Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Dean at seventeen, with mud soaking his boots and a streak of blood caked into the fine blonde hair at his temples, was already a force to be reckoned with. 

The gun was a heavy comfort in his arms, grounding him as he delicately moved through the woods. His ears twitched at every bird call, every rustle in a bush, until he was turning and aiming and his finger was ready to pump the trigger.

Through his scope, he saw a black bear cub gnawing on a branch, desperately trying to suck berries off its leaves. His heart stuttered a moment as he removed his finger from the trigger; that was not his kill. Its mother was assuredly nearby to keep a watchful gaze on her cub and Dean was not going to disturb them.

“Dean!” The shout cut sharp and loud through the forest, and Dean was hurling himself toward it before his feet and brain could talk. It was Sam’s young voice, frightened, and all instincts rocketed him closer until he caught sight of his younger brother.  

An enormous black bear - the mother, Dean supposed - warily circled Sam in a forest clearing. His gun lay at his feet, unused, and Dean bit his bottom lip while fear edged up his throat. “Sam,” he hissed softly.

Sam turned to him with fearful, half-lidded eyes and swallowed thickly. His muscles were taut with the urge to spring away and run, but the tension in the air held him cemented to the forest floor.

 “It’s okay,” Dean said quietly. “She’s protecting her cub on the other side of the treeline. Just walk backward toward me, but don’t look her in the eye.”  

Sam followed Dean’s instructions to the number. He kept his eyes down on the ground and backed slowly away, the bear’s interest waning with each further step he made. Soon, he fell back into Dean’s arms and allowed himself to be dragged away from the forest clearing. 

Once safe, Dean knelt in front of Sam and gave him a once over. Just a few normal scrapes and bruises, but nothing life-threatening. The adrenaline caught up to Dean and seeped from his bones as he wrapped his arms around his little brother. “Jesus, Sammy,” he sighed, “you’re gonna give me a heart attack.”  

“I’m okay,” Sam mumbled petulantly, pushing at Dean. “Get off me.”

“You have to be more careful,” Dean said sharply. “There’s all kinds of shit out here that’s just out to kill you, you get it?” 

Sam eyed him. “Calm down.”

 “No,” Dean groused, fingertips tingling as his heartbeat rose. “Listen to me.” 

 Sam just grabbed Dean’s hand and balled it into a fist before pressing it hard into the middle of Dean’s chest. “Focus on that,” he said softly, “right there. That pressure.” 

 Dean wanted to argue, to tell Sam to fuck off, but he took a deep breath in and let Sammy take the wheel. He felt his heartbeat start to slow, the sweat on his skin cooling as the shock ebbed out of his system. He raised an eyebrow at his little brother. 

“Neat trick,” he said, clambering to his feet. Sam just shrugged one shoulder. 

“Sometimes you gotta let other people take care of you,” he said sagely, and Dean rolled his eyes. If he was getting life advice from his thirteen-year-old brother, he had a lot of soul searching to do. 

“Let’s get back,” he said with a sigh. “If we’re late, Dad will make us stay another night and you’ll miss school tomorrow.” 

Sam really never stopped taking care of him, he mused while his face was mushed against cold concrete.  

There were headlights blinking too close, rhythm steadier than his heartbeat, and he tried to remember anything else other than Sam’s standoff with a bear over a decade ago. Instead, he thought about how apparently, when struck by what had to be a fucking mack truck on highway 70, he really could lose his grip on his bike handles.  

But the way the wind had whistled across his face only reminded him of Sam with his narrowed eyes, demanding that Dean wear a helmet when he rode. 

“At least at night, man,” was the last thing Sam ever said to him.

 He thought about Sam’s expression, imploring and young, frustrated with his reckless older brother. Dean wished, as his head hit the concrete, that he’d had a chance to tell Sam he was right.

The pain didn’t set in until the EMTs were shining a flashlight in his eyes. He couldn’t wince away from the sting. His eyes were half-lidded but wouldn’t close all the way against the light, which made his head throb with frustration. His toes wouldn’t wiggle and all he could think was, oh God. Dean tried to move his lips but the effort was beyond him, dizzying, as he spiraled back into unconsciousness. 

 A slurred, panicked voice echoed out above him. “Is he dead?” 

 No. Dean was pretty sure. 

"No.” A firm voice responded. 

Oh, good. The expert agreed.

The siren’s sounds lulled him back to sleep.

The next time he woke up, Sam was reading to him from a trashy celebrity gossip magazine. Dean - clearly inaccurately - assumed Sam would be weepy and weary at his bedside, maybe a dose of anger mixed in with his relief. But Sam’s feet were propped up on the bed, his voice a calm and amused timbre.

“You always really liked her,” Sammy was saying. He glanced up and met Dean’s eyes, but only worry took over his face. “Damn it.” 

Sam stood and walked over to him, but Dean couldn’t track the movement. He felt Sam’s warm hand close over his forehead and slide down his face, pushing his eyelids shut.

“Hate it when you do that. It creeps me out. And I hate putting those eyedrops in.”

Dean was appalled. Not only was Sam refusing to give him the proper greeting after almost getting killed on the road, he was manhandling him and not giving him a chance to speak. So, Dean tried to speak, and upon discovering that he couldn’t get his lips to even twitch, he decided that he may have a problem.

The thought struck him solidly back into sleep. 

Dean dreamt of pavement. His mind trapped him in that endless skid, skin scraping against gravel and bones thudding against concrete. His head throbbed even as he slept. His favorite parts of these dreams were the first parts, riding carelessly down an open stretch of highway.

His motorcycle, a gift from Dad, had been beat up beyond recognition when he’d first got it. It had been a decade-long project getting her running like silk, and by the time she was all set to ride, Dean was trapped in a fucking hospital bed while his legs probably atrophied and his Baby was sold off at police auction.

Sometimes, when he was lucid, he wondered if Sam kept the bike.

Sam was there a lot, invading his dreams. His voice always came in like it was through cotton, muffled and out of reach, but Dean would mentally lean toward it the best he could. When his eyes popped open, Sam would invariably close them, but Dean would try to drink in everything he could.

Every time Dean woke up, the world just a crescent through his slitted eyelids, he would try to find out how long it had been. It felt like seconds; his shoulder still ached from the accident and he could still smell the blood on the wet pavement under his cheek. 

But nurses changed. Sam got older, grew a beard. His shoulders widened. Sam read about celebrities Dean had never heard of getting married, getting drunk, dying. Sometimes Dean would forget and try to wake up with a stretch, roll over in bed, or talk to Sam.

One time, he cried. 

He knew the tears were tracking down his cheeks, pooling uncomfortably by his ears, but Sam just wiped him up and shut his eyes like he always did. Like Dean leaked from his face all the time and Sam just cleaned him up without another thought.

Dean wondered why they hadn’t just let him die. 

Since the accident, he’d referred to himself as a dead man. He was killed on a Tuesday. He was killed by a fucking range rover that ran a red light. From the way Sam would talk, the guy was drunk. Then the guy was in jail. Then the guy left jail in a body bag. The way Sam told that story, it was like he knew exactly what happened. 

Dean wondered what kind of man Sam was turning out to be.

Sam never talked about girls or brought anyone to meet him. Dean presumed he was a secret in Sam’s life; not exactly “first date” discussion material. Each time he woke up, he hoped to hear something about dating or engaged or anything that proved Sam still had a life. 

He’d overheard nurses who fluffed his pillows, bathed him, changed his sheets out. They talked about the handsome Winchester brothers; the devoted, soulful Sam and his rough-edged, bad boy brother Dean. He was particularly fond of Benny, a nurse that would eat his lunch in Dean’s room. He’d throw on crappy daytime TV and prop his feet up and chat to him with his smooth cajun drawl.  

“There’s no way this gal wins the million,” he’d mumble around a mouth of hospital food, nudging Dean with his sneakered foot. “She’s brain-dead. No offense, pal.”

And Dean would roll his eyes inwardly, wishing he could nudge him back.

“Benny, leave him alone,” the other nurses would say, admonishing, scandalized.

“Me’n Dean are friends,” would come the protest. “His brother ain’t always here to look after him.”

Nurse Braeden always smelled like coconut every time she changed Dean’s clothes. Her hands were soft and delicate, moving with the practiced knowledge of a mother. She talked about her kid sometimes, and Dean tried not to ache.

When he switched to long-term care, Sam started to bring in piles of comfortable clothing for Dean to wear. His favorite were a pair of soft cotton pajama pants, blue gingham and just thin enough that he never felt too hot underneath the hospital blankets. 

Sam’s favorite pair were a goddamn nightmare. They were thick fleece and filled with static electricity, patterned with little slices of cherry pie and the fucking pi symbol. Dean despised them, but Sam was so fond of them - something about brotherly bonding or some complete nonsense like that - that Dean was trapped in them embarrassingly often. 

They never fed him real food. He assumed it all came in through one of the tubes pressed into his arm or his neck or his dick. Probably not the dick one. Or the ass one, he mused. He was sure he looked like one of those hospital patients on Dr. Sexy that were all wrapped up in plastic and tubing, and had a thousand beeping machines around them. 

Dean wasn’t sure if he was even breathing on his own or if air was being pumped into his lungs for him.

When he slept and didn’t dream of Sam or pavement, Dean dreamt of the woods. He and Sam went on wilderness trips as kids; the real kind where all you had was a compass and a knife and you had to survive for days in the forest. He always felt good there; knelt in the dirt tracking a rabbit or fashioning a hammock in the tree branches to stay off the ground. 

Sam never liked it much, but he wasn’t half bad. He cried the first time he had to skin a hare, but he did it with more precision than Dean had ever accomplished himself. Dad sent them on those trips under the guise of learning basic survival skills, learning to hunt and survive. He’d had to do it himself in Saudi Arabia during the Gulf War, and he never let the kids forget it. 

Their dad left the Marines with honorable discharge and Dean left the world careening off the back of a motorcycle.

Dad died a few years before Dean’s accident. Pneumonia caught up to him and knocked him out cold in three weeks flat. He and Sam never saw eye to eye, and Dean was pretty sure Sam never let himself forget that. 

So, Dean and Sam went camping, a few times a year, just to think about Dad and keep their skills sharp. They didn’t want any part of what they’d been given to go to waste. Even if Dad wasn’t perfect, far from it in some cases, they still found a way to talk about him around a campfire with smiles on their faces.

Dean thought of camping and pavement, of Sam reading to him and Benny’s laugh. He thought of the dumb lilacs Sam kept on Dean’s bedside table - mom’s favorite and probably the only flower Dean could identify. His whole world was the bed, the smell of those flowers, and pissing into a tube. Some days, he just wished he could sigh. 

Then Dean woke up and yawned.

He took a deep, satisfying breath, and opened his eyes. He blinked. 

He blinked.

It took every ounce of self-control he had to not shoot up in his hospital bed and scream at the top of his lungs. He figured that might knock him right back into the coma. Instead, he took in long draws of oxygen and let them out in short puffs, slowly sitting up as his hands gripped the sheets for purchase.

It ached, it hurt, but he was sitting up. 

He could finally pay Benny the twenty bucks he’d lost to him in that poker game. He could hug Sam. He could see the beach. He could do anything he wanted to, because he was standing and smiling and alive.

Dean turned to call for a nurse, but his voice died in his throat. His machines, the ones that had been steadily beeping and pumping and living for him, they all had dead, black, dusty screens. He put a hand to his face and found whiskers. 

Nurse Braeden had shaved his face every two weeks since his ass hit the bed. 

Like a wave, a crippling hunger crashed over him and he almost fainted back toward the bed. He managed to keep his composure, steadying himself on the rail of his hospital bed. There was a sunken indent there where he’d lay. Dean felt nausea rise up alongside his hunger, but he knew he had nothing to throw up. A tentative drag of his fingers up his hip made him hiss as tender, raw skin throbbed under his own touch. The sores weren’t too bad, sensitive like a rug burn, and for that he could be thankful. 

He tried to keep his breathing even. From the look of his room, from the state of himself, he’d been the only one in this room in a while. Maybe he was supposed to be dead. Maybe he had died, and he was just a ghost haunting his final resting place.

Dean swallowed thickly. He glanced toward the door to his hospital room which was intimidatingly ajar. There was a window behind him, sill gently coated with dust. He stumbled toward it but stopped with a gasp as a sharp pain shot up his calf. Fucking glass was scattered all around the floor by the window, tiny shards sparkling under the sunlight. It looked like the window had been shattered. 

Swearing under his breath, Dean picked the shard of glass from his heel and pressed his hand down on it. It wasn’t too bad of a cut, not nearly as bad as it could have been. He found some hospital slippers and put them on before walking back over to the window and looking out. 

It looked like a parking lot. There were some cars, a bike rack. An ambulance was parked in front of the hospital entrance. All normal, not indicative of anything weird. Dean blinked his dry eyes again. Something still loomed in the back of Dean’s mind, kicking at him, imploring him to see more. 

He couldn’t, yet. He had to find a nurse, get some water. His legs felt a little wobbly and sore, but a quick stretch and he felt okay to walk. He tentatively opened the door to his hospital room, peering out, and then it dawned on him.

There were no people.

No bustling nurses or intercom announcements. No sirens outside or doctors bickering with surgeons. He didn’t hear the hiss and beep of medical equipment or anyone even so much as sneezing. Everything was still and Dean felt as if the tension in the building was thicker than air.

At least there was no one around to see him in the fucking pie pajama pants. The fleece stuck uncomfortably to his clammy skin as he walked, peering around for any sign of another person. 

He opened his mouth to call out, but immediately decided against it. Survival skills kicking in, he made a checklist: water, food, clothes, weapon. In that order. The weapon was last because he wasn’t sure if he needed one, and anything could be made into a weapon if put in the right hands. 

There was a water fountain just at the end of the hall. He padded toward it, ears perked and movements as deliberate as possible. He hit the button with his hip, and water bubbled up immediately.

Dean sunk down, sucking in the water greedily. He pulled back, remembering sips, dumbass, and taking smaller, timed gulps. There was a nurse’s station behind him, from which he nabbed an empty plastic bottle and filled it to the brim. He didn’t know how long he’d gone without water if the staff abandoned this place. Left him for dead.

He was grateful that he didn’t have time to think about why. Instead, Dean was able to focus on his next steps. He didn’t want to wander the hospital aimlessly; though he felt like the last man on Earth he was reasonably sure that anyone could be out there. 

So, maybe he was being paranoid. An abandoned hospital doesn’t mean Armageddon. 

All the windows in the building were destroyed. Blown in, it seemed, as all the glass skittered across the floor he was trying to make his way across. Blessedly, he found a hospital locker room and slipped inside.

Most of the lockers were open and empty. Dean figured as much. But there were a few locked ones, some with padlocks and others with combination. He ignored the combination locks, he never was one for math. But he found a bobby pin on the floor and set to work on the padlock.

It snapped open for him and Dean sent a quick prayer up hoping he would find something inside.

There was a backpack, which was loot enough for Dean. Inside were some shampoo bottles, a hairbrush. And a powerbar. Dean grinned and exchanged the shampoo bottles for his water bottle. The clothes inside were women’s and totally not his size, so he was stuck with his dumb pie pajamas for now. At least he wasn’t in a hospital gown. 

He briefly began to consider that the Rapture had come down on them and he was the last man on Earth. He’d never thought he was much of a sinner, more of an asshole than anything else. But maybe that was enough to get you kicked out of Heaven. 

Dean slung the backpack over his shoulder and checked a few more lockers, to no avail. His stomach growled so loudly it echoed in the small locker room, prompting a deep, heaving breath from him. All he had right now was that powerbar, and he had no idea what the world outside of the hospital looked like. 

He unwrapped the energy bar and ripped off a fourth of it, stuffing the rest back in the backpack. Even if he was overreacting, he was going to be smart about it. He chewed slowly as he perused the rest of the locker room, tossing some cool water on his face at a sink in the corner. He caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror perched on a wall and startled; he looked so old.

