean, when he visited, was constantly hovering nearby, always conscious of keeping the items Castiel might need within his reach and asking him if he wanted drinks or food or any number of other things¡­ but he also was very careful to keep a set amount of space between them, even though Castiel, at points, had wanted nothing more than to drift a bit closer. Castiel had started making a game of it, seeing how far he could inch in before Dean readjusted and restored the status quo he had set. There was definitely a line that Dean wouldn''t allow him to cross.


    "I believe we are outside the possibility that I will have a relapse. I have my antibiotics and inhalers. Now, it''s just regaining my lung capacity and energy. If you tried to stay until I was completely back to normal, you could very well be here until winter."


    "¡­Maybe I could come back, after end of season¡­ if you''d want that."


    "¡­Maybe by then, I could visit you instead."


    "The air is certainly better for you out there¡­"


    Dean was gone by the next evening on the two-day trip home by train. Castiel was left with an empty spot on his couch and an unmistakable longing for companionship. He got used to fetching his own tea and started catching up on his email, filling the hours from one phone call to the next.


    <hr>


    It took another week or so of constant calls and impromptu visits for it all to begin wearing on Castiel''s nerves. The fifth night Charlie showed up at his door with soup after work because she was ''in the area'', Castiel retorted, "You live three blocks from here, Charlie. You''re always in the area." She looked so sheepish that he suppressed the urge to threaten to ban her from his apartment.


    The next night, it was Gabriel who stopped by. He at least texted Castiel first, although he ignored Castiel''s insistence that he didn''t need checking up on.


    "I wish you all would stop acting as though you were responsible for my illness by somehow failing to provide appropriate supervision," he complained as he let his cousin into the apartment. "If there is soup in that bag, I promise you, I will pour it down the drain."


    "Grilled chicken salads. Nice to see you''re feeling better, cuz. You manage to walk to the elevators yet without needing a breather?"


    Castiel had just stopped using his oxygen tank, and even getting up to open the door seemed like a hike. He huffed and let Gabriel set up the food on the kitchen table, getting some glasses of water and sitting down to eat with him. The crunchy rings of bell pepper in the salad seemed incredibly appetizing after so much soft food, so he picked them out first and pushed the chicken aside for later while Gabriel talked about upcoming projects at work. Although he''d shifted assignments around to lighten Castiel''s load, there were a few books he wanted his cousin to handle personally.


    "...as long as you''re feeling up to it." He scanned Castiel''s face, scrutinizing.


    Castiel knew that, although he certainly had some color back, he still looked worn down. At least he was clean and dressed today; he considered every shower taken a small victory. "I started looking at the Lee piece yesterday already. I see no reason I can''t start working from home more regularly next week."


    Gabriel continued watching Castiel''s face thoughtfully while he chewed a few bites of his salad, keeping his own expression blank.


    "What?" Castiel asked eventually, even though he knew that was exactly what Gabriel was waiting for.


    Gabriel had to gall to stare a minute longer before setting down his fork and steepling his hands in front of him, an action that made Castiel roll his eyes and set down his own utensil.


    "What, Gabriel," he growled, squinting at him.


    "When were you going to tell me how serious things were getting between you and Dean Winchester?"


    Castiel blinked, thrown off track. "...Things are not that serious," he replied, an automatic denial. Things were¡­ he didn''t know what. He wasn''t ready to try to impose a label on it.


    Gabriel''s gaze took on an edge, his mouth dropping into a displeased line. "Cassie, the man flew in at the drop of a hat and spent ten days crammed on Charlie''s couch for you. Tell me in what universe that is ''not that serious''."


    Castiel sighed, annoyed. "You already told me your opinion on the matter," he snapped. "I didn''t see the point in bringing it up for rehashing."


    "Okay, yes," Gabriel conceded with an eye roll, "I didn''t think it was a good idea in the beginning¡­ but that was before you apparently started a long distance relationship with him and then took a week-long road trip together, which I assume was some sort of trial run for sex¡­ and which I honestly thought had failed until n¡ª"


    "Gabriel," Castiel cut in, glaring. "It most certainly was not."


    Gabriel''s eyebrows went up in disbelief, but after a moment of reading Castiel''s face, confusion flickered in his expression.


    Castiel didn''t feel as though he had the patience for yet another discussion with his cousin about how his asexuality worked. He rewound the conversation back a bit in his head, redirected. "Dean¡­ flew here?"


    "Hmm, yeah. I thought the guy must have a fear of flying, the way that got written into his contract, but maybe he''s just eccentric about modes of transportation¡­ He was here by the next morning. In the same boat as Charlie¡ªthey couldn''t get into the ICU¡ªbut at least he helped keep her calm, got her to go home and sleep for a bit¡­"


    Castiel suddenly felt guilty about the way he had dismissed Charlie the day before. "She must have been terrified¡­"


    "Oh, she was," Gabriel confirmed blithely, "but she also got you to the hospital, filled out paperwork and held it together until I could get there¡­" He nodded to himself. "I owe her a debt¡­ as do you."


    "I know it¡­"


    There was a moment of somber silence before Gabriel pushed the discussion back in its original direction. "So, Dean¡­"


    Castiel inhaled and tilted up his chin, regarding his cousin evenly.


    "...I just want to know if I should start paving the way for you to go remote on a more permanent basis¡­?"


    That made Castiel go still as he grasped the suggestion. It wasn''t as though his own mind hadn''t been churning over that territory. "¡­I don''t have an answer to that," he slowly replied.


    As Gabriel came back into focus, he thought he saw sadness in his cousin''s gaze, but the impression was gone a second later. "Well, you''re going to be out of the office a while longer anyway. I don''t see you making the trek down to Midtown and back any time soon. Let me know if you need anything else to work from home¡­"


    After dinner, Gabriel helped clean up before leaving¡ªwatching his cousin take out his trash for him in his office suit bordered on the absurd and Castiel regretted being unable to come up with a mocking remark suitable to the occasion. When Dean called later, Castiel let the phone ring for a few breaths, mind turning over the distance bridged by the connection, before picking up and listening to Dean talk about his day out on the prairie, how the fields were beginning to turn gold as the Little Bluestem grass feathered out, how they would soon be baiting the bison into corral for annual data collection and culling. He wondered after he hung up if everything had changed, if nothing could stay the same.


    <hr>


    "You sure you''re ready for this?" Charlie asked for about the twentieth time. It was three weeks after his hospital discharge, and they were taking the short walk to Morn''s for Trivia Tuesday.


    "Yes, I am." Castiel was more than ready to start getting out of his apartment. If it went poorly, he would simply have to take an Uber home in shame and try again the next week.


    "Okay, because if you get too tired, I can¡ª"


    "¡ªCharlie, I am fine."


    "Just saying, the air is cold and damp. Maybe you should have worn a sc¡ª"


    "¡ªNext time, I will call Kevin." Irritation crept into Castiel''s voice. He had already gotten into a short argument over the phone with Dean about wearing scarves in New York City in October. It was nearly 60 degrees out. Nurses Bradbury and Winchester, as he had taken to referring to them in his mind, could retire any day, as far as he was concerned. He had texted Sam out of frustration after, asking if there was a way to deactivate his brother''s caretaker instincts once activated. Sam''s reply: Ahahaha, GOOD LUCK. Mom-mode Dean is scarier than our actual mom.


    "Will you please stop acting like this isn''t a big deal?" Charlie hissed. "It''s a big deal!"


    Castiel took a deep breath in and out, trying to find a deeper well of patience. His chest still felt tight, even after all these weeks, but he wasn''t panting for breath after a few blocks, which was a vast improvement. "I need to start moving around more, or I''ll never regain my strength," he argued. "I have my emergency inhaler with me. We''re going to be fine."


    "Okay, okay," she muttered, mostly to herself.


    They made it without disaster striking and set themselves up front, on the wall farthest from the bar. Charlie got herself a drink and Castiel a water and put in an order for fries and fresh spring rolls. Castiel had a newly discovered craving for all things fruit and vegetable. He wasn''t certain if it was his immune system demanding nutrients or the fact that anything salty or dehydrating made his throat start to feel clogged, but his only indulgence as of late had been a cup of coffee or two each morning. As they waited for Kevin to arrive, Charlie chattered about work and then the new and old Blade Runner movies. She was comparing the very close scope of the original with the massive reality of the sequel, trying to illustrate the sweeping, techno-noir city with her hands, when Gabriel''s words echoed back to him. "I owe her a debt¡­ as do you."