Dean ran his fingers through his thick beard, estimating a little over a week of growth. He had crinkles webbing out from the sides of his eyes, his hair just a bit longer and curling over his ears. He’d never be caught dead with his hair this long, normally, but he supposed Sam didn’t care to tell them to cut it that often.

When he found Sam, he’d give him a hard time about it.

As expected, none of the phones in the hospital worked. The computers wouldn’t turn on, which probably meant even the back-up generator was off. He did find the kitchens, which had a wealth of chocolate pudding packs and water bottles. He stuffed his bag as full as he could get it, even taking a moment to sit and eat at one of the cafeteria tables.

Whatever happened, it didn’t looked like it happened suddenly. The cafeteria looked clean in its abandonment, discarded trays stacked at the food line and chairs pushed into the tables. Even the garbage cans were empty. Dean licked his plastic spoon thoughtfully, thinking of all the blown-in windows and the empty parking lot.

He wasn’t entirely eager to find out what the hell was going on. 

Eventually, he realized he was going to have to leave the hospital. Maybe he could hotwire a car and drive to Sam’s apartment in Lawrence, or hitch a ride if there was anyone around. Dean knew that if Sam were around, they were bound to find each other eventually.

Then again, Dean woke up in an abandoned hospital after a week of no one around. No note from Sam, no indication from anyone implying where they might be. He had nothing but a backpack full of pudding and absolutely no idea what to do next.

So, Dean did what he always did in a situation where he was uneasy, unsure, and a little nervous. He shouldered his backpack and kicked open the front doors of the hospital, diving in headfirst to the unknown.

The sun was bright and harsh against his eyes, so he made his way through the parking lot squinting. He kept his ears perked for sounds of cars, maybe people, maybe anything, but all he heard were some birds in the distance and the padding of his hospital slippers against the pavement. 

He tugged at the corner of his t-shirt, worry beginning to set in a little bit. It was winter when he crashed, but he knew it’d been longer than six months. He could tell by the car models in the lot he’d never seen before, at the very least. They mostly seemed abandoned, unlocked with no materials or keys inside. He squatted down behind one and examined the license plate.

The tab stickers said APR 2019 which meant Dean had been out for at least four years. Four goddamn years of his life spent prone in that bed just listening to people. 

It also meant he’d hit his thirtieth birthday back in January, and he was old without anyone letting him worry about it. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose against an oncoming wave of nausea. It was so fucking quiet and he really needed to hotwire one of these older model cars and get the hell out of dodge. 

He popped the door of a model he’d been pretty familiar with before the accident. Not that he’d ever stolen a car; maybe joyridden once or twice, but never permanently. He got the engine to sputter to a start but the needle sat just above the E on the dash. 

“Shit,” Dean said, and a hand flew up to his throat. It was the first thing he’d said, really said, in years. It came out low and rough, his voice hoarse with disuse. He swallowed slowly, reaching back into his bag for a swig of water. The needle looked just above the E, probably enough to get him out of the city toward Sam’s place. He stretched his neck, put the car into drive, and pulled out of the lot.

Dean was glad there weren’t any other cars on the road; he was a little shaky, if he was honest. He worked to keep the car steady under his hands. He was feeling weak, obviously, and nervous, less obviously. The world was empty, he was alone, and he was starting to freak out.

Along the sides of the highways, cars were strewn with open doors and trunks. Abandoned and pillaged. The city skyline had long disappeared behind him. 

He’d only been driving twenty minutes, just outside of Lawrence, when it happened. 

It was deafening, earth-shakingly loud, and blindingly bright, rumbling the car out of Dean’s control. He may have cried out, he couldn’t hear over the ringing in his ears as his vehicle jerked hard into the shoulder and head-on into a parked sedan.

“What the fuck,” he shouted, smacking the wheel with both hands. He was fine, all things considered, but his hand shook as he unlatched his seatbelt. 

The Topeka skyline was never really much to look at, in Dean’s opinion. The buildings didn’t climb that high or shine that bright. But as he tumbled out of the car, chest heaving, he desperately tried to recall what it looked like. 

Because a thick black pillar of smoke and shockingly orange flames tore up into the sky, and even from where Dean was standing he knew that skyline was gone. He could almost smell the smoke, feel the heat from the flames. His mouth was dry with the sight. 

Not even half an hour ago, Dean was standing in the St. Francis Health Center wondering if he should just stick around.

Shakily, he turned to his car. It was ruined. He was sure that there were no other cars he could get going, not in the state they were in. He didn’t even know if he wanted to bother. He leaned back against the warm metal frame of the car, dipping his head into his hands, despondence taking hold. 

He knew he looked a sight; a grown man in hospital slippers and fucking pajamas about to cry helplessly on the side of the road while the smouldering remains of his state capitol burned away in the distance. But, he thought, at least no one was around to see it. 

Before the tears could start, though, he suddenly looked up. Someone blew that building up. Someone. Someone was alive, which meant Dean wasn’t alone. He sure as hell didn’t want to mess with whoever tore down the city, but he knew that he wasn’t the only person alive. There had to be others, and Sam had to be with them.

Reinvigorated, Dean dug his backpack out of the car. Maybe if he moved inland, through the woods, he could find a place to set up camp. He was just outside Clinton Park, and he knew there was a lake somewhere in the middle of the forest. Maybe he would find people. He just hoped he would find the right ones. He was close enough to Lawrence, and after some rabbit and a night’s rest in a tree he could set off walking in the morning. He would find Sam. 

He hopped the median and started down the grassy hill toward the treeline. Dean was comfortable in the woods, so at the very least he knew he could survive there until he found out what the hell was going on. Deep in thought, he almost didn’t notice when he heard the rumbling of a truck engine. 

Instinct kicking in, Dean threw himself down and flattened against the grass underneath him. He was pretty sure the hill gave him plenty of cover, but he wasn’t about to take any chances. He heard the car rumble loudly up to where he was, then, much to his chagrin, squeal to a stop. 

Dean silently cursed. The car had been coming from downtown, which meant there was a pretty good chance these were the assholes that set off the bomb. He didn’t want to tangle with anyone who had to do with that quite not, not until he got the jist of things. He slowed his breathing and listened, as he did best.

“Hey!” A woman’s voice called out, right before a slamming door. “Look at this car. Still smoking.”

“Anyone in it?” A guy said back, muffled, like maybe he had a cigarette between his teeth. 

The girl paused. “Nah. Maybe he made a run for it after the bomb.”

“That was sweet!” A third guy said, voice trembling with adrenaline. “When’s the next one, Michael?”

“Hopefully there won’t be a ‘next one,’” said Michael, the first male voice he’d heard. “You think this kind of thing is fun? You really do belong here.”

The girl started laughing, and the sound of it made Dean’s blood curdle. “Get the stick out of your ass, Michael.”

Dean had been so focused on the conversation, focused on staying quiet, that he really couldn’t blame himself for someone getting the jump on him. A heavy weight fell on his back, hand clasping firmly over his mouth. Dean had a choice: make a lot of noise, get noticed by the demolition crew up on the road, or stay silent until he figured out why the fuck he was being manhandled.

Instinct told him to go with the latter. The hand eased off his mouth, slowly, and Dean craned his head to see who had ambushed him.

It was fucking Benny, from the hospital, all scruffy and dirty, decked out in camouflaged green canvas. Dean couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so happy to see someone. He almost said so, but Benny brought a finger to his lips. Shh.

Benny craned his neck behind them and Dean nodded, eyes serious. They slid a little further down the hill, creeping slowly toward the treeline.

“Well, should we find this guy?” The woman said, almost boredly. He heard Michael pause.

“No. This is wolf territory. He’ll either find them or one of our traps. Either way, the guy’s dead.”

Dean paused. There were no wild wolves in Kansas. He stumbled forward, dazed, and Benny caught him to steady him. On the lapel of Benny’s vest, there was a crudely painted grey wolf. Almost like a crest, he thought, and then, I’m going to die.

But Benny looked over his shoulder and rolled his eyes, and trust bloomed in Dean’s chest. He would be okay. Benny took care of him for years, maybe the guy had a soft spot for him.

Once they cleared the treeline, they walked silently and carefully further into the woods. Dean kept his eyes sharp, marking the pathway they took in case he had to make a run for it. Estimating, they’d been walking for about twenty minutes before Benny stopped, held a hand up, and surveyed the woods.

Then his eyes landed on Dean. “Man, am I glad to see you, brother.”

“Me?” Dean said with exasperation. “Dude, I just woke up in St. Francis like two hours ago with no one around, buildings exploding - What the hell is going on?”

Something mixed between pity and sympathy pinched Benny’s face. “Two hours? Man, I thought you died weeks ago, when they took the hospital.”

“When who took it? Why?” Dean demanded. He was starting to get frantic, angry, and if he didn’t get an answer soon his head might explode. “Please, man.”

Benny heaved a sigh and pointed down at a stump. “It’s gonna be a long story, chief.”

“I get the feeling we got time,” Dean said flatly. Benny laughed, shook his head, and gave Dean a smirk. 

“I knew you’d be funny. Your brother always said you were funny.”

Dean sat down on the stump, rubbing his eyes. “Do you know where Sam is?”

Benny clicked his tongue apologetically, leaning up against a tree and crossing his arms. “Sorry, man.”

“Start from the beginning,” Dean sighed. 

The beginning, it turned out, was a bunch of different things. Political divides, domestic terrorism, hysterics and fanatics and heretics all screaming at each other on the television screen. People ignored the rising tension, saying it would pass, saying it wasn’t the first time things were crazy in the political world. Some people said it started there, with the lethargy.

Benny said it started with the bombs.

“From who?”

Benny shrugged. “They’re are all kinds of rumors. Folks say Russia or North Korea, but I think that’s the easy way out. Racists got all kinds of crazy theories.” He shook his head. “Some folks say we did it to ourselves.”

It was California first, the southern parts. Beverly Hills and Los Angeles fell in a day, Benny said. There was distant panic, but not knowing the culprits brought the anxiety to everyone in the country. Next was Texas, then through the south. Landmarks and business hubs seemed to be the targets, but no amount of ramped up security could predict or prevent the attacks.

“They stayed clear of the midwest,” Benny explained as he stripped some bark off the tree he leaned against. “Lot’sa people ended up here, refugees, whatever. Resources got real scarce.” 

“Survival of the fittest, huh?” Dean said sourly. 

“You could say that,” Benny grinned. “Those of us that got skills, the hunters, doctors,” he waggled his eyebrows, “we got real lucky. We’re commodities like never before.”

“What’s it like?” Dean asked quietly. Benny pursed his lips thoughtfully.

“Like war,” he suggested. “We got camps, tents. Most people try to just live in peace but you got the U.C. kicking up dust everywhere they go, causin’ trouble. Someone’s gotta keep an eye on them.” Benny grinned as he thumbed at the grey wolf on his jacket lapel. 

Dean ran a hand through his hair. “You really gotta slow down, man,” he laughed humorlessly.

Benny gave him a sympathetic look that Dean kind of wanted to slap off his face. “Sorry, brother. Hard to believe there’s anyone out there that doesn’t know what’s goin’ on.”

“Believe it,” Dean said, firm and flat. With a chuckle, Benny slid down the tree trunk until he was sitting in the dirt, arms sitting loosely on his knees. 

“Okay, chief. So there’s the U.C. up-,” he stopped himself at Dean’s narrowed eyes. “All right, all right. The United Commonwealth.” He said it with mockery, his southern accent dropping away momentarily. “Think they’re doin’ right by people, but they’re just tearing this place apart.”

Dean glanced over his shoulder. “Those guys on the highway. Members of the United Commonwealth?”

Benny nodded, teeth grit in irritation. “Dumb bastards, if you ask me. Blowin’ up the city ain’t helping a soul.”

“What’s their goal?” Dean asked incredulously.

Benny spit in the dirt at his feet. “Hell if I know, brother. Don’t know much about their leader.” He barked a loud laugh and looked up to the sky. “The world’s gone nuts.”

“Hundreds?” A sense of dread started to roil in Dean’s stomach. “How many you got? The Wolves?”

“Dust Wolves,” he drawled with pride. The grin on his face was so shit-eating that Dean couldn’t help but smirk a little, too.  “Fifty or so, give or take. Lot’sa give. People take off for the U.C. when they hear we ration our food. Not many of ‘em make it.”

Rationing. Things really were dire, then, and Dean was right to grab the small energy bar from the locker room. His stomach grumbled loudly at the mention of food, and Benny’s ears perked at the sound. “You must be starving, brother. C’mon, we’ll get you to camp.”

He pushed himself to his feet and held out a hand for Dean, raising his eyebrows expectantly. There was trust in his eyes, something so open and inviting that Dean couldn’t help but take his hand and stand with him. “You don’t even know me,” Dean said reverently. Benny laughed.

“C’mon, man. I’ve known you for years,” he teased. “We bonded over shitty reality TV.”

“You really liked cooking shows,” Dean mused as he stepped over a fallen branch. 

Benny gave him a sidelong glance. “I knew you could hear us. You’d wake up sometimes, swear you’d look right at me.”

An overwhelming wave of gratitude hit Dean right in the chest. He didn’t know what he’d done right to find Benny in the mess the world had become, but having someone he trusted at his side just made the whole thing seem a little less fucking terrifying. 

“I was trying to tell you to change the damn channel,” Dean said, “or get your feet off my bed.” 

Then Benny’s arm was around Dean’s shoulders, pulling him into a side hug. It was the most physical contact Dean had felt in years, since even before his accident, and it was jarring. He didn’t pull away, though, instead falling into step next to the other man.

“I knew I’d like you,” Benny said. “Glad you’re here, Dean.”

“Any of the others with you? Braeden?” 

Benny shook his head, sliding his arm from Dean’s shoulders. “Nah, man. She took off after the first bombs. Family in Orlando.”

Dean thought of her and her coconut shampoo, and wondered if she and her son were safe somewhere. It comforted him to think of their happiness, so he focused on it for a little while while they walked. 

He didn’t know where they were headed and he still had a very fuzzy grasp on the dynamics of the world. He didn’t know who the Dust Wolves were or what their purpose was. Hell, he didn’t even know what the U.C. was about except that they blew shit up in the city. 

A thought occurred to him. “Benny, you said someone took the hospital. Was it them?”

Benny’s brows pinched in anger again. “Yeah, man. They let us run it for awhile, y’know, keep all you folks alive. Kept us fed. But then y’all became wasted resources.” Benny used finger quotes and all. “Made us shut it down. We fought for it, brother, we did.” 

“I know,” Dean said softly. 

“It was only a few weeks ago,” Benny sighed. “I switched your IV drips right before we left, knew it’d give you a little while in there.” He laughed, shook his head. “Don’t know why. Maybe I thought you’d wake up.”

“Guess you were right.” Dean’s voice was weaker than he’d meant it, but he had trouble speaking around the lump in his throat. He owed Benny his life, and he’d never owed anyone that much before.

“Guess so,” he nodded. 

They walked in silence for a moment, something uncomfortable and heavy between them. It was just too much for Dean to process quickly and he had no way of sorting it out in his mind. But then Benny stopped and cornered him, poking a large finger right into the middle of his chest. 

“You owe me twenty bucks,” he accused, a spark of humor in his eye. “I beat you in poker fair and square three years ago.”

“My ass,” Dean snorted, batting Benny’s hand away. “You cheated. I saw you swipe some of my chips to stack your pile.”

Benny swore under his breath and crossed his arms, peering at Dean. “Fine, how ‘bout we call it even?”

“Deal,” said Dean, and the balance shifted. They’d be all right, he thought, and Benny bumped his shoulder with his own.

The rest of the walk was filled with chatter. The sun was blocked by the forest canopy, speckling through in warm streams of yellow that flickered across their faces as they walked. The forest smelled like home, damp and dirty, filled with life. 

Dean had questions and Benny mostly had answers, but Dean felt like he didn’t learn a damn thing. The U.C. had a platform of peace, moving forward and recultivating the land to be what it once was.