    Castiel waited until she had reached a stopping point and was taking a sip of her drink before clearing his throat. "Charlie¡­ I know that I''m being far too short with you lately," he told her. "I''m sorry¡­ It''s not really fair of me to be so dismissive when I''ve given you reason to be concerned in the past. You have my apologies. I''m going to try harder not to be so reactive."


    "Thanks, I appreciate that¡­" She squinted at him. "...But I''m pretty sure that''s not what''s really bothering you."


    Castiel narrowed his eyes right back at her. She was equal parts empath and busybody¡­ "You probably wouldn''t need too many guesss to figure that out, Charlie."


    She smirked and glanced up at the ceiling briefly. "No, not many at all¡­ If there''s anything you want to talk over or need help working out though, I''m still your friend¡­ even if I am, like, crazy paranoid about people smoking on the street near your apartment building now."


    Castiel smiled to himself, remembering the murderous way Charlie had glared at a few people who were standing too close to their path on the way over. "You are one of the best friends I have ever had, Charlie."


    She smiled at him, then complained, "Don''t get all mushy on me, Novak."


    He gave her a thin smirk and sighed. Her offer to listen, as always, was a timely one. "Things are different since¡­ well, since Dean came out here. I feel as though I''ve reached the point where I have to choose between taking it a step farther¡­ or stepping back."


    Charlie nodded, as though she''d suspected as much. "He was really¡­ intense when he was here? Weirdly helpful, like he knew all these random facts about what was good for chest colds and stuff. But also, I was afraid he and Gabriel were, like, going to get into a fight over what humidifier to buy you? I dunno."


    "I''m not sure I ever thanked you for letting him stay with you all that time¡­"


    "Psshh. Please, Novak, mi casa es su casa. Not sure why my couch ended up being the sleeping spot of choice, but happy to help out a friend." She paused and sipped at her drink. "So, what ''next step'' are you considering?"


    "The fact that we live so far apart seems problematic¡­ Everything isn''t so much a step as it is a giant leap."


    "Why don''t you just go out for a visit? You know, when his busy period is done, and your lungs aren''t threatening to rebel against air, just spend some time together¡­"


    "...And stay alone together at his house?" Castiel felt hesitant about the prospect.


    "Dude, what are you worried about? He didn''t try anything when you were sharing motel rooms for like a week on your vacation. Pretty sure he knows we would all excommunicate him if he did anything to make you feel weird, too."


    So far, Dean had been respectful of Castiel''s personal space¡­ almost to excess, really. Castiel flashed back to the hours they spent in his apartment, how Dean had unmistakably repositioned himself when Castiel pushed too close. But when Castiel had hugged him at the airport that once, he had leaned in and relaxed slightly, not the way someone would react if they were touch averse. It intrigued Castiel¡­ but giving into the temptation to explore that also meant a crossing into new territory. Perhaps it was just Castiel''s own reservations at play, expecting everything to go the same way it had in his previous relationships, where a partner respected the boundaries he set for them until, suddenly, they didn''t. "You''re right, of course¡­ He''s given me no reason to think that he would do anything untoward."


    "I know I am. He''s good people." She looked up and raised her voice. "And if he isn''t¡­ Kevin knows how to hide a body, right?"


    "I do," Kevin declared, taking a seat next to Castiel. "Who are we disposing of?"


    "Dean." She looked up and tilted her head side to side. "Maybe."


    Kevin shook his head. "Nope, sorry, I''m out. I''m not facing off against Sam. But, for the record," he turned to look at Castiel, "he and I agree that you two need to get over yourselves."


    "I preferred it when I thought it was only in my imagination that you all were discussing my personal life¡­" Castiel put a hand to his forehead and closed his eyes for a moment, rubbing to relieve some of the tension.


    "Isn''t it wonderful, having friends¡­?" Kevin asked, leaning down his head and giving Castiel a look of exaggerated compassion when he finally opened his eyes.


    Castiel was very grateful when the trivia announcer stood up and stopped any further conversation.

 Chapter 17

    Kansas in late autumn was as turbulent as it was beautiful. Dean stared out his window, watching the torrential rains that had cancelled that day''s trip to Quivira batter the ruddy grasses, the winds periodically whipping the stalks back and forth in tossing, circling patterns like a whitecapped lake. Dean had reluctantly left New York and Cas to get his fall season income back on track, but the weather had put a crimp in his plans more than once so far.


    He sighed and made another effort to form a plan for the day as he took a few sips of coffee. He''d been distracted since coming back, thoughts constantly drifting east. The first week after New York, he''d kept his hands busy by making so much soup that he''d had to pawn containers off on Sam and their mother. There were still half a dozen stored in his freezer. The next week, it had been cleaning up the property for the winter¡ªthat one had been too early. The November storm season had swept in, knocking down more branches and trashing the trails. Oh well, it would give him something else to do as migration wound down and the cold weather set in¡­ The week after that, Cas had made it clear that he''d had enough of Dean''s nagging questions about his health. Luckily, Charlie was watching Cas like a hawk too and made an excellent proxy. Four weeks out, it seemed like his brain finally accepted that Cas was going to be okay¡­ and immediately switched over to worrying about what the future looked like between the two of them.


    Dean had basically laid it all out there, between jumping on a flight to New York¡ªhe was still half-convinced some viral video footage was going to surface of him hurling into a sick bag somewhere over Pennsylvania, God help his seatmates¡ªand the stuff he spilled to Cas that first emotional reunion in his hospital room. At the time, Adam Milligan barely in the rearview, he feared Cas was going to be yet another thing he messed up and didn''t realize the full importance of until it was too late. Now, with time spread out in front of him like an open prairie, Dean had no idea where to go next. He didn''t know what Cas might want from him, how much either of them could give. Searching the web for things like ''asexual relationships'' left Dean confused and with more questions than answers¡ªquestions that he would have to ask Cas and which he couldn''t even manage to spit out coherently to a wall at the moment.


    November was spinning by in disjointed periods of Dean hyperfocusing on work¡ªgiving tours and editing his novel draft¡ªand being absolutely paralyzed by doubt. That morning was just an example. It was past ten. This was the third time he''d made himself a cup of coffee and stood at the back window, doing little between besides swapping out his pajamas for a work shirt and jeans. He was not going to call Cas, who was actually working from home these days. Given the weather, he knew he should work on edits¡­ but his mind just wasn''t in the right place for it.


    Finally, he sat down with his laptop and started up The Blue Planet on Netflix, letting the voice of David Attenborough and the patter of rain on the roof soothe his nerves. Today was just going to be one of those days.


    <hr>


    It was after Thanksgiving¡ªhe''d survived the family dinner this year without a meltdown of any sort, by some minor miracle¡ªwhen Sam asked to come out to his place for a weekend mid-December. His brother said something about wanting to get out of the city for a bit; Dean wasn''t buying it. He just hoped to God this wasn''t some sort of intervention. Sam had pestered Dean to death about his trip to New York City and Cas until Dean, stressed out enough without the added pressure, finally lost his temper and refused to accept Sam''s calls for a week. Since then, Sam remained silent on the topic, but it felt like it was hanging in the background every time they spoke. The hangdog looks of concern Sam gave him in person were unbearable.


    Even stranger, Sam had refused his offer to come pick him up, instead saying he was renting a car. It was all incredibly suspicious, and although Dean wasn''t going to refuse the visit¡ªSam would probably just show up anyway¡ªit had him on edge.


    "Perhaps he has other stops he wants to make?" Cas suggested when Dean vented to him on one of their calls.


    "Yeah, or he wants to be able to make a quick exit without stealing my truck¡­" he muttered.


    "Dean, even if you are correct and your brother has some ulterior motive for visiting¡­ are you really that worried about what he might have to tell you?"


    Dean sighed. He had left out the part where what was going on between him and Cas might be contributing to Sam''s odd behavior. "No, I just¡­" He struggled with how to explain it to Cas while avoiding the specific topic. "Sam sometimes gets these ideas in his head about ''helping'' me, and I wish he''d just concentrate on his own happiness and not waste time worrying. I''m old enough to deal with my own problems. It''s not his job."


    "Yes, family and friends sometimes worry far too much¡­ It can be quite vexing."