“Some of us don’t like the way it was,” Benny had said. “This is a chance to start something new.”

Overall, Dean felt very ambivalent about the whole thing. The U.C. seemed organized, from what he gleaned off Benny, and powerful. They had guns and people who knew how to use them.

“They’re out at the landfill in Johnson County,” Benny said, and Dean’s eyes widened.

“Deffenbaugh, outside Kansas City? That’s like a thousand acres of land,” he breathed. It had only taken the U.C. two years to claim that whole space, and that said plenty about their practices. Only the ruthless got shit done that quickly. 

“Smells like shit,” Benny observed. “But they compost the trash, repurposed some of it. Got good tilling land, secure perimeter. Think they’re trying to build a damn city.”

“But you guys have the park,” Dean said, nodding toward the forest around them. “It’s huge, too. Good cover, fresh water.”

Benny chuckled softly, slapping a tree branch as he passed it. “Spoken like a true hunter.”

“My brother and I spent some time in the woods,” Dean explained with a little bit of a pang in his chest. “That’s where I was going, y’know. To find Sam. His apartment is in Lawrence. If he’s alive somewhere, he would have left something there for me.”

“Even if he was running for his life?”

“Especially if he were running for his life,” Dean said firmly. Benny’s lips quirked up in appreciation, even if he did look a little sad. “Hell, he’d probably haunt the place just to wait for me.” 

Benny shrugged one shoulder, dodging a muddy puddle of leaves. “Ain’t that far from Lawrence,” he said thoughtfully. “Maybe we could send a crew with you. Just have to run it by the boss.”

Of course, Dean thought, there was a boss. Every group had to have a leader, and whoever the guy was, he was probably a force to be reckoned with. Taking a stand against a rising regime was dangerous enough, but gaining followers in the process was serious business. And Benny was one loyal motherfucker, if judging only by how quickly he’d come to Dean’s rescue.

“Boss, huh?” He asked in a failed attempt to sound flippant. He didn’t want to needle Benny about whoever the Wolves’ leader was, but he definitely wanted to know more. “Cool guy?”

Benny’s face did something unreadable, something like a smile and a grimace all at once. “He’s one-of-a-kind,” he said evasively. Dean glared a sigh out of him. “I didn’t like him much at first. Makes a lot of reckless choices. But his heart’s in the right place.”

That didn’t sound promising to Dean. The hesitation must have read all over his face, because he earned a chuckle from Benny. “Worried you picked the wrong side?”

“Nah,” Dean said, kicking guiltily at the dirt under his foot. He grimaced as some mud sloshed against the bottom of his foot. He really needed to get rid of those hospital slippers soon. “Just gotta know what I’m up against.”

They came through the camp clearing just a few minutes later, and Dean was surprised to note how nervous he felt. Tents, hastily fastened with canvas and flannel, peppered the large clearing in small clusters. He and Benny wove through the encampment, passing children washing dishes in plastic tubs. They stared hard at Dean as he walked by them, impervious to his wink and smile.

The sun had begun its descent an hour ago, and now the camp was bathed in the blue-orange glow of dusk. Dean wondered if now, he’d be able to see the stars.

A warm, earthy scent caught Dean suddenly, his stomach gurgling its protest. It smelled like fire-roasted beef, but Dean was pretty sure it was probably squirrel or rabbit over a campfire. Benny seemed to be leading him toward the smell, for which Dean was eternally grateful.

They came upon a campfire in a ring of stone, indistinguishable meat rotating on spits over the flames. Here were the adults, laughing and cooking, all dressed in the same forest camouflage as Benny. Each one of them, Dean noticed, had a wolf stitched somewhere on their jacket.

The conversation died fast when he and Benny came into the clearing. Dean cleared his throat, ready to introduce himself, but Benny barrelled over him.

“Thought I’d bring a date to dinner,” he said amiably, wringing a few chuckles out of the crowd. Smoke rose evenly from the fire pit, catching in the wind and blowing Dean’s way. He tried to give his most charming smile, but knew he probably looked worse for the wear; in pajamas, thin, dirty.

“He’s hot,” said a woman to his left, and Dean nearly jumped out of his skin. She was grinning, her long, curly blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail. “Maybe a little starved, but look at that bone structure.”

“Uh,” he said blankly, “thanks, I guess.”

She just patted his arm, curling her fingers around his bicep and pulling him toward the fire. He looked back to Benny, who shrugged and turned away, maybe to go get the boss. “I’m Jess,” the woman said with a very comforting smile. “I’m new here, too. Don’t worry, no one will bite.”

“How do you know that if you’re new?”

Jess clicked her tongue. “I think someone would have taken a shot at me,” she said, baring her teeth. He liked her immediately and graciously accepted the bowl of potatoes and rabbit that was pushed into his hands. “It’s not much, but it’s got to be better than wherever you came from. Nice pants.”

“Hospital,” Dean explained around a mouthful of potato, successfully resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “Was in a coma for, um, four or five years.”

Her eyes rounded in surprise. She whistled quietly and crossed her arms over her chest. “That’s a long time to be out,” she murmured. “You missed everything.”

“You’re tellin’ me,” he grumbled unhappily. “I have no idea what’s going on, and Benny’s shit at explaining things.”

“I’ll help,” she said firmly. Dean was just wondering if maybe he could fall a little in love with her when a heavy hand fell on his shoulder. 

He turned to meet Benny’s eyes, swallowing the last bit of food that was in his mouth. He opened his mouth, ready to say thank you, or maybe hug him, when he caught sight of the man with him. 

He was shorter than them both, donning a beige khaki army jacket with a black wolf painted over his breastbone. He looked tired, but his blue eyes were wide with frank acceptance. His frame was lithe and taut, like all his muscle was packed quietly underneath his skin, hidden away to surprise. “Hello,” he said, extending an arm for a handshake. “I’m Castiel.”

“Dean,” he said, but his hands were covered in the food he’d been shoveling in his mouth. He raised them apologetically, and Castiel gave him a small smile as he dropped his arm. 

“It’s all right,” he said, “it’s important you eat. I hope everyone is treating you well.”

“So far,” Dean agreed with a nod. “Um, thank you.”

Castiel nodded vaguely, and Dean couldn’t help but wonder if he’d said something wrong. Before he could ask about it, Castiel was continuing. “Benny said you were at St. Francis,” he said curiously. “We lost that to the United Commonwealth several weeks ago. How did you survive?”

Castiel’s hands were clasped behind his back now, and Dean realized he was being questioned in front of the rest of the camp. People pretended not to listen, but he could feel eyes all over the back of his neck. “Um,” he began, glancing to Benny, who gave him an encouraging shrug. “Benny loaded me up with all the meds before you left,” he said. “Guess the big guy had a soft spot for me.”

“He does tend to pick favorites,” Castiel said with a quick look over his shoulder. Benny was picking his teeth with some poor animal’s thin, white bone. Dean grinned affectionately. 

“I must be one of the lucky ones,” he said.

Castiel met his eyes, and the smile started to slip from Dean’s face. This guy was really intense, and it made Dean’s skin prickle. “You are,” he said, leaving no room for discussion. “If the U.C. had found you first, you would be in a much different situation.”

“How different?” Dean ventured to ask.

The way Castiel peered at him once again gave Dean the impression he’d said the wrong thing. “They are ruthless,” Castiel answered, and Dean could swear he saw his eyes darken. “They will do anything to rise to power, including culling the voices of anyone who disagrees with them. They are vicious and would have slit your throat if not put you to the fields to till their land.”

“Jesus,” Dean breathed. Castiel seemed to notice how his voice rose, a bit of embarrassment coloring his cheeks.

“I apologize,” he said much more softly. “I have had enough run-ins with the men from the United Commonwealth that I’ve developed a grudge.”

“What’s life without a few enemies, huh?” Dean said weakly, trying to lighten the dour mood. He wanted to make as good of an impression as possible. “What, uh. What been happening? How can I help?”

Castiel softened even further, a sort of wonder in his eyes. “You just got here, Dean. You’re wearing pajamas.”

Shame crept up Dean’s face and he barked out a short laugh, rubbing the back of his head. “Oh, yeah,” he said sheepishly. “No chance you guys have some extra clothes, huh?”

Castiel gave a small, quiet smile and nodded. “We do. Jess can show you when you’re finished eating.”

It was no surprise that Castiel led these people. He seemed kind, passionate. Strange, with his staring and his soft, low voice. A few people came up to speak with him, and Dean watched as he finished his meal. He was compassionate, laying hands on arms and listening with care. He didn’t smile much. 

Dean had made him smile a little. 

He couldn’t quite discern the pride that bubbled up in him, but before he had a chance to think too long about it, Jess was taking the empty bowl from his hands.

“What’s in the backpack?” She asked curiously, passing the dish off to an eager child, who ran it to a washing basin. 

“Half a Powerbar and a bottle of tap water,” he said with a shrug. “I guess pillaging hospitals isn’t my strong suit.” 

The sympathetic look bloomed on Jess’ features again. “You must have been terrified,” she said under her breath. Dean fiddled with his fingers awkwardly, unable to meet her eyes. If she noticed his discomfort, she didn’t mention anything. “Come on, let’s get you some clothes.”

Dean ended up in a tent that smelled like laundry soap and had stacks of all sorts of clothing. Each one was a shade of green, something to match their green environment. They all had wolf emblems painted or stitched, just like everyone in camp. Dean ran his fingers reverently across the clothing.

“What are you good at, Dean?” Jess asked, hoisting herself up to sit on a fold-out card table. Dean was staring at it, and she kicked his shin lightly. “What? Resources are everywhere. We got this from a camper to the east. Empty,” she added at Dean’s horrified look.

“Fixing things,” Dean answered. “Hunting. My brother and I used to do those hardcore camping trips. So, shooting, scavenging.”

“Scared Straight?” She teased, shoving a jumpsuit into his arms. “That should be your size. We can always use perimeter enforcement and away teams.” 

He turned the jumpsuit over in his hands. “Shoes?”

“Oh!” She jumped up and moved to the back corner of the tent, dragging out a cardboard box.

It took them fifteen minutes to find a suitable pair of shoes for him, but he ended up in a solid pair of work boots that fit just a little snugly under the cuff of his jumpsuit. Jess apologized for not having a mirror to give him, but Dean was just glad to have socks on. 

“This is great, Jess. Thanks,” he said, squeezing her upper arm. She punched him lightly in the chest.

“Don’t worry about it. Just pull your weight around here.”

Then they were interrupted by a man tumbling into the tent, an eyebrow raised in Dean’s direction. He had a lollipop fit into the corner of one cheek. “You Dean?” He asked shortly.

“Uh, yeah,” Dean said suspiciously. “Who are you?”

“Gabriel,” the man said, sticking his hand out. This time, Dean could take it. “We got a scouting mission.” The way the guy talked left Dean filled with unease, but he still took his hand and shook it once. 

“Now?” Jess said miserably. “He rolled into camp twenty minutes ago, let the guy rest.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes at her. “At dawn, Blondie,” he drawled. “Prince Charming has plenty of time to get his beauty rest.” 

Dean bristled outwardly. He’d had quite the fucking day, and if he wanted a nap he was damn sure going to take one. Jess looked as if she was about to speak up on his behalf, but he held a hand up to stop her. 

“It’s fine,” he said. “Can you just show me where I’ll be sleeping?”

“I’ll take him,” Gabriel said brightly, and Dean glowered. “Oh, relax. You’re on the way to mine.”

Dean followed Gabriel out and listened to his idle chatter about where the latrines were, when dinner was, when watch shift changed.  

“What do you watch for?” Dean asked, side-stepping a woman bustling through with a basket of apples. 

“The U.C., mostly,” Gabriel said, poking his lollipop back into his mouth. “Sometimes they come raid the camps.”

Dean gaped at him. “Why? What could they take?” He knew as soon as the words left his mouth that they were probably a little insulting. “Sorry.”

“Hey,” Gabriel said sharply. “We got a good set-up here. Either way, they don’t come for stuff. They come for people.”

That took a moment to sink in, and Gabriel had stopped dead a few steps ago. Dean turned on his heel, something like nausea rising in his gut. “They take people?” 

Gabriel nodded curtly. “And that’s why we keep watch.”

Fuck. Dean felt his fists curl in, fingernails pressing into his palms. He heard Castiel’s earlier words echo in his mind, how if Dean was found he would have either been killed or put to work. He glanced around the camp, where everyone seemed to be meshing pretty harmoniously. Who did those assholes think they were?

“Count me in,” Dean said gravely, but an overwhelming exhaustion crashed over him. What could he do in this state? Gabriel seemed to agree, judging by his smirk.

“You’re crashing with Benny,” he said, eyes pointed at the sky. “Condolences.”

Yeah, Dean was pretty sure he didn’t like this guy. “You-”

“We already set you up with a cot and sleeping bag,” Gabriel interrupted, as if Dean hadn’t said anything at all. “Skivvies, too.”

Dean wrinkled his nose, but a yawn stopped his snarky retort. Gabriel ushered him into the tent. “You need a bath. I’ll come wake you an hour before our shift, show you the ropes. Sound good?”

Dean was already eyeing what had to be his cot, tucked neatly into the corner of the tent with a pillow and thin sheet. It was more than he expected, and he just hoped he wasn’t taking it from someone who deserved it.

“Thanks,” he said, but Gabriel was already turning to leave. 

“Oh, here.” He pressed a full bottle of water into Dean’s hand. “Don’t get too excited, it’s strained lake water. But better than you dying in your sleep. See you in the A.M., Charming.”

And Dean was alone again.

He sat on his cot, testing its resistance, before laying down over the sheets and tucking his arm under the pillow. He let his eyes slip shut, feeling achy and exhausted like he hadn’t felt in years. He hadn’t felt anything in years, he remembered, the thought itching at the back of his mind as he turned to his back. He stared up at the tent ceiling, listening to the quiet murmuring outside of his tent. 

He wished Benny were in there with him, and inexplicably, Castiel. The leader was soothing and informed, giving Dean the impression that if he wanted to know what was truly happening in the world, Castiel was the one to talk to. Benny was coy, Gabriel was an asshole. Jess might give Castiel a run for his money in the honesty department, but her newbie status didn’t give Dean any comfort.

Dean slid off the cot until he was sitting on the grass, his back up against the curve of the metal rod. His pajamas sat unused at the foot of the bed, folded and crisp. The ground was cold under his ass and the bar kept his back stiff, but Dean had been laying down too fucking long.

He started to doze, sitting straight up like that, images of the explosion playing like a loop in his mind. Topeka was burnt to the ground and Dean was here, trying to pretend like he had a handle on things. He jerked awake once or twice; once went he felt that tightness behind his eyes warning him that he was about to cry, and twice, when Benny stumbled in an hour after that.

“You all right, bud?” He said softly, scratching his beard. “God damn, seein’ you upright is a thing of beauty.”

“Thanks,” Dean muttered with as much of a smile as he could muster. “Not exactly feeling like a thing of beauty, right now.” 

“Hey,” Benny said sharply, settling heavy right next to Dean on the floor of the tent. He knocked their shoulders together. “You’re doin’ great, but you gotta sleep. Heard you already got a job.”

“Recon,” he yawned.

“Boss likes you,” Benny confided. “I didn’t get a job for a week. You stumbled into one wearing fuckin’ slippers.”

They laughed together, quietly, before Benny hauled himself up to his feet. “Get some rest, chief. Gabriel ain’t cutting you no breaks.”

Dean nodded wearily and reached over to the folded pajamas Jess had provided him. As he lifted the pants up, he felt a pang in the middle of his chest, his fingers pressing reverently against the blue gingham. They even had the little stain on the pocket from where Benny dripped mustard on him, once. Swiped from the hospital in a resource run, he guessed. 

He looked up to Benny who gave him a one-armed shrug. “Maybe I put in a special order for you,” he said without looking up from his newspaper. “Now stop moonin’ at me and hit the hay.”

Dean changed into the pants and thought of Sam, and let himself sleep. 