    The sarcasm in Cas''s tone caught Dean''s attention. "Hey, I haven''t asked about your lungs in weeks, have I? I can take a hint¡­"


    Cas hummed, and it made Dean''s stomach flip. "Now, if you would only stop using Charlie to spy on me¡­"


    "You''re the one who hangs out with her all the time," Dean grumbled and changed the topic.


    When Saturday arrived, Sam ended up running late, so Dean walked the property, feeling restless. It was cool and gray, just a hint of crispness to the air, and everything was beginning to take on the pale brown shades of winter. After nearly a week solid of rain, a lot of the lower points in the terrain were ankle-deep mud, and he managed to slip a few times trying to use the cut-through midway down. He wasn''t quite back to the house when he caught the sound of a car coming up the drive. By the time he circled up around the side, a gray Toyota was parked out front, empty.


    "Is that a Prius?" he mumbled aloud. Only his brother¡­ He glanced down at the mud encasing his boots and running in streaks up to the knees of his jeans and decided to go around back again rather than mess up the living room. "Sam?" he shouted as he entered, then crouched down to unlace his shoes.


    "Hey."


    Dean looked up and froze. Sam had stepped into the kitchen, but behind him¡­ was Cas. The shorter man stood in a pair of rumpled blue jeans and a black jacket over a soft gray shirt, his dark hair slightly unruly but shining where the light from the back windows touched it. Both Cas and his brother were looking down at him with looks that were growing vaguely amused. Dean realized he was gaping, and tried to find something to say. "¡­What the hell?" Okay, not his best work, but it got the point across.


    "Well, Castiel wanted to visit for the holidays, and I figured you could use the company, so¡­"


    "Surprise," Cas rumbled.


    Dean opened his mouth, but his mind went blank. ¡­For the holidays? Cas had brought up the topic of visiting a few times, once just a few weeks ago when the end of the bird tours was in sight. Dean had agreed¡­ but also not suggested a time frame. He''d started making a push for winter prairie tours this year on his blog and social media, fighting to pick up a few more jobs in the slow season, and Cas was just exiting a rough few months getting over his bout of pneumonia¡­ It just seemed like maybe they should wait ''til spring.


    The awkward pause continued to grow until Sam said, "You got a little something¡­" He raised his hand and gestured along his jawline with a thumb.


    Dean moved to wipe at his face, but his fingers were caked in drying mud after wrestling with his bootlaces. "Shit¡­ Uh, how about I get cleaned up? You''re welcome to whatever''s in the fridge¡­"


    He shuffled up and out of the kitchen; the moment he had to cross through Cas''s personal space left his skin buzzing. Zero chill, he informed himself once in the safety of the bathroom. It took him less time to wash up and change clothes than it did for him to feel capable of speaking actual words; he emerged feeling less at sea. He wanted to be angry at Sam for just springing this on him, but turning the corner from the hall and seeing his brother and Cas with mugs of coffee at the kitchen table, backlit by the milky light of the overcast sky outside¡­ Dean flipped on the overhead light, bathing the kitchen in slightly warmer tones. He took time to pour himself his own coffee before joining them.


    Sam and Cas both stared at him. Cas''s expression seemed calm, attentive. Sam, on the other hand, was raising his eyebrows in a clearly expectant way, as though asking whether Dean had regained the power of speech.


    "Well, you definitely surprised me," he admitted.


    Sam stifled a laugh. "Yeah, we could tell."


    Dean sipped his coffee, wishing the conversation felt less like wading through the mud outside that morning. His eyes met Cas''s across the table; he wanted to just wrap his arms around him and make sure he was real and whole.


    "I hope that, although unexpected, the visit isn''t unwelcome," Cas offered. "I didn''t have much to look forward to over the holidays besides the insufferable Shurley family Christmas party, and after working from home for a few months, I was¡­ extremely tired of seeing the walls of my apartment." He kept his eyes on Dean''s face, waiting for his response.


    Somehow, picturing Cas alone in his apartment in winter-gray New York City was the thing Dean needed for everything to start making sense. "Well, I can''t say Christmas in Kansas offers much in the way of entertainment compared to New York, but any excuse to get out of a family Christmas party¡­"


    "There are enough Christmas lights between Overland Park and Kansas City to keep you busy for a week," Sam interjected. "The Arboretum or driving Christmas Place¡­ Museum at Prariefire¡­ the city Art Museum¡­" He was trying to look innocent.


    I''m gonna kill him, Dean thought, giving him a look that told him he knew exactly what he was doing. This was not a goddamn Hallmark movie.


    "Technically, I am supposed to be working remotely during the weekdays until Christmas Eve," Cas stated. "I have the week between Christmas and New Year''s off."


    "Cool¡­" Dean stopped giving Sam the evil eye and refocused more gently on Cas. "We can come up with a list of things you really want to see while you''re here and work out when to do them. I have a few things scheduled this month, but they are all during the week."


    Cas''s eyes dropped to his cup of coffee. "Dean, I realize that I arrived unannounced¡­ If you would prefer, I can book myself a room at a nearby hotel. I don''t want to impose on you or Sam."


    "Like hell. It might not be much, but you''re welcome to stay with either of us." Since Sam had instigated this, Dean had no qualms about making promises on his behalf. "Sam''s apartment is a bit more up to date, but I have an extra room, assuming Sam is going back to the city Monday¡­?" He raised a questioning eyebrow, looking over to his brother.


    If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    Sam laughed aloud that time. "Oh yeah, I''m outta here Sunday. Some of us can''t work where and when we feel like it."


    Dean suppressed the urge to flip him off but gave him a glare that carried the gist of it. Sam gave him a split-second bitchface¡ªmessage received, loud and clear¡ªbefore smoothing his expression back into vacant cheer for Cas''s benefit.


    "Stay as long as you want then," Dean said.


    "Thank you," Cas murmured. His gaze was still downcast, but the tension was gone, gratified relief replacing it.


    "Well, hey," Dean suggested, "how about we go into town and poke around, eat dinner out somewhere? I can pick up some more groceries for the week before we head back¡­"


    "Sounds good." Sam''s tone took on that overly wholesome aspect again. "We can take the Prius."


    Yep, gonna kill him. Dean took a sip of coffee, eyeing Sam over the rim. Sunday couldn''t come soon enough.


    <hr>


    It took Dean only a few hours after Sam left the following afternoon to come to two important realizations.


    One¡ªit was pretty damn likely that Sam had been extra annoying on purpose the past day to distract Dean from thinking too much about what being alone with Cas at his house meant.


    Two¡ªCas staying here was going to be pure torture.


    Dean found himself spending endless mental energy ignoring the way the room temperature seemed to climb about twenty degrees every time Cas got too close and making sure Cas absolutely did not catch Dean staring. Thankfully, Cas had to work starting Monday, and having him set up in a corner of the living room let Dean relax a bit during the day, even if they did always seem to end up stepping into one another in the kitchen getting coffee or food at the same time. Dean found that, despite the occasional distraction, having Cas quietly tapping away across the room made it easier for him to settle down to writing up media posts or working on draft edits. It was companionable and grounding in the way that having Sam reading on the couch late at night had been. Evenings, after Cas''s work ended, were more difficult. Dean did his best to keep them busy with preparing dinner¡ªmostly him cooking while Cas watched in fascination and hovered over his shoulder¡ªand watching movies, making sure he didn''t forget himself and let a hand slide out across the space that separated them on the couch.


    It went on that way for three days, until Dean, turning from washing up the dinner plates, found Cas standing close. "Ope, hey¡ª" Dean backed himself into the corner junction of the counters, unable to make any more space between them. He made to shift to one side, but Cas stepped with him, blocking him. "Uh, Cas¡­?"


    "At some point," Cas observed, face dead calm but blue eyes locked onto Dean''s, "you''re going to have to stop treating me as though I were made of glass."


    Staring into his eyes, something finally clicked into place. The way they seemed to be continually almost bumping into one another in the small kitchen, how Cas always seemed to dip a bit closer on the couch, even as far back as the days after his hospital release in his apartment in New York¡­ A sensation rushed across Dean''s body, hot and cold all at once, and he spoke the thought even as he was forming it. "¡­Christ, you''re doing it on purpose."


    "Am I?" Cas asked airly.