Chapter Text

As it turned out, Dean was not fond of sleeping. It made him dream, just like before, and as the sun crept under their tent he was loathe to move. He didn’t know if he would even be able to.

But his toes wiggled, and he yawned, and he was able to open his eyes. He felt so achey, dirty and overheated, and as he swung his feet over the edge of the cot he caught sight of his muddy hospital slippers. 

He stared mournfully at them until Gabriel startled him out of his reverie by stomping happily into the tent and tossing him another water bottle. “Glad to see you’re up,” he said, not bothering to lower his voice for Benny. Benny didn’t seem to notice, snoring happily away in his cot. “Dressed better today, too.” 

“Shower?” Dean tried, but his voice came out just as rough as it had the day before when he’d woken up. He coughed, cleared his throat, and sipped the water. “Or bath, I guess.”

“C’mon, hot stuff.” Gabriel nodded over his shoulder. “We’ll give you the works.”

Dean grabbed his jumpsuit and boots and followed Gabriel out into the morning camp. There were groups of people huddled around small, personal campfires boiling coffee and oatmeal. The smell of coffee perked Dean up almost as much as actually drinking some, but Gabriel ushered him past.

“You got a couple options,” Gabriel was saying, walking backward and keeping an eye on Dean. He deftly stepped over laundry piles and fire rings without even looking. “Most people just wash up in the lake. But we have a bath house.”

Dean’s skin itched for it.

“Exciting, yeah?” Gabriel grinned. “Boiled lake water and hand soap. Very chique. Medieval is so en vogue.”

But Dean didn’t care, warm water sounded beyond incredible. He was stiff, mud caked in what felt like every orifice he had. He shook his head. “Sounds like heaven, man.”

Gabriel gave him a long look. “You’ll fit in just fine here.” Dean wasn’t able to read anything from his tone, but he suspected he’d said something right. They got to the flap of a large, canvas tent, which Gabriel just poked his head into. “Knock knock?”

“Jesus, Gabriel,” Dean heard Jess admonish. “Knock first.”

She shoved past him, clearly just having finished up. Her wet hair sat curly at her shoulders, damping the green bomber jacket she was wearing. “All yours. I started the fire awhile ago, should be warm for you.”

“You get one hot bath a week,” she explained further. “Work it out with someone to light the coals for you, otherwise you’re on your own. Sign-up sheet is inside. You haul your own water from the lake, normally, but we took care of it for you this time.”

He nodded blearily, already able to feel the warm steam from inside the tent. She touched his shoulder gently, anchoring him, and he gave her a weak smile.

“You’ll pick it up in no time. Not much else to do,” she winked. 

“Meet me out here when you’re done,” Gabriel said as he manhandled Dean into the tent. “Don’t take too long, we have a lot of ground to cover today.”

There were four wooden basins, maybe just too small for Dean’s full size, and two giant pots over coals in the middle of the room. One was filled with steaming water, and Dean assumed that was to be his.

The basins had cloths on rods for privacy, which Dean marvelled at. He assumed it would be a little more primitive, but people were way more resourceful than he gave them credit for. The wooden basins looked like they may have been lifted from a shower house or spa. 

He hauled the pot up and dragged it to a basin, slowly pouring the hot water into it. He couldn’t wait to slip inside. He shucked off his pajamas and laid them on a nearby crate, stretching his arms high above his head before dipping his leg into the water.

It was an immediate relief, and soon he was fully immersed, letting it slosh over him. It was probably just a little too hot, but Dean wouldn’t have changed it even a little. He took a cloth hanging on the side of the basin and ran the water over his arms and legs, scrubbing at the dirt on his skin and watching it flow away in rivulets. He’d have to rinse off in the lake again later, but this would get rid of most of the mud and ache of the last 4 years. 

Jess had even left him a small bar of soap, wrapped delicately in Hilton tissue. Stolen from a hotel at some point, he assumed. He washed himself thoroughly, dragging the soap all over his skin and massaging his tired muscles. He dunked his head under the water to wet his beard and hair, and when he emerged again, Castiel was standing pink-cheeked in the flap of the tent.

Dean startled and almost ducked back under the water, but relaxed a bit when Castiel entered the tent and sat firmly on a crate nearby the basin. “I apologize for interrupting, I thought you’d have the privacy curtain pulled.” But his eyes didn’t leave Dean’s. 

From where he was sitting, there was no way Castiel could see any part of Dean but his chest and up, but it still made Dean flush a little. “It’s fine. I’ve been in a locker room before.”

Castiel laughed humorlessly. “I wasn’t much for sports,” he said, and clasped his hands in front of him. “I wanted to talk to you about your mission today.”

“You make it sound so official,” Dean said. Part of him wanted to lay back, rest the warm washcloth over his eyes, and listen, but he found it difficult to tear his gaze away from Castiel’s. He just lay his arms on the rim of the basin and soaked in the steaming water.  

“It is official,” Castiel said firmly. “You and Gabriel are scouting a disturbance East from here. There was a column of smoke at dawn, indicating a campfire. We want to know who it is.”

Dean furrowed his brow. “But Gabriel told me we were doing this last night,” he argued gently. “Before dawn.”

“The plan changed when we saw the smoke,” Castiel told him. A small smile tugged at his lips. “We were going to send you to get water for the bath you took.” 

Hilarious. Dean rolled his eyes and sat up a little further in the tub. If Castiel noticed, his expression didn’t betray him. The washcloth slipped from the edge of the basin and into the dirt, and Dean swore. He still had his face to wash.

Castiel was peering at him curiously. The gears in his head were practically audible as far as Dean was concerned. “Do you normally have a beard?”

“What?” 

Castiel touched his own chin. “Your beard. Has it just grown from your time in the hospital alone?”

“Yes,” Dean said apprehensively. Castiel nodded as if this was a good answer, and went to a crate right next to the basin Dean was immersed in. 

He shifted his leg upward to block his nakedness, but Castiel was too focused on rummaging in the crate. Eventually, he emerged with a razor blade and soap. “You’ll pass the lake when you move East with Gabriel,” he said, and placed the items on top of the crate. “If you’d like to shave, please take these with you.”

“Oh, uh,” Dean blinked and watched as Castiel moved back toward where he’d been sitting. “Thanks, man. Yeah. Now I just have to find a salon to take care of this mop.” He shook his head, his long hair casting water droplets around the tent.  

“Doubtful,” Castiel said seriously. 

“Darn.” When he ran his fingers through his hair, he reveled in how long it had really gotten. But at least it felt clean, now, and he smelled like soap instead of swamp water. The tightness in his muscles had released, and he almost felt human again. “I’m all set here, so I’ll get dressed and find Gabriel.”

Castiel nodded but made no move to leave. Dean stared at him, eyes flickering between him and the door to the tent. “Uh.”

“Oh,” the leader said and stood suddenly. “Apologies.” He exited the tent with such haste that Dean was worried he may sprain an ankle.

The towel he dried off with was soft and clean, and somewhere in the back of his mind he wondered if this was better treatment than he would have gotten at the hospital. He slipped into his jumpsuit and grabbed his pajamas, unsure if he should just leave them there. 

When he left the tent, a mesh bag was being shoved into his arms. “For laundry,” Jess smiled. “Wow, you clean up nice.”

Dean winked at her and stuffed his clothes into the bag. He’d seen the laundry area when and and Benny first arrived, where the kids washed the dishes. He looked at her helplessly.

“Soon you’re going to have to start pulling your own weight,” she teased, and took the bag from him. “I’ll drop this off for you this time, but you owe me.” She walked off, leaving Dean a bit dazed.

“You could cut the tension with a knife,” Gabriel drawled behind Dean. “You gonna ask her to prom?”

Irritation flashed across Dean’s face. Jess was just trying to teach him the ropes, and Dean had zero intentions of taking advantage of that. Not to mention, after four years in a coma, his dick wasn’t exactly at the forefront of his mind.

“Was thinking of asking you,” Dean said as he knelt down to tighten his boot laces. Gabriel snorted and dropped a backpack in front of them.

“Water, jerky. Socks. Some other stuff, in case we need to camp. You good with a knife?” Dean nodded, straightening up to accept the hunting knife Gabriel was passing him. “Good. Let’s head.”

Dean slid the knife into his side belt loop and followed Gabriel toward the camp perimeter. People were starting to wake up, emerging sleepily from their tents. Castiel was waiting at the front next to two very armed guards. Dean frowned at them, surprised. 

“What,” Gabriel grinned, nudging his shoulder. “You thought we didn’t have our own firepower?”

Castiel turned from instructing the guards and pressed a banana into Dean’s hand. “Don’t leave the peel anywhere the bears can find it.” 

“Are you coming too?” He asked, maybe a bit hopeful, but Castiel shook his head. “More for us, then. See ya, Cas.” With two pats to Castiel’s shoulder, he and Gabriel took off toward the east exit of camp.

“When he said bears,” Dean said around a mouthful of banana, “did he mean like, real bears, or is there a gay porno being shot around here?”

“He meant bears,” Gabriel said happily, whacking a few idle branches with his machete. “The four-legged growly kind.”

Gabriel explained that after the first insurgence of people moving in from the coasts, nature went all out of whack for a little while. The hunting shot up and everything started to die, and it was real bad for a winter. Two or three years ago, Gabriel said. He couldn’t remember exactly.

Dean learned that the bombs dropped two months after his accident. Most of his time in the hospital was while this shit was happening outside the walls. Everything ran almost normally for so long, that when Washington D.C. went down, people almost expected someone to be there to help.

“That was when the new government started to rise,” Gabriel said with a British accent. “But they were all absorbed into the United Commonwealth. Pricks.”

“There used to be more parties?” 

“Eh, three or four. All wanted basically the same thing, just tied up in a different box. Then the U.C. came along and made everyone’s dreams come true.” Gabriel huffed out an almost offended breath. “Ran on a platform of compromise."

“I take it you don’t agree,” Dean said lightly, and rolled up his banana peel to stick in his pack. 

“Let’s just say there ain’t a lot of ‘compromise’ when your head’s on a pike if you disagree.” 

Dean wrinkled his nose and decided to drop the subject. The United Commonwealth seemed like no fucking joke, the way Castiel and Gabriel talked about them. It sounded more like a dictatorship than a fucking political party.

They hit a bank of the lake after an hour of wordless hiking and took a break to refill their canteens. It was mid-morning, judging by the sun, which glinted off the deep blue of the lake. How it managed to stay even that clean with all the rubble around them, he couldn’t guess. “How did you guys get set up so nice?” Dean asked, rinsing his hands in the a shallow pond. 

“Honestly?” Gabriel asked as he pressed his cool canteen to his forehead. “Castiel. It’s harder to trust a baby deer over the guy.” A small, secret smile crossed his lips. “People just naturally follow him.”

Dean understood that. He’d only had a few conversations with Castiel, but even now he found himself feeling safe and curious. Usually, he realized, he was a lot more difficult to convince. But everyone at camp had seemed so cheerful and normal, no slave labor in any fields or heads on pikes.

“He just wants to help people,” Gabriel continued with a laugh in his voice. “It’s gotten us in trouble oh, say, a million times. I’ve tried to tell him not to help everyone, but the sap just doesn’t listen.”

Dean unzipped his backpack and pulled out the razor and soap, raising his eyebrows toward Gabriel. He barked a laugh so loud that some birds fluttered away from their perches. It was warm and happy, and Dean smiled as well. 

“See, that’s what I’m talkin’ about,” Gabriel said through his gasps. He finally catches his breath and, shaking his head, sits down on the warm rock he was leaning against. “Go ahead, we got plenty of time.”

“You said we were on a tight schedule,” Dean said sourly.

Gabriel grinned. “I lied, Charming.”

Dean wondered if he’d get kicked out of camp if he killed this guy.

Instead of murder, however, Dean just lathered his face up with water and soap and carefully started to shave, using the lake’s clear surface as a mirror. It wasn’t perfect, but it definitely felt better than the itch of whiskers on his face.

“He sent us out here so I could get a read on you,” Gabriel said, absently cleaning his fingernails with his machete. Dean paused in dragging the blade up his cheek and tilted his head toward him.

“Why would you tell me?” 

Gabriel shrugged as he looked out over the lake. “I like you. I think he likes you, too, ‘cause you sure are getting a lot of special treatment.”

That made Dean frown, and he furiously rinsed his razor in the water. “What kind of special treatment?” He asked before bringing the blade back to his skin. 

“Recon missions with me, for one,” Gabriel said. “Normally I’d be stuck with Benny, the big brute.”

Dean wondered vaguely how Benny felt about him snaking one of his missions away. Probably great, if he’d gotten to know the guy at all over the last few years. He was probably lounging on his cot with a cigar and a deck of cards. 

He gazed down at his reflection in the lake, half-shaven and sallow-skinned. It would probably be awhile before he regained much of his mass, especially if food was scarce. He sighed quietly and began on the right side of his face.

“Why couldn’t Castiel just ask me himself?” Dean asked as he finished up on his chin. And, there it was, a small nick. He groaned and pressed his fingers into the cut. “Damn it. This isn’t one of those situations where I’ll get an infection and die, is it?”

Gabriel looked delighted, but shook his head. “We have all kinds of antiseptic and medicine crap Benny stole from the hospital. I think he smuggled out an entire nurses’ station.” 

“Well, hopefully it won’t come to that,” Dean sighed, poking at the wound. It wasn’t bleeding much. 

“God willing,” Gabriel said solemnly. “Now that you’re hot, are we ready to hit the road again?” 

“Lead the way.” Dean stretched and shucked on his backpack. “Hey. What did Cas do before all of… this? Who was he?”

Gabriel looked at him a long moment before shrugging sharply. “Tightrope walker. Your guess is as good as mine.”

Dean snorted and fell in step behind him. 

The mood lightened as the sun rose to its peak, bearing down even through the forest canopy. Dean was grateful to have gotten rid of the excess hair on his face, but sweat still collected at his temples where his hair had grown out. He rolled the sleeves of his jumpsuit up to his elbows, squinting up at the bright streaks of sunlight.

“You didn’t happen to pack sunscreen, did you?” He asked hesitantly. Gabriel gave him a sidelong glance that said ‘no’ pretty definitively, so Dean shut his mouth and prayed he wouldn’t get burns.

“We have it good,” Gabriel said after a long moment. “Most people didn’t get so lucky, capiche?”

Dean nodded solemnly. The images started in on him: California in rubble, all those people laid to waste and swept into the sea. He thought of the New York skyline torn to pieces. A shiver ran through him as he stomped forward with vain attempts to ignore the rising nausea in his stomach. 

He wondered how many people were left outside of Kansas. He thought of them wandering helplessly, starving, and getting picked up by the goddamn United Commonwealth and put to slavery. The thought made his fists clench and he had to will himself out of the mindset to focus on their task.

“How much further?”

Gabriel shrugged and looked up to where the sun was positioned. “Maybe a mile north.” 

“We should keep it down,” Dean said as he lightened his footsteps. 

When Dean went on his first hunting trip with Dad, he’d learned about moving through the woods so even the ants wouldn’t know they were there. He rested his weight on the balls of his feet and watched the ground for leaves and twigs, looked ahead for branches and mud. He’d learned that mud was just as bad as the crunchy forest floor; slick noises and footprints would get you caught faster than you’d think.

The birds in the trees were security alarms for the woods; they would take off screaming, flapping, and show your exact location for miles around. If you set off the birds, the hunt was practically over. Dean mulled this over as he looked to the trees, taking in the nesting flocks that rest comfortably for the time being. He would need to be particularly careful. He wasn’t exactly at the top of his game.

Gabriel seemed to pick up on the posture change, keeping his mouth shut and walking carefully. He wasn’t as good as Dean would have hoped, but if they were only after another human than maybe stepping quiet wasn’t as important. Castiel wouldn’t have sent the two of them out together if he didn’t trust Gabriel’s tracking skills. 