    His expression was so ingenuous, wide eyed, that Dean blinked, second guessed himself¡­ but no, now that he knew to look for it, there was something in Cas''s gaze, something watchful, something¡­ testing, analyzing his reactions, and man, his suspicion all those months ago that Cas could put on a killer poker face when he wanted to had been so, so right. The comprehension that Cas had been purposely pushing his boundaries all this time, teasing him, that this person¡ªhis person¡ªmight have a bit of a bastard streak¡­


    What did I do to deserve this? How did he find me? Dean thought with all the awe and wonder of watching a summer sunrise. His entire life, he''d only felt something like this staring across mountaintops and standing in the middle of fields, but here it was in his dimly lit kitchen, where Cas had him trapped with his back against the old laminate counters. He knew right then that, whatever they were, it wasn''t meant to be kept at a distance. He managed to stop the sentiment from spilling over his lips, but some of it must have shown in his face because the look in Cas''s eyes shifted slightly, became a sort of pleased triumph.


    "You once told me that you would lock up your gun for me¡­ I didn''t expect that to become a metaphor for our entire relationship," Cas murmured. The apathetic mask he had maintained dissipated as one corner of his mouth lifted in a crooked smirk.


    Dean was still adjusting to this new paradigm and thought it over carefully before deciding that, yeah, Cas had definitely meant that bit of innuendo. "I¡ªI don''t know how this is supposed to work between us, Cas. I mean, you''re asexual, and I''m¡­ very much not. I don''t know how to ask what''s on the table and what''s off the table¡ªif I''m even supposed to ask what''s on or off the table¡­?"


    Cas held his eyes, and even though he spoke gently, there was something immovable and fierce underneath. "I''m not sex repulsed, if that''s what you''re asking¡­ but I won''t give you more than I am ready to. I may never be ready to give you some things¡­ and I need you to be okay with that."


    Dean recognized his own words being echoed back to him. Maybe he should have been considering more carefully whether he was agreeing to a life of celibacy, but all he could think about was a warm hug on an airport sidewalk, someone sitting in the passenger seat of his Impala making commentary on the highway scenery, the soothing anchor of another person''s presence in a hushed room.


    "All right, Cas," he breathed.


    The muted elation that permeated Cas''s expression made Dean''s heart give a hard thump under his sternum.


    Later than night, when Cas slipped an arm under his and tucked himself firmly against Dean on the couch, shooting him a stare of challenge, Dean looked away and relaxed into the warmth that pooled along his side, didn''t fight the flush as hard when Cas toyed with the buttons on the cuff of his shirt.


    <hr>


    The final weeks of the year seemed to slip right through Dean''s fingers when he wanted to hold on to every moment¡ªwalks on the icy prairie (preceded by intense discussions on their respective needs for scarves), Christmas light drives, meals cooked, hours spent working in silence. There was no denying Cas had become a touchstone for him over the past few years, but having him right there in the house beside him¡­ Dean thought that he hadn''t really been breathing or sleeping the last few decades of his life, that he was rediscovering what they were supposed to feel like.


    Sam called to make sure Dean didn''t mind if he stayed over on December 23rd¡ªChristmas Eve Eve. "...you know, I don''t want to interrupt anything¡­"


    "Shut up and get your ass down here," Dean growled.


    The three of them spent the evening stringing dried fruit, cranberries, and popcorn on thread and filling cookie cutter shapes with bird seed, melted suet, and peanut butter.


    "He does this every year and didn''t even tell me until I walked in on him doing it last year," Sam told Cas. "After he listened to me berate him for two weeks about not decorating the house for the holidays¡­"


    "The birds appreciate this more than I would care about standing some dead tree up in my living room." Dean watched Cas spear the bird treats with the careful precision of someone who probably had never used a needle in his life.


    "I see you got him to at least do the outside lights again this year," Sam observed.


    Dean pushed back the flush that threatened to rise to his face. The week Cas had arrived, he''d gone outside and spent a day stringing them along the eaves while Cas was at work.


    He rousted them early the following morning and herded the grumbling pair outside to hang their constructions on the wood post and rails that marked the edge of his mown backyard. Then, they retreated inside to drink mugs of coffee, watching through the windows as the birds discovered their Christmas Eve bounty and began to congregate. Sparrow and chickadees, finches and jays¡­ mid-morning, there was a point when a group of crows flew off with one of the suet molds entirely, making Sam laugh and Dean shrug. He lost a handful of the cookie cutters every year. Usually, he discovered one or two in the woods at some point the following summer, showing pinpoints of rust from spending months trapped under snow and wet leaves.


    When Dean had tried to duck out of dinner Christmas Day at their mom''s house a week earlier, citing the awkwardness of introducing Cas around the holidays, Sam let a stony silence hang on the line before asking if Dean truly was suggesting they leave their mother alone on Christmas. Dean didn''t need to see him to know he was getting the bitchface to end all bitchfaces sent his way. In the end, he made sure Cas felt comfortable with it, and they all went over together. He watched Mary Winchester fix Cas with wary and oddly protective stares over a passable ham dinner she''d ordered from the local grocer''s, slowly thawing in the face of Cas''s somber politeness and gracious manners.


    "Bringing someone home for dinner¡­ This must be serious," she teased when she could get Dean alone out of earshot. They both knew it wasn''t a joke.


    "Yeah, it is," Dean told her, meeting her eyes. The uncertainty there made him tense up before it occurred to him that he didn''t really need her to believe it. He went back to sit with Cas, found all the solid ground he needed in the way Cas''s hand slid over his and laced their fingers together on Dean''s knee.


    The anxiety and loneliness that had bitten at him since that past summer were almost forgotten, but a new worry began creeping up as year end approached. New Year''s Eve found him and Cas together on his couch, watching the stream from Times Square. Sam would be on his own for their yearly "get drunk and find a hookup" tradition. Dean was having trouble feeling too guilty about it with Cas snugged up against him wrapped in a blanket. They had both changed into flannel pajamas, and a bottle of champagne Cas had picked out sat warming slightly out in the kitchen by the back door.


    "I don''t even know who any of these entertainers are¡­" Cas murmured.


    "Yeah, me neither," Dean admitted. "It''s nice seeing all those folks out there together though." Despite the fact that they were predicting one of the coldest New Year''s Eves on record, the streets seethed with wall-to-wall people, thousands of smiling faces bundled in puffy coats, hats, and gloves, excited for whatever the next year would bring. Even in that moment, when he should have been warm, content, and happy, that bit of fear kept nagging at him, making it impossible to fully relax. "How long can you stay?" he asked finally. He had to know, to start preparing himself to let Cas return to his life in New York, return to Charlie and Kevin and the Elysium office.


    Cas sat up and looked into his face, calm. "How long do you think I want to stay?"


    He didn''t ask how long Dean wanted him to stay because he didn''t have to. Cas had always been able to look right into him, see what Dean couldn''t or wouldn''t speak aloud. Dean didn''t know now why he had found that frightening. But in that moment, Cas wasn''t reading him¡­ he was letting his own thoughts show on his face, letting Dean see the answer to the question, asking one of his own in return.


    "...You can stay that long," Dean whispered back, swallowing against the tight feeling in his throat afterward.


    "Good." Cas smiled softly and leaned back down, draping himself more fully over Dean''s shoulder and setting his head under Dean''s chin. His voice sank straight into Dean''s chest when he continued. "I''m in no rush to get back to New York¡­"


    Dean didn''t know all the details of how it was going to work out just then, but he felt reassured that it would somehow, that they were on the same page, that they would figure it out together. And maybe in life that was what you got, that little center of certainty in the chaos.


    "You going to make a resolution this year?" he asked when the next music act started, some wailing young man who Dean was sure was a real pop darling thanks to his dark eyes and rugged jawline but whose music wasn''t making much of an impression. He was head to toe in black winter wear except for his bare fingers on his guitar. His hands had to be freezing in the below-zero wind chill.


    "I think we should take another vacation," Cas answered drowsily, sliding a thumb across Dean''s collarbone and along the collar of his pajamas in a way that actually was pretty soothing.


    "Yeah, at least one¡­ maybe Utah or Arizona."


    As the last minutes of 2017 ticked away, Dean knew what his own private resolution was going to be. He was going to keep pushing out of those shattered bits of the past that he''d been drowning in for too many years¡­ He was going to speak them and write them and let the wind blow them away, the sun bake them to ash.


    He had something else he wanted to make room for now. He had things to look forward to.


    </a>


    Image credit: Mary Hammel, Unsplash</a>