The smell of an extinguished campfire, sooty and muddy, finally hit Dean. He turned sharply toward it, nodding for Gabriel to follow him. Luckily, he just fell in step behind Dean and didn’t try to argue. The scent grew stronger as they moved, and when Dean crouched for his hidden vantage point, Gabriel followed suit. They crept toward the treeline and Dean’s eyes landed on the smouldering wood in the middle of the clearing. 

There was a man standing near it, staring with hard eyes at the soggy wood and holding a dripping canteen. His dark hair was matted, dirty, with huge dark circles underneath his eyes. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days, cheeks gaunt with malnourishment. Even his lips were slightly chapped. Dean winced with sympathy.

He turned to tell Gabriel to keep it down, but the man was straightening up and moving toward the clearing. Dean barely had a chance to grab his sleeve and yank him back before he blew their cover. 

“What the fuck?” He hissed, tugging at him, but Gabriel shrugged him off.

“That’s my brother,” Gabriel said, and brushed the spot where Dean had been gripping him. “That’s Michael.”

Dean was stricken for a moment as Gabriel moved into the clearing, his mind churning. He’d only met one Michael since waking up in the hospital, and if that was him in there, they had some pretty big fish to fry. But if he were Gabriel’s brother, maybe… a sharp pain struck Dean at his temple and he decided not to think about it anymore. He stood and followed Gabriel through the trees.

He and Michael were hugging, though not with a lot of fierceness. “Why aren’t you with them?” Gabriel asked sharply as he pulled out of the embrace.

“Exiled,” Michael said sarcastically, and yeah, that was the same voice from the highway the day before. “Ruby tattled on me. Told the boss that I didn’t think the bombings were helping anyone.”

“So he just kicked you out?” Dean said incredulously. “For disagreeing with him?”

Michael turned to look at him, an eyebrow raising high. “Who the hell are you?”

Dean just shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. This guy running the United Commonwealth was just getting worse and worse in Dean’s eyes. Slavery, exile - and he thought he was a beacon for the future? The thought made Dean sick to his stomach. “I’m Dean - I’m, uh, new.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Come on, we’ll get you back to camp,” he said to Michael. “Castiel will be happy to see that you’re back.”

The trek back brought nightfall and more stories about the United Commonwealth. Most of their land had been cleaned and tilled, Michael reported, with livestock and vegetable gardens. People worked all day and through the night to maintain the land. But, Michael added bitterly, he’d never seen anyone running the place ever pick up a spade. 

“People mostly just keep their heads down and do what they’re told,” he explained. “No one wants to be put out on their ass. A steady stream of water and food is difficult to say goodbye too, no matter how much of a prick your dictator is.” 

“But you did,” Dean said curiously. Michael shot him a look.

“I didn’t know he was going to kick me out,” he said flatly, and Gabriel sighed loudly.

“Yes, we are all very sorry that you have to come back and slum it with your disgrace of a family,” he drawled, allowing a branch to smack Michael across the chest as they moved through the woods. 

Michael brushed the pine needles off his shirt. “Apology accepted,” he said airily. 

The sun began to set just as they were returning to camp. They’d stopped for food and drink at the lake, so Dean was only feeling a little sore when they got back. Stretching his legs, walking, talking - it was all refreshing and Dean was so grateful he hadn’t had to sit around camp all day brimming with excess energy. 

Castiel met them at the gates, all intense eyes and tan skin and Dean grinned at him. “Your plan didn’t work,” he said cheekily, and Castiel tilted his head to the side. “Y’know, sending me off with Gabriel so he could kill me in the woods.”

Castiel’s eyes widened in horror. “What did he say to you? I would never have asked that.”

“Relax,” Dean laughed, charmed by Castiel’s reaction. “I’m only joking. We got to know each other.”

“For that I’m sorry,” Castiel mumbled, but then he caught sight of Michael hanging sheepishly behind Gabriel, jaw set stubbornly. Castiel blinked a few times, maneuvering around Dean. “Michael? Are you rejoining us?”

“Delighted to,” Michael grumbled.

Castiel swept him away with an onslaught of questions, things about their leaders and their expansion plans, and a lot of shit Dean couldn’t understand at all. Michael looked appalled by the barrage but allowed Castiel to lead him back to his tent. 

A hand closed around his upper arm and Dean looked up to see Gabriel grinning at him. “Couple of hours with Castiel will teach Michael to run off on us again,” he said amiably.

“Cas isn’t that bad,” Dean argued. “He just wants to protect you guys.” 

Gabriel studied him for a moment in a way that made Dean’s skin crawl a little. Luckily, he dropped his gaze and just pat Dean twice on the back. “C’mon, it’s social hour.”

Social hour, as it turned out, was sitting around a fire and telling stories about before the bombs went off while everyone ate the day’s hunt. Dean learned that hunters worked in shifts to scout the area for food, and were well-trained not to deplete their own resources too quickly.

“Hmm,” Dean hummed appreciatively. “Who taught you that?”

“Castiel,” they said. 

Their leader was also behind supply rationing. His working method was to allow use of nearly everything, but insist on replacing either the effort or the resource used. There were some more suited to jobs than others and all were sorted at his hand. If grievances arose, they’d go to him. If anyone was unhappy, they’d go to him.

“No one ever goes to him,” they said. “At least, not that we hear about.”

The fire roared hot, tiny tendrils of smoke wisping off of the burning wood. Dean wrinkled his brow. “This can’t be a utopia,” he argued, toeing at the dirt under his feet. “Harmonious living ain’t really the ‘human’ way of doing things.”

“Of course people get unhappy,” Gabriel said flatly. “They usually just leave and go join the U.C.” He turned to Michael, who was pouting silently next to him, food untouched. “Michael here was one of them.”

“Why’d you take off, Michael?” Dean asked, sure his curiosity would probably land him in the doghouse somehow. Sure enough, Michael leveled a glare his way.

Gabriel just chuckled. “He doesn’t like sharing his shit,” he mock-whispered. 

“It’s fucking communism,” Michael muttered viciously. “This kumbaya attitude is going to get all of you killed. If not by the U.C., then by each other.” He looked over to Dean. “You’re right. We’re not meant to live this way.”

“I’ll be sure to go after you first when civil war breaks out,” Gabriel said lightly. “In the meantime, we are just so glad to have you back.”

A few nervous laughs erupted from around the fire and the conversation picked back up again. Michael excused himself, leaving his full bowl of stew uneaten on the forest floor. A skinny teenager was eyeing it, eyes flicking between the adults around him. He met Dean’s eyes and looked horrified, as if he was caught, but Dean gave him a small smile and lifted a finger to his own lips. 

The kid gave him a grateful smile and scooped the bowl of food up before anyone else could see. If he was going to make it out here, he’d need some skin on those bones, especially come winter. 

“A tornado came through last year,” Gabriel said suddenly. “Tore through most of our camp, some parts of the city. Obviously the hospital stayed standing, or you’da been shit out of luck a long time ago.”

The thought did not sit well in Dean’s stomach.

“Anyway, the last of the people in their own camps around the state, they all got pushed here. Not everyone survived.” Gabriel was looking to the teenager who was happily munching on his second bowl of stew. “When people find us, we try to give them a home.”

Dean stared hard at the ground, suddenly overcome with his isolation. He’d been stupid enough to get into that accident and lost his chance to say goodbye to his family, to all his friends, hell, he didn’t even have a chance to say goodbye to the world as he knew it. The camp felt cold, suddenly, and his stomach turned at the idea of another bite of food.

“Dean,” he heard from behind him, and he turned to find Castiel standing tall at his back. He stood and faced him, his misery probably written all over his face. 

“Hey, Cas,” he sighed. “Sorry, just got lost in thought.”

Castiel peered at him but ultimately let the moment pass. “I would like to speak with you.”

“Sure thing, boss,” he said with a strained smile, then followed Castiel through the line of tents. The sun was setting strong now, casting long, blue shadows across the campgrounds. The laughter of the group faded in the distance as they walked, Castiel’s hands tucked against the small of his back. “What’s up?” Dean prompted.

Castiel stopped and turned to him, a small smile on his face. “Gabriel said today’s scouting mission went well,” he began. “He said you were a promising hunter and had keen instincts.”

“I’m sure in not so many words,” Dean muttered. He couldn’t imagine Gabriel saying anything that kind about him, but he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Castiel’s smile grew a little wider and Dean flushed with pride at drawing that out of him.

“Well, maybe not,” Cas said with a little humor in his tone. “But the sentiment is the same.”

“I’d like to be a hunter, if I could,” Dean offered. “I have a lot of training. I could help out.”

Castiel nodded. “That may be useful in the future, but I have a different thought. How are you feeling?” 

Dean blinked. “Huh? Oh, um. Pretty good, all things considered,” he laughed. He was a bit achy from walking, but was surprisingly less sore than he’d expected. His head barely buzzed like it did when he was in-and-out of his coma, and that was mostly solved with conversation and water. 

A bashful prickling itched across Dean’s skin as Castiel gave him an evaluating gaze. “All right. I was leading an expedition into Lawrence tomorrow and heard you would be interested in joining.”

“Yes,” Dean said quickly, leaning forward to grasp at Castiel’s sleeve. “Yes, absolutely, if we could stop by my brother’s apartment in the city I could see where he went. He would definitely have left me some sort of sign, I was telling Benny, and if it’s already on the way it wouldn’t take any time at all to check it out.”

He caught his breath, then smiled a little sheepishly. Maybe he was being a bit overenthusiastic, but having backup on a trip into Lawrence was exactly what he needed. 

Castiel’s expression was wide and woeful, his blue eyes round with something like pity and empathy. It almost hurt Dean to look at it; he couldn’t have been that pathetic. “Please, then, get some sleep. We will leave in the morning.”

“Thank you, Cas,” he said, finally releasing Castiel’s sleeve from his hand. “Thank you.”

Castiel watched him for a moment and then gave him a quick, jerky nod before turning away. Dean didn’t even watch him leave. Instead, he made straight for his tent and began stripping for bed, shocked to find his pajamas folded at the end of his bed. Benny was laying out on his cot, reading some old newspaper by lantern-light.

“Special treatment,” Benny grumbled affectionately as Dean picked up his clean sleepwear. “I’ve been wearing the same drawers for a week.”

“Benny,” Dean asked as he pulled on the clothes. “Do you know what Castiel did before the bombs went off?”

Benny lowered his newspaper to look at Dean, lips all pursed in puzzlement. “Why?”

Suddenly bashful, Dean just shrugged in what he hoped was a non-committal way. “Just wondering. The guy is interesting.”

“Pfft,” Benny huffed, “interestin’. Sure. I heard he was in a motorcycle gang.”

Dean laughed at the mental image and threw his dirty socks at Benny’s face.  

“So, uh,” Dean asked awkwardly as he slid his pack onto his back, “who else is coming with us?”

The morning sun had just barely peeked over the horizon and Dean could already tell it was going to be an unbearably hot day. He was sure to pack an extra bottle of water just in case it was a long jaunt between refills. Judging by the bulging of Castiel’s backpack, he’d do the same.

“It’s just us,” Castiel said shortly. Dean scratched nervously at one of the straps on his backpack.

“I thought you said it was an expedition,” he muttered. He couldn’t help but be a little suspicious. Castiel just turned to look at him, that same wide-eyed expression on his face that always caught Dean off-guard. 

“I was going to scout the city,” Castiel explained. “Just to see if it was worth sending people in for resources. Lawrence was still essentially inhabited until recently.”

Dean gaped. “How? Without electricity, or fresh water?”

“People are resourceful,” Castiel said simply, and it seemed like the definitive end of that conversation. With a sigh, Dean fell in step behind Cas and watched him give out short, last-minute orders to his men at camp. Benny was at the gates, arms crossed over his broad chest, and his eyes tracked Dean for each step he made. His wolfish grin did not put Dean at ease.

“What?” He hissed as he passed him. 

“Be home by midnight,” Benny murmured, “and no necking.”

Dean was sure his neck flushed as he shot Benny a withering look. But the man just laughed, loud and rumbling, until someone shouted at him to shut the fuck up. 

“Aw, you shut up, Denise, what’s wrong with a little laughter now an’ again?”

“It’s six in the morning, Benny!”

“What, you got somewhere to be? I’m guessin’ you could sleep in a spell.”

Dean grinned as he followed Castiel past the gates, fingers flexing on the straps of his pack.

Travelling with Castiel, as it turned out, was fascinating. The guy was almost silent, maneuvering the woods like he built them himself. He was so light on his feet Dean was worried he’d blow away with any gust of wind that came by. But his eyes were sharp, ears perked, and Dean started to wonder if he was a better hunter than himself.

But it was quiet, too, and Dean had at least hoped they’d get to talk some. Benny’s little jibe swam around in his head, echoing between his ears as he watched Castiel walk. The man was so fucking interesting and Dean may have looked at his ass once or twice, like maybe in the way that he wore those pants pretty well and maybe anyone would have noticed. 

And he was lithe, assured, clearly in his element out in the woods. Dean got the impression he came out here alone quite a bit. He even took to watching Castiel’s feet, trying to pick up tips on how to move through the environment. It was as if Cas knew where each damn puddle was, how pliable each branch would be under his steps.

The sun was high. Dean had unzipped his jumpsuit hours ago, but soon even that was too much and he rolled the material off his shoulders so he could tie the sleeves around his waist. His white wifebeater clung to his skin, but at least he could feel the slight breeze and he didn’t feel like he was suffocating.

Castiel kept shooting him this little looks over his shoulder, as if checking to see if Dean was still behind him. The narcissist in him preened under the attention. His muscles had waned a bit over the years of disuse, but he still had enough definition that he could feel good about. He would be back to fighting form in no time with all these expeditions into the wilderness.

The fortieth time he caught Castiel looking at him, Dean gave him a grin. “We gonna walk in silence the whole way, Cas?” He said, trying to keep his tone friendly. 

“What would you like to talk about?” Castiel said to the forest floor.

Dean pursed his lips. “Yeah, you’re right, we don’t have much to choose from. The weather?” Castiel gave him a wry look that just made Dean smile wider. “How ‘bout before all this? Who were you?”

Unsurprisingly, Castiel didn’t answer immediately. Instead they broke left and found a small stream with heavy forest canopy above. It was dark and cool and Dean suddenly realized how much he was aching. “Let’s take a break. Talk a bit, huh?”

Castiel nodded curtly and settled himself on a mossy stump. His dark hair was clinging to his temples with sweat, twisting up at the ends in frizzy curls. He was still wearing his damn jacket though, and how he wasn’t dying from heat exhaustion, Dean couldn’t guess. Cas took a long, drawn chug of water from his canteen and Dean watched his adam’s apple bob. 

Quickly averting his eyes, Dean sat on a low rock next to Castiel’s tree stump and let out a satisfied sigh. “Feels good to sit down,” he said, knocking his elbow against Castiel’s knee. “Doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” Castiel smiled, and awkwardly attempted to return the gesture by kneeing Dean in the shoulder. Dean winced a little, but Castiel didn’t seem to notice. “I like hiking, but sometimes resting can be the best part.”

“Sure,” Dean said, rubbing his arm. The brook flowed fast and loud, crashing over the mossy rocks at the banks and continuously spraying them with a light mist of fresh water. “Fishing good in these lakes?”

The frown that bloomed on Castiel’s face immediately made Dean regret asking. “We fished too heavily our first few months out here,” he said regretfully. “The numbers are building, but slowly.” 

“How long has it been since you set up camp?” Dean asked as he drew idle lines in the wet sand with a twig. 

Castiel sighed long, eyes up to the canopy as he thought. “Three years,” he said after a moment. “Give or take. It used to be very small, but as the city fell we grew with people and supplies.”

The baths from a spa, clothing from the army surplus, medical supplies from the hospital. Dean recognized most of the city scattered about the Dust Wolves camp, gathered over time to sustain their lives. “Your people are very resourceful,” Dean complimented, and Castiel chuckled. 

“They are,” he said affectionately. “Benny found you, after all.”

Dean was unsure what to say to that. All he could hear for a moment was the blood rushing to his face as he tried to dissect the comment. He was a good hunter, he knew, but Castiel could hardly believe that so thoroughly after he’d had one excursion with Gabriel.

Castiel made a small noise. “I made you uncomfortable. I’m sorry.” 

“No!” Dean said, and he didn’t need to see Castiel’s wince to know he’d been way too loud. “I mean, no, it’s fine. I’m just flattered. I hope I can be a good addition to the team.”

Castiel took another draw from his canteen. There was a redness on his cheeks that could have been from the heat, or maybe a little bit of embarrassment. “You’ve known Benny a long time,” Castiel said, clearly attempting to change the subject.

Dean snorted and played along. “Well, sort of,” he said. “Benny’s known me. He’s been stealing my Jell-O cups for years and I finally have a chance to get what I’m owed.”

“We don’t have any Jell-O cups,” Castiel said regretfully. Dean was strangely delighted by that comment, knowing he was smiling in that way that made his eyes all small but Castiel seemed to appreciate it, matching the expression. “You were joking.”

“Only a little,” Dean said conspiratorily. “If you know of a good way to get him back, you let me know. Big lug deserves a little humble pie.”

Castiel opened his mouth as if he was going to say more, but he decided against it and stood with his empty canteen. “We should keep moving,” he said, but didn’t seem like he was pissed. He knelt at the water bank and refilled his canteen, holding his hand out for Dean’s as well.

They talked as they walked. Dean mostly chattered about Sam and cookie dough ice cream, but he did learn that Castiel was lactose-intolerant and preferred Star Trek to Star Wars (the absolute heathen), but wasn’t really that familiar with either one. Cas was smart, clearly well read and attentive, and Dean has no idea why he was spending his time with an ex-coma patient who couldn’t even spell Sudoku.

In the forest, everything was lush. The trees were green and healthy, thick, heavy leaves breaking off of their branches. There was the constant hum of cicadas and birds, but nothing too loud or intrusive. It was warm and pleasant, Castiel’s elbow sometimes brushing against Dean’s as they walked. Dean felt like maybe this world could be lovely after all.  

 It was mid-afternoon when they broke from the treeline. 

 Lawrence was gone. 

 The landscape of Kansas made it easy to see for miles, in most cases. It was flat and wide, perfect for farmland to thrive and for tornadoes to tear through without abandon. Standing at the crest of the woods, Dean could see all the way to the other side of the city of Lawrence and down even further, if he squinted.

In place of apartment buildings and post offices and museums there was only rubble, all crumbled concrete and fallen support beams. A cloud of angry smoke and dust sat in a heavy dome around the entire city, marring the sky with its reminder of what was once there.

Dean’s chest tightened and he felt an inescapable urge to step back into the tree line and ignore the sight in front of him. In the woods, everything was thriving and green, surviving. The wasteland of a city in front of him was devastation and death, the true sign that the world had changed forever while Dean was lying in a hospital bed.

An ache sprung up in Dean’s jaw and throat. Castiel had moved past him to continue down toward the city, but noticed Dean’s hesitation and turned to face him. Dean couldn’t tear his eyes away from the destruction long enough to read his expression.

“Dean?”

“Huh?” He startled a little, eyes moving over Castiel’s face but not taking anything in. “Oh, uh. Maybe just give me a second.” His mouth moved and the words came out, but Dean was on autopilot.

All he could think of was the porch swing at his house, the one he and Sam and swung in for hours when they were little as they talked about the future. They were going to be strong men when they grew up - Dean stronger, of course - and they would take care of their families and save the world from bad guys. Sammy would lay his shaggy head in Dean’s lap and tell him about how he’d love his wife so much he’d let her play with the dog sometimes. 

And Dean would ruffle his hair, swinging forward and back, the gentle creak from the wood a soothing cadence to the summer morning. He’d tell Sam how nice that sounded and how he was sure he’d be able to have all that one day, as long as Dean was allowed to visit sometimes.

“Duhhh,” Sam would drawl, poking Dean in the stomach. “You’n me, Dad, my wife and dog. Your wife can come too. We’ll all live here, together.”

That house was buried somewhere ahead of him, maybe to the left a few miles, probably pulverized to splinters and dust. Dean could hear the sway of the swing like it hadn’t been twenty-five years since he sat on it, like it wasn’t just firewood in a lost city. 

“Dean,” Castiel said, and his voice was different than before. He had a hand on Dean’s forearm, a gentle, reassuring pressure, and when Dean looked at him he felt himself relax a little. “I’m sorry. I should have warned you.”

Dean cleared the lump in his throat. “No, uh,” he started awkwardly, feeling loose in his skin. “I just thought there would be more of it.”

“The U.C. hit it before Topeka,” Castiel explained. “It’s closer to their base, so I imagine they’ve already mined it for the resources they need. But if Sam has left you something, it may still be here.”

A humorless chuckle rumbled from Dean’s chest. “Cas, I don’t even know where his apartment is. I can’t navigate through this, and I can’t dig through ten floors of rubble for a sign of my brother.”

Somewhere in the back of Dean’s mind, he’d imagined scaling the stairs and throwing the door to Sam’s apartment open, only to find him on the other end with a fucking pecan pie and a beer. If he’d just found Sam, then maybe Dean would have felt like this nightmare could be over.

“The city was already abandoned,” Castiel said softly, his eyes still sharp on Dean’s. “There were likely no casualties.” 

Dean snorted. “What about my ficus tree?”

With a slow blink, Castiel turned to look over his shoulder. “I… do doubt that survived.” 

“Rats,” he said flatly, and clapped a hand down on Castiel’s shoulder. The man turned back to look at him with hesitation in his eyes, and maybe even a little guilt. “We’re not going to find anything down there, buddy.” 

Castiel bit down on his bottom lip, and it was the most vulnerable expression Dean had seen him wear since they’d met. It made his chest ache, so he dug his thumb a little further into Cas’ shoulder just to anchor him. Frustrated, Castiel shook his head and looked mournfully up at Dean. 

“This was a mistake,” he said, but Dean was already talking over him, dropping his hand so he could cross his arms over his chest.

“Oh, come on. You know damn well I would have come out here at some point,” Dean said with a grin. “At least this way I can be embarrassingly emotional in front of someone.” 

It was a joke, mostly, but Dean was appreciative that he hadn’t come across this on his own. He couldn’t even imagine what his mental state would be without Castiel here to drag him out of it. He looked up to the dipping sun overhead and scratched at his ear. 

“If we did go down into the city,” Dean asked, “where were you planning to camp for the night?”

Castiel smiled as if Dean had just told an inside joke. “I didn’t think about it.” When Dean gaped at him, he held up his hands defensively. “I usually do these excursions alone, Dean. I don’t think much about comfort for sleep, mostly safety.”

It was a fair answer. Dean could feel the ache in his feet, though, and knew that even if they powered through the rest of the day they’d never make it back to the base in time for nightfall. “If we head back now, we’ll need to make camp in the woods,” Dean said. “Did you pack bedrolls?” 

Castiel shifted uncomfortably at the question. “No,” he admitted quietly. But Dean just laughed and slung an arm around Castiel’s shoulders. He felt so hot under that jacket and Dean wondered if he could talk Cas into taking it off at any point. 

“Nothing like a pine bough for a pillow,” he said as he squeezed Cas briefly before releasing him. “What, were you in the Marines before all this?” They turned away from the debris, much to Dean’s relief, and started back toward the tree-line. The sight of the wrecked city was still burned into his retinas, but he hoped that the woods could bring back that peace he’d been feeling just a few minutes before.

“They would have never allowed me into the Marines,” Castiel said lightly. “I was never really one for being a cog in a machine.”

“You rebel, you,” Dean teased, taking a swig from his canteen. “My dad was a Marine. He fought in the Gulf War. I don’t know what machine he was part of, but it didn’t churn out anything nice.”

Castiel hummed as he drummed his fingers idly on the hilt of his machete. “I never knew my father.”

“They’re all bastards,” Dean said sagely. “You’re better off.”

“I would have never pegged you for a narrow perspective,” Castiel murmured, and Dean actually felt a little chastised. He bit the inside of his cheek and raised his eyebrows, ready to respond, but Castiel was already moving forward. “Your dad was hard on you?”

Dean kicked at the dirt a little as he walked. “Nah, he was all right. Just a little messed up, you know?” He tucked his canteen back into the side pocket of his pack and sighed. “Mom died when Sammy and I were just kids, Dad just didn’t have any clue what to do with us.” He laughed a little.

He could feel Castiel’s gaze on the side of his face. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”

“Thanks, man,” Dean replied, “but it’s all right. Dad taught us how to hunt and survive on our own, how to fight. It’s probably all thanks to him I’m even alive right now.” 

“And he’s…?” Castiel left the question hanging. 

“Dead,” Dean sighed. “A few years ago. Well, I guess a lot longer, now.” 

A long silence stretched out as Dean realized what he’d just admitted. His family was dead. He could be the last surviving Winchester in the fucking world. He shivered despite the beating sun and wrapped his arms around himself, fighting off another wave of nausea. The world felt so heavy all of a sudden, his feet dragging through the leaves carelessly as he forced himself through the forest.

Castiel stopped walking very suddenly, almost letting Dean barrel right into him. He turned and grasped Dean’s shoulders as he looked imploringly up at him. Panic set into Dean’s mind and it ran in twelve different directions. He fleetingly wondered if Castiel was about to kiss him and now was so not the time 

“You’re not alone,” Castiel said firmly, so assured that it nearly made Dean’s knees buckle. He held their eye contact until Dean couldn’t take it anymore, nodding and staring down at the ground between them. 

“Yeah,” he said thickly, then cleared his throat. “Yeah, uh, thanks. Thank you,” he stuttered. He was inexplicably jittery, completely unable to get a grasp on his emotions. It was starting to get fucking embarrassing. 

They stood there for a moment with Dean’s fingers loosely circled around one of Castiel’s wrists and Cas squeezing Dean’s shoulders in a completely counter-productive effort to be soothing. Dean was all electrified and antsy, so supremely out of his element that he wanted to sink into quicksand.

“Well, look at this,” a voice came suddenly from behind them, and they broke apart fast. Dean whirled around to see a woman with long, dark hair and a smirk that clearly read up-to-no-good. He took a tentative step backward, hand falling to the hilt of the knife at his belt.

“She’s U.C.,” Castiel muttered into Dean’s ear. Sure enough, there was a patch on the front of her jacket with a blue and yellow insignia that Dean couldn’t quite make out. “Be careful.”

“Nice day,” Dean said amiably as he took a tentative step backward. Her expression only grew more curious. 

“Sure is,” she agreed. “I was just out for a stroll through Lawrence, didn’t think I’d happen across two Wolves. Must be my lucky day.”

The way she spoke made Dean feel like cold water was dripping down his spine. He grimaced a bit and she must have noticed, because she looked positively delighted at his discomfort. 

“Ruby,” Castiel began from behind Dean, and Dean’s eyes narrowed. Castiel knew this woman, so they potentially had a little advantage in the conversation after all. “We were only looking for supplies. This is neutral ground, we’re not encroaching on any territory.” 

Ruby snorted, clearly unconvinced. “Supplies? You guys are stocked better than the downtown Hilton. What’s with the field trip, really? 

“We’re leaving,” Dean said firmly. “We don’t owe you an explanation, and it’s two-on-one.” 

Castiel hissed out an angry noise from behind him. All right, so maybe Dean didn’t really have the authority to make choices like that, but this girl was tiny and all alone there was no way she could take both Dean and Castiel. But Ruby’s answering laughter did nothing to convince him he’d made the right move.

She reached behind her back and before Dean had a chance to blink, a deafening bang rang out in the woods and a searing pain sliced through his shoulder. He didn’t even have a moment to process before Castiel was pulling at him, shoving him further into the forest, insisting run. 

Dean ran. 

He could hear Castiel’s footsteps pounding the mud behind him as he zig-zagged through the woods. His injured shoulder throbbed but his burning lungs distracted from the pain enough that he could push forward, staving off the shock he was sure would set in as soon as they stopped. 

But they couldn’t stop. He could hear Ruby’s orders echoing through the trees, calling out to other U.C. members in the woods. Judging by their answering calls, he and Castiel were surrounded. He turned around and grabbed Castiel’s jacket, yanking him around a bend and down a small slope so they could have two seconds to breathe.

“We can’t outrun them,” Dean panted. Castiel’s eyes were fixed on his shoulder so he grabbed his chin, forcing him to make eye contact. “Listen. We have to climb. Leave your pack here and follow me.” 

Castiel threw his pack off and they were back on their feet in a moment. Instead of running fast, Dean ran light, careful, eyes scanning the trees for a suitable escape. He finally found one; it looked easy to climb and had two thick, bowed branches surrounded by lush leaves that would cover them in the night. 

He cupped his hands and knelt to give Castiel a boost to the first branch to grasp, but Cas hesitated. “Your shoulder,” he hissed. 

“Climb the fuck up there, now,” Dean snarled, and Cas grit his teeth and stepped into Dean’s palms. He ignored the molten pain in his arm and shoved Castiel up until the weight was lifted off of him. Cas reached down and grasped the hand on Dean’s good arm, pulling him up to the first branch as well. 

It bowed under their combined weight. “Go up, I got it,” Dean grunted, and this time, Castiel didn’t hesitate. He nimbly jumped to the next branch up and started to climb, aiming toward those thicker thatches. 

Dean wrapped his arms around the second branch and stomped down as hard as he could, grateful to hear the branch beneath his feet snap and fall away. Anything to make it harder for them to be followed, even if they would have to jump far to get down. He quickly climbed up after Castiel, the pain in his shoulder starting to set in. 

He finally made it up, his hands throbbing from gripping the edged tree bark and thighs screaming from being pushed and pulled so hard. He was exhausted and hot, and he’d been fucking shot a minute ago and Christ, he had no idea what was going on.

“Dean,” Castiel said, his voice all desperation from the other branch. “You have to dress your shoulder, you’re bleeding.”

Dean swallowed thickly and nodded, but pressed a finger to his lips. He was glad Castiel was concerned and all, but his concern was going to get them found and killed. He slowly eased his own backpack off his shoulder and reached in for the first aid kit Benny had made him pack the night before.

He looked down at his shoulder for the first time. It actually wasn’t too bad; it looked as if the bullet had caught him right on the edge of his deltoid. The skin was parted and there was a fuck ton of blood, but a stitch up would probably do him fine until they got back to camp. He pulled a fishing hook out from the kit - his own addition, of course - and threaded it.

He glanced over to Castiel, who genuinely looked like he might be sick. “Stay with me,” Dean murmured, giving him a small smile. “This is nothing.” 

Dean hooked the needle through his skin and sewed himself up. He hadn’t had to do this in years, but it was just the same as when he was a teenager, except less whiskey. He made himself a mental note to ask Cas about the alcohol reserves back at camp when this was all over. 

There were a few antiseptic wipes in the kit which he dabbed over his stitching job. It stung, but fuck, it was nowhere near as bad as getting shot. He blearily looked down at the forest floor, just to check up on their hiding spot. The leaves were thick and hid them pretty efficiently, but they’d knocked a few loose in their hasty climb up. As long as they were very quiet, someone could walk below and not notice them at all.

This was put to the test just a few minutes later when Dean was slowly zipping his pack back up. Some idiot blundered below them, loud as hell, panting heavily. Dean wondered how any of them had gotten past Dean and Castiel earlier when being sneaky clearly wasn’t their strong suit. He held his breath and watched as Castiel did the same, waiting patiently for the guy to move on.

“I can’t find them anywhere!” The U.C. guy whined loudly. “I found Castiel’s pack, though. He always packs extra socks, the fuckin’ weirdo.” 

“He probably dropped it to run,” came another, more even voice. “Find the other one and we’ll have our trail.”

“I didn’t recognize that other guy,” Whiner said. “Where are they finding new recruits?”

“Beats me,” said Calm. “Look, let’s just keep searching. You know he’ll have Ruby’s head if she wasted a bullet without cause.”

Their voices faded off, musing about what would be for dinner that night, but neither Castiel or Dean moved for another few minutes. Finally, Castiel released a long sigh.

“They’ll drag the woods for us,” Castiel said gloomily. “We might be stuck up here awhile.”

Dean reached into his pack and pulled out a stick of jerky he’d checked out from the supplies back at camp. He tilted it out toward Castiel’s branch. “Here. Want to play truth or dare?”

Castiel’s smile was actually intrigued, if Dean did say so himself. Dean leaned back against the trunk behind him, stretching his legs out along the tree branch. The sun was finally beginning to set, and the cool air would be hitting them soon. When he looked back to Cas, the smile was gone, replaced with something a little more timid.

“How are we supposed to spend the night up here? If we fall asleep we’ll fall out of the tree.”

Dean winked. “Ask me when the moon’s out, buddy.”

Several U.C. men and women traipsed the forest floor below them as they waited for nightfall. They were too afraid to talk too long or too loudly, so mostly Dean just breathed through the pain in his shoulder and Castiel looked at him with concerned, doeish eyes. Dean had packed a lot of water and snacks, which kept them pretty alert through dusk. 

Once an hour had gone by without hearing anyone, Dean finally deemed it safe for them to have a real conversation. “Come on, Cas. Truth or dare.” 

“I’ve never played truth or dare,” Castiel admitted quietly. He was sitting rigidly on his branch, his legs dangling over the side. It had been making Dean nervous for hours, but suddenly he was just shocked. 

“What, never?” He gaped. “Come on, it was a rite of passage.”

“I was homeschooled,” Castiel said, and that was explanation enough. Who wanted to play truth or dare with their siblings? Dean’s expression made Castiel laugh, the sound echoing pleasantly between Dean’s ears. 

“Say no more, Cas,” Dean grimaced. 

“Nobody has ever called me Cas before.”

Dean stared at him. “You’re telling me that your name is Castiel and nobody thought to give you a nickname?” 

Castiel shook his head, still laughing a little. “Oh, I had nicknames. ‘Cassie’ was my brother’s particular favorite. Just not ‘Cas,’ alone. I like it.”

“Well, good,” Dean said firmly. “Hell if I’m going to call you ‘Cassie.’” 

“Does that count as a truth?” Castiel pondered. “Does that mean I get to give you a dare?”

“That is not at all how the game works,” Dean said sourly, but for the first time in awhile he wasn’t focused on the pain emanating from his shoulder. And in a small, secret recess of his mind, he was truly curious as to what Cas would dare him to do. “Haven’t you ever seen a movie?”

“I’ve seen several,” Castiel pouted. Dean felt something tug in his gut, something like affection and happiness and he stomped it down quickly. “I dare you to tell me how you got into your accident.”

Dean groaned and rolled his eyes, reaching forward to snatch the canteen from Castiel’s hands. “That’s a truth, Cas,” he mumbled, and took a sip of the water. “And it’s no fun. You’re supposed to ask me who I have a crush on or which base I’ve gone to with a girl.”

“Okay,” Castiel said slowly. “Who do you have a crush on?”

If the blood had rushed any faster to Dean’s face as he blushed, he probably would have fainted and fallen right out of the tree. “Ugh, shut up. Fine, I’ll tell you about my accident.”

Recounting the night wasn’t exactly fun, but Dean realized he’d never had a chance to really talk about it out loud before. He’d thought about it millions of times; his fight with Sam, his stubborn refusal to put his helmet on. He remembered kicking the bike to life so distinctly, he remembered dwelling on what kind of pizza he was going to order when the headlights blinded him. 

“It didn’t even hurt,” Dean said softly. “Not at first. It was like I was wrapped up in a cotton ball. And then, just flashes. For four years.” 

Castiel was watching him curiously, but didn’t push him to continue, so Dean didn’t. Technically it was his turn to continue the game, he knew. The cold air was setting in, though, and Dean didn’t feel much like playing anymore. 

“The moon is out,” Castiel said quietly. Dean looked up through the branches and there it was, a sliver of bright white standing stark against the midnight blue sky. “Tell me how we’ll be safe up here.”

Dean grinned and unzipped his pack, pulling out a thick black rope with several carabiners hooked along it. “Saw this in The Hunger Games,” he said proudly, and ignored Castiel’s blank expression. “You tether yourself up, make a little hammock. Mountain climbers do it.”

“That’s a great idea,” Castiel said, and the hesitation was clear in his voice.

“I know, I know,” Dean sighed, “I only have one rope. We’re going to have to get cozy. This is why I kept it a surprise, man. I didn’t want you leaping out of the tree three hours ago.”

Castiel just watched him as Dean started to lash the rope around the tree trunk. “Should I, um.”

Dean spread his legs and nodded his head between them. “Come on, man.”

Castiel carefully crawled over to Dean’s branch, testing the strength of it under his weight. There was no way it was going to bend; it was thick and wide and would probably only be a little uncomfortable. There were several other branches underneath it that gave it some extra support, so the two of them would fit just fine. 

“C’mon,” Dean said, opening his arms up. 

Castiel scoot back carefully on the branch until his back hit Dean’s chest. Dean let out a little oof as Cas hit his shoulder, and Cas hurriedly whispered, “sorry!” as they wriggled to get comfortable.

“All right,” Dean said into Castiel’s ear as he passed him the rope. “Let’s tie ourselves up.”

Dean knew it was going to be a difficult night with Cas pressed up against him like that, but the fear of getting shot definitely outweighed the embarrassment of any inappropriate bulges. He and Castiel worked together to wrap the rope around themselves and secure them to the trunk and branch. It had just enough give that they could move slightly without feeling too bound.

“This is more comfortable than I expected,” Castiel said as Dean threw the rope over the branch above them for extra support, lashing it to the other end. 

“Thanks,” Dean grinned into his hair. 

“I just have to, hm,” Cas murmured, and then started wriggling incessantly. Dean flushed and clamped his hands down on the branch, taking a deep breath, and then realized Castiel was taking his fucking jacket off, now, when it was cold and dark and they were lashed to a tree. 

“You are somethin’ else,” Dean muttered. Cas turned the jacket over and laid it across them like a blanket, folding his arms over his stomach.

They sat like that for a moment before Castiel reached down and grabbed Dean’s arms, pulling them under the coat as well to tangle with his own. “We’ll freeze otherwise,” he offered, as if he didn’t let out a quiet sigh when Dean tightened his arms around him in a hug.

“Wouldn’t want that,” Dean agreed quietly, thumbing in small strokes across the back of Castiel’s hand. 

“I thought she’d killed you,” Castiel mumbled, and Dean could feel it resonate in his chest. “For just a moment after the gun had gone off.” 

Dean made a small noise of agreement. “But we got away,” he said without bothering to keep the hint of pride out of his voice. Castiel’s hair smelled like hand soap and lakewater, pleasant and earthy under Dean’s cheek. “Guess we’re a pretty good team.”

“Except that you were shot,” Cas pointed out unhelpfully. “And we’re trapped in a tree.”

Dean shrugged his good shoulder, jostling Castiel a bit closer to him. Castiel’s eyelashes were brushing against the curve of Dean’s jaw and Dean could feel his breath fanning out over his throat.

A breeze came through and rustled all the leaves around them. The way they shook almost sounded like rain and it brought Dean lower into exhaustion. Cas was a warm weight against him and he yawned, long and satisfying, letting his head rest against Castiel’s. 

“Just a few hours,” Cas mumbled against his neck. 

“Up at dawn,” Dean agreed sleepily. 

Chapter Text

The pavement was wet and cold under his cheek. Snow was falling in gentle drifts across the highway stretched out all around him. He wondered vaguely if he just lay here long enough, if the snow would blanket him and warm him and ebb away some of the pain edging at the back of his head. 

The EMTs peeled open his eyes and shone their blinding flashlights along his pupils. He winced against the brightness, trying to edge away, but the back of his head hit something hard and suddenly the world turned vertical.

Dean gasped awake, blinking away the sunbeam that was shining directly into his eye. He sleepily looked around, trying to orient himself, and felt a slight pain set in on his shoulder. 

Oh, right. Gunshot. 

He yawned and looked down at Castiel laying against him. He had one arm curled around Castiel’s middle, his forearm in a tight grip under both of Cas’ hands as if it were a stuffed animal. He brought his free hand up and tentatively brushed it through the hair at Castiel’s temple.

“Hey,” he murmured softly. He felt Cas jerk awake in his arms but then slowly relax back against him. “I think we overslept.” 

“Oops,” Castiel offered, not sounding sorry at all. He did shift upward though as he peeled himself from Dean’s front, mindful of his wounded shoulder. He carefully shifted on the branch, stretching his legs out and rubbing at his forearm where Dean’s had been resting moments ago. “Do you think it’s safe to head down?”

Dean pursed his lips. “I think we’d better wait just a few minutes,” he advised, yawning. Castiel’s hair was all mussed from being pressed against Dean’s chest and he had this affectionate sort of resignation in his eyes.

“You can’t go back to sleep, Dean.”

Dean scoffed in protest. “I’m not! I just don’t want to hop down into a pile of U.C. dicks. We have to- mmph!”

Castiel’s hand was suddenly clamped over Dean’s mouth, his eyes fierce. “Shh,” he murmured softly, and Dean nodded in understanding as his ears picked up on the movements below them.

“They’re not in these fucking woods anymore,” a disgruntled voice complained. “Call the retreat, the bastards got the slip on us.”

“Don’t worry,” said a woman, soothingly. “They’re just back in their nest. By tomorrow night, they won’t have anywhere to hide anymore.”

“I still think it’s a stupid fucking idea,” the first voice grumbled. “They’ve got to have defenses.”

“It’s the element of surprise, idiot,” she snapped. “Come on. The King’s just over the river there, let’s grab him and head back. No use sticking around here when we could be planning for tomorrow.”

They trudged off together and Dean and Castiel stared at each other for a moment.

“An ambush?” Castiel said, his voice laced with sadness which Dean found entirely inexplicable. “I knew they were stubborn, but this is cruel.”

“They shot me,” Dean said with a vain attempt to keep from pouting.  “They tried to kill us. I think they’re trying to start a war, Cas.”

Castiel’s eyes were downcast on the forest floor, shoulders slumped with anguish. The sight of it was damn near heartbreaking. Dean couldn’t understand why Cas wasn’t pissed, wasn’t throwing himself down from the tree to take out those U.C. bastards himself.

“We got the drop on them,” Dean said, leaning forward to clasp a hand around Castiel’s shoulder. “We know they’re coming. We can take them.” Castiel didn’t look at him, though; just continued to stare despondently ahead. 

“I don’t want to fight,” Cas said firmly. “That isn’t what the world should be anymore.”

Dean frowned and dropped his hand from Castiel’s shoulder, resisting a sigh. “We should get back to camp,” he said. “It’s been a long goddamn night.”

They shimmied back down the tree and Dean tried to ignore the shooting pain in his shoulder as he hit the ground. He just had to make it back to camp, and it could tend to it. The bandage wrapped around his bicep was stained brown with dried blood but he had to give Cas the last sip of the water in the canteen. He’d clean himself up later.

Cas was grateful to him, that much was clear. He fussed over Dean’s shoulder and walked close to him, taking his pack after a few miles and refilling his canteen for him. Dean allowed it, partially amused but mostly concerned. Cas’ skittishness wasn’t going to be helpful in planning their counter-attack against the U.C.’s ambush.

But Castiel very clearly didn’t want to discuss it, so they didn’t. Dean made jokes at his own expense, trying to make Cas laugh just a little. The furthest he got a was a small smile by the time they reached the river closest to the camp. 

“Almost back,” Dean said pointlessly as Castiel took the canteen from his hand to kneel and fill it. “Should I tell them I got mauled by a bear?”

Castiel looked back over his shoulder. “No need to lie to them,” he said, too seriously, with a sigh. The sun caught his eye as he turned and he squinted in Dean’s direction when he passed off the canteen. “They should know the dangers we face.”

Dean’s fingers brushed against Castiel’s as he took the water. “We should talk about it in a smaller group, first,” Dean suggested. “Like Benny and Gabriel. They might have some good ideas.”

“You mean attack plans,” Castiel murmured, eyes trained on Dean’s bandaged shoulder. 

“Maybe.” Dean leaned over to catch Castiel’s gaze. “Hey, it’s fine. I’ll clean it up when we get back to camp. I saw some antiseptic in the shower house.”

But Castiel kept frowning, reaching up to touch the area around the wound. “Let me clean it,” he said earnestly as he stroked his hand down Dean’s arm.  His touch was light and made Dean feel a little charged. “Please.”

“Yeah, okay,” he agreed before he could stop himself. He shrugged off the top part of his jumpsuit so he was just in his wifebeater and watched Cas wet a rag in the river. It may not be the best route, but at least it would stop the itching for a little while.

They moved quietly. Dean sat down on a stump and let Castiel kneel between his legs, watching the top of his head as he peeled the stiff bandage from the wound. Dean hissed and Castiel muttered an apology. 

The wound didn’t look too terrible, but Castiel was staring at it like it was a death sentence. He brought the wet rag up to Dean’s shoulder and started to lightly clean the dry blood away. 

Dean couldn’t watch. It was so strangely intimate that he could feel it in his gut, twisting with emphasis and screaming this is a moment, Dean. It was loud and intrusive and with each wet stroke of Castiel’s fingers on his shoulder, it made Dean feel even worse for letting it happen in the first place.

Castiel delicately cleaned him up and applied a fresh bandage from Dean’s pack, raising his bicep up so he could wrap it efficiently. This time, Dean watched him. His hands were speedy and efficient, but also soft, reverent, and Dean was fucking gone. 

“There,” Cas said quietly with a small smile. “That’s better.” He rest his hand over the bandage, warmth bleeding through and almost feeling like a brand on his skin. Dean couldn’t resist the urge to reach up and cup Castiel’s cheek gratefully. 

They finally met eyes and sat there for a moment, Castiel knelt between Dean’s spread legs and Dean with his hand curved around Castiel’s jaw. 

“Benny said I wasn’t allowed to kiss you,” Dean said petulantly. Castiel’s eyes went wide and round, color rising on his cheeks, but he didn’t pull away so Dean took that as a good sign. 

“The last time I checked,” Castiel said with deliberate intent, “Benny was not in charge.” He tipped his head up and, infuriatingly, licked his bottom lip. 

Dean smirked. Everything in him was urging him to press forward and close the distance between them, but instead he just stroked his thumb along Castiel’s cheek. “I thought no one was in charge.”

Castiel blinked very slowly. “We both know that isn’t true.” 

So, Dean kissed him, then. It was just a light thing, his mouth closing over Castiel’s bottom lip for a few seconds until Cas pursed his lips and kissed back. Dean couldn’t hold back a grin, effectively breaking the kiss, but didn’t move back. He carded his hand through Cas’ hair and pecked him chastely.

There was no urgency, no undying need to pin Cas to the forest floor and kiss him stupid, although as soon as it crossed Dean’s mind he did start to entertain the idea. Castiel broke through the fantasy by brushing his fingers across Dean’s temple and down his neck, wrapping his arms around him and dragging him into a tight embrace.

Dean was slightly stunned but wound his arms around Castiel’s middle and squeezed nonetheless. Everything Cas did was different and startling, and Dean was so entranced he could hardly stand it. 

They separated after a moment and Castiel stood up, holding a hand out for Dean. “We should get back to camp.”

Dean grasped it and let Cas haul him up to his feet. “Does this mean I don’t have to hide staring at your ass anymore?” He said flippantly as he handed the pack over to Castiel. 

“You were trying to hide it?” Castiel looked puzzled. “We’ll have to work on your subterfuge.” 

They arrived back to the Dust Wolves camp to hugs and relief. There were a million questions shot at them with rapid-fire; what happened to Dean’s arm? Why didn’t they come back the night before? 

 "Is that a hickey on your neck?” Benny rumbled in Dean’s ear. Dean turned around and shoved at him with his good arm. Benny stumbled back, laughing good-naturedly. “Hey, just makin’ sure you’re playing by the rules.”

Dean glared at him without any heat and started toward their tent with a small wave at Castiel. Benny followed him, hot on his heels, poking at his injured arm. “Ow, you asshole,” he grumbled.

“So, you and the boss didn’t bump uglies?” Benny sat heavily on his cot.

Dean scrunched up his nose. “What’s with this obsession, man?”

Benny looked at him for a long while and heaved a sigh. “Look, man, Cas is a good guy. And any idiot can tell he was gone on you the moment you walked into camp.”

The thought made Dean’s insides squirm. Castiel hadn’t even known him when he’d come into camp. He’d just been a nutcase in hospital shoes with no claim to who he was. Castiel was leading a group of fiercely loyal rebels and had so much more to show for his life than Dean had even before his accident. He didn’t understand what Cas could possibly have seen in him. 

“I guess I got the impression maybe you liked him too. Callin’ him ‘Cas’ and askin’ all those questions about him.” 

Dean laughed a little and scratched the back of his head. Laid out like that, it sounded perfectly innocent, but Dean knew it wasn’t. He kind of wanted to knock Benny out, but he just sat down on his bunk and toed his boots off. 

“Maybe we broke the rules a little,” Dean admitted softly. Benny lit up like a fucking Christmas tree and sent a beaming grin Dean’s way. 

“Fuckin’ knew it,” Benny said proudly.

“Fuck off,” Dean said affectionately. “I don’t know what’s going to happen, okay? We haven’t talked about anything yet. So, do me a favor and keep it to yourself.”

Benny nodded and held a hand to his heart. “You got my word, bud. As long as I get to be best man at your commitment ceremony.”

“Flower girl.”

Dean earned a dirty sock in the face for that one.

He changed into clean clothes and felt sort of new again. They’d washed up a little in the river on their way back, but Dean definitely didn’t have the energy to haul a pot of water up to camp for a bath. He needed a day off from the trekking bullshit.

He and Benny descended into a heated argument regarding the Kansas City Chiefs, and just when Dean was trying to figure out how the debate had begun, there was an ineffective knock on their tent. Benny rolled his eyes. 

“That’d be your main squeeze,” he muttered. Sure enough, Cas lifted the flap and came in a second later.

“Hi, Benny,” Castiel nodded. “There’s a strategy meeting tonight at 4pm. I would like you to be there.” 

Benny nodded once. “Sure thing, captain.”

“Dean,” Castiel said, turning toward Dean’s bunk. “Would you join me in my tent? I think we have some things to discuss about our excursion.”

A flush assuredly rose up Dean’s neck as he nodded in agreement. He could hear his heart beating a bit more loudly than he wanted it to as he stood up. Benny waggled his eyebrows at him when Cas wasn’t looking and Dean flipped him off.

Castiel’s tent was, expectedly, humble. It was smaller than the one Dean shared with Benny, with a trunk of what Dean assumed were personal belongings pushed up next to a large cot. There were a few maps pinned up to the canvas of the tents, zoning out the areas that were claimed and where potential resources were. A couple oil lamps burned low on a wooden crate, a makeshift table, in the middle of the area.

“Nice digs,” Dean said lightly. There was nowhere to sit, really, except for the trunk and the bed. It made him a little warm under the collar.

“Thank you,” Castiel said distractedly as he unpinned one of the maps from the wall to spread out along the table. “Come here. This is the United Commonwealth territory. If they approach us, it will be from these three angles.”

Castiel set into a slew of militaristic talk that Dean could just barely follow from vague memories of his dad discussing the war. It was fascinating to listen to, almost to the point of distraction. But Dean steeled his reserve and kept up with all of the information Castiel was providing him. 

But Cas paused, suddenly, finger pressed down over the Dust Wolves territory on the map. He curled his finger into a fist and squeezed his eyes shut tightly. “I don’t know what to do,” he said helplessly.

Dean slid a hand down Castiel’s arm and uncurled his fingers, threading his own with them. “We won’t let anyone get hurt,” he said sincerely. “We’ll keep them safe.” 

“How?” Castiel growled through gritted teeth. 

“Doesn’t matter,” Dean said, leaning in to press a kiss just under Castiel’s ear. It was simple and affectionate, maybe too intimate, but he didn’t care. He wanted to see the tension out of Castiel’s shoulders as soon as possible. “We will.” 

Castiel shook his head. “We’ll need more than that.”

“Isn’t that what the meeting tonight will be for? We’ll work out a plan with the hunter team. I’ve already got a few ideas percolating,” he grinned and tapped his temple. Castiel peered at him and seemed to relax minutely.

“I suppose I’ll wait to panic until later,” he said despairingly. His eyes flicked up to Dean’s. “Gabriel is out on a resource run. He’ll be imperative to formulating the plan.”

Dean shrugged. “We’ll just have to kill some time until he gets back, huh?” He took a few steps toward Castiel, raising one eyebrow as he plastered a smirk on his face. “Any ideas?”

Twenty minutes later had Dean sitting on the trunk in Castiel’s tent, a sheet around his shoulders while Castiel trimmed his wet hair. It felt good to have Cas’ fingers carding through his hair, the cool metal of the scissors sliding against the back of his neck. 

“This isn’t exactly what I had in mind,” Dean groused, but Castiel just chuckled and brushed some wet clippings off of his shoulder. 

“Your hair was on its way to becoming a liability,” he said simply as he tugged on one of the longer strands. “I run a tight ship around here.” 

It was clear that Cas was trying to be facetious, but instead he just came off as self-deprecating. Dean sighed softly and tried to keep his head still while Cas trimmed near his ears. 

“You know, what you’ve built here is really incredible,” Dean said, his head tilted forward against his chest. “These people love the shit out of you.”

He heard Castiel chuckle low in his throat. “I barely did anything,” he said. “It was all their tenacity that got us where we are.”

“And good leadership,” Dean countered. “You should be proud of that, man.” 

Cas didn’t say anything for a moment, brushing his fingers over the tips of Dean’s ears. “I don’t feel like I have that much to be proud of, Dean. I’m a poor excuse for a leader.”

The resignation in Castiel’s voice nearly made Dean’s blood boil. “Why do you say things like that? Look around you, this camp is like a goddamn spa.”

“People leave us,” Castiel said angrily. “They go and join the U.C. willingly.”

Dean scoffed. “Fuck those people.”

Castiel put the scissors down and rest both his hands on either one of Dean’s shoulders. “My sister,” he said, so quietly that Dean barely caught it. “They have my sister.”

A freezing sensation trickled down Dean’s spine and he whirled around to face him. “What? Jesus, Cas, that’s terrible!” 

“I know,” Cas said miserably, pinching the bridge of his nose. “She’s been there for months. They took her during the last raid,” he explained, eyes skitting around the tent. Dean wanted to smooth the guilt off of his face with his thumbs. Instead, he just got angry.

“Those monsters,” he hissed. He clenched his jaw and stood up, tearing the sheet off his shoulders. “We have to get her back, Cas. This can’t happen anymore, it’s barbaric.” 

Cas seemed emboldened by Dean’s anger, but shook his head. “What are we supposed to do? We can’t get near them, their numbers are too large.”

“We’ll do it,” Dean said firmly. “We’ll find her and bring her back. I don’t care how, we’ll figure it out as we go.” 

Castiel was looking at him with confusion and absolute reverence, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. “Why do you want to help me?” He asked quietly.

The question hit Dean square in the middle of the chest. He blinked a few times, then took a deep breath. “If I knew where my brother was, nobody could stop me from getting him back.” He smirked and poked Castiel’s cheek. “Plus, I’m trying to seduce you. Is it working?”

The sour look on Castiel’s face was priceless. “Yes,” he mumbled grumpily.

“Good,” Dean said, decisive. Castiel’s eyes were tracing his hairline, so he subconsciously reached up to touch it before he realized what he was doing. Cas had the audacity to smirk at him.

“It looks fine,” Castiel assures him. “Do you need a mirror?”

Dean shakes his head. “No. I trust you.” He shifted a little closer, bringing his hips flush with Castiel’s. A thought struck him as he pressed his thumbs into Cas’ hip bones. “Hey, they said something about a King when they were trying to find us. Was their leader there in the woods?”

“I doubt it,” Castiel muttered. “He rarely does his own dirty work. He must have more people working at the higher level with him.”

Dean wrinkled his nose. “What kind of self-absorbed dick calls himself a king? King of what, the garbage dump they’re holed up in?” He scoffed. “What a douchebag.”

Castiel leaned up to kiss Dean very gently. All the annoyed thoughts went tumbling out of his ears and all he could focus on was Cas’ soft mouth on his. He tried to deepen in but was immediately rejected by Cas pulling back and looking over his shoulder.

“We have to call a strategy meeting,” he said. Dean groaned aloud but admitted, begrudgingly, that Castiel was right. 

 “This is a joke, right?” Gabriel said from where he was lounging on Castiel’s cot. “You want to what, fight back?”

Benny stood in the corner, arms crossed tightly over his chest. He had listened quietly while Dean brought up the idea but he looked too hesitant for Dean’s liking. He thought Gabriel and Benny of all people would be revved up by the suggestion. 

“Yes,” Dean said insistently. “They can’t take any more of your people. They think we’re easy targets.”

“We are easy targets,” Gabriel drawled. “You didn’t exactly dodge their bullet.” 

Dean’s shoulder throbbed sympathetically and he sighed. Whatever had happened to this group in the past year, Dean was uncomfortable with how much it had affected their confidence. “Look, they’re going to have some forward scouts. If we take them out, they won’t be able to report back.”

Benny gave him a skeptical look. “Easier said than done, bud,” he argued. “Their scouts are quiet and fast as hell.”

“They’re not as good as us.” Castiel’s firm voice silenced any bickering that may have broken out in that moment. “You’ve both seen Dean in the woods.”

Gabriel stared at him, agape. “I never thought I’d see the day when Castiel supported murder. You’ve really done a number on him, Winchester.”

“No!” Castiel snapped, eyes wild on all three of them as they flinched at his vehemence. “This is not about Dean. This is about Anna.” 

Benny and Gabriel both winced, looking rightfully ashamed. “‘Course,” Gabriel mumbled, chastised. “But Castiel, this is pretty, y’know. Extreme.”

“Maybe it’s time for extreme,” Dean said. “Maybe it’s time the Wolves put their damn foot down and show those fucking U.C. slaver bastards that we’re done putting up with it.”

Benny uncrossed his arms, head tilted to the side. “I gotta say, it is tempting,” he said, and Dean felt fiercely appreciative. “It’d be nice to stick it to them after getting our asses kicked time and again.”

“It’d be nice to get Anna back,” Dean reiterated. “Negotiation won’t work, obviously, if they wave guns around just at the sight of us.”

Gabriel shrugged. “I’m always in for a little chaos.”

“So,” Castiel said, “ideas.”

They discussed the strategy thoroughly, pausing only when Gabriel asked how Dean had gotten more handsome and they derailed on Castiel cutting Dean’s hair for twenty minutes. They argued over choke points and hiding places, where the U.C. men would come in, how to most efficiently take them out.

Eventually, though, they had a plan.

Gabriel and Benny left to get supper after they swore to keep the plan quiet. The rest of the Dust Wolves may have grievances with what they were going to do, and Dean advised it may be better to avoid that battle until the time came.

“I still worry,” Castiel said as Dean zipped the flap of his tent. “I’m lying to them.”

“Telling them would just terrify them,” Dean said again, turning around to gather Castiel up into his arms. He felt right there, pressed against Dean’s front with his face in the crook of Dean’s neck. 

“It’s too dangerous,” Cas mumbled into Dean’s throat. “One of you is going to get hurt.”

“What, not you?” Dean asked, lips turned up in amusement. He ran his fingers up Castiel’s spine to press into the back of his neck.  

“That doesn’t matter.”

Dean pushed Castiel away from him and held him at arm’s length, catching his gaze. “Of course it fucking matters,” he said sharply. “Don’t be all noble and go sacrificing yourself. This group needs a leader.”

“Okay,” Cas said, “I understand.” He nodded as if convincing himself of his own words. Dean just huffed. 

“Besides, without you around, I’ll have to settle for Benny.” He wrinkled his nose. “I don’t think we’re that compatible.”

Castiel shrugged. “Gabriel is also available.” 

Dean responded to that egregious accusation by kissing Castiel with more force than he had in the woods. He made a surprised noise at Castiel meeting him full-on, opening his mouth against Dean’s and letting it get fierce.

This was the leader in Cas, his strength and pride all pouring out in his fist gripping the back of Dean’s shirt and his tongue pressing hot between Dean’s lips. Dean melted into it, let Cas direct them back toward the cot. It was clearly too small for the both of them, but it still took Dean by surprise when Castiel pushed him down into a sitting position and knelt on the floor of the tent. 

In this position, Castiel fit perfectly against Dean’s chest, his arms a comfortable weight on Dean’s neck. Dean shivered as Castiel passed the tips of his fingers against his nape, just a gentle, anchoring reminder.

Dean got the impression that was how things worked in this world; it was fast and fleeting and you had to grab onto what you wanted as soon as you knew you wanted it. At least, that’s how Dean rationalized the way Castiel was clinging to him, breathing hot into his mouth as they kissed.

His hands found their way up the back of Castiel’s shirt to map across the tug of his muscles, to skirt along his shoulder blades and press into his skin. The pressure made Cas mumble a little noise that Dean wanted to hear in stereo.

Castiel pulled back just a hair, chastely catching Dean’s lips before peering at him in that way that normally made Dean want to hide. This time, though, it just sent heat through his bloodstream and he held the gaze as long as he could.

“Dean,” Castiel began, pulling his arms in to cup Dean’s jaw with both hands. “I need you to understand.”

“Okay,” Dean said a little breathlessly, eyes flicking between Castiel’s lips and his eyes. 

“You came at a time when we needed you the most,” Castiel went on as he stroked Dean’s cheekbones. “You’re so skilled, and kind.”

Dean ached as the compliments came, desperately wanting to shut Cas up by kissing him again. 

His discomfort didn’t go unnoticed, luckily, as Castiel barrelled on. “You must understand that my affection for you is not based only on that.”

The words hung heavily in the air between them. The assurance really wasn’t necessarily as far as Dean was concerned, but maybe it was more for Castiel himself than for Dean’s benefit. “And my roguish good looks, surely.”

Castiel’s eyes shone with admiration. “That was a swaying factor.”

Dean sighed as one of Castiel’s hands fell to his thigh. “Look, I know you’re not taking advantage of me, or whatever,” he said in a weak attempt to soothe Castiel’s distress. “I like that you don’t waste any time.”

“The mutual attraction was evident,” he said with a small smirk, splaying his hand out across Dean’s inner thigh. Dean sucked in a breath and licked his lips, edging back close to Castiel’s mouth. 

They didn’t talk again for awhile, their dialogue spilling out through touches and adventurous, wandering hands. Dean found he liked to fit just the tips of his fingers down the back of Castiel’s pants and press in, evoking these quiet, sharp gasps from him. He also learned that Castiel had a thing for his throat and gently tugged on his hair for more of it.

It went from languid and hot to unbearable before Dean had even noticed the switch. Soon Castiel was sucking at the groove of his neck and slipping the button at the waistband of his pants, his long fingers hot where they brushed against Dean’s skin. 

Dean may have accidently grunted Castiel’s name when he curled those fingers around Dean’s cock, but he couldn’t hear himself over the sound of Castiel’s tongue slick along his throat. Cas’ hand was wet with something - lotion, by the scent of it - and his hand glided up and down Dean’s shaft in long, slow, firm strokes.

“Fuck,” Dean said, voice more strained than he’d expected. He almost laughed at the sound of it. Instead, he dragged Castiel up into a languid kiss and tried to keep his hips still while Cas worked. 

It had been so long since he’d been touched like that, even from his conscious memory. In the months leading up to his accident he’d just been dumped for the billionth time and hadn’t been able to climb his way out of the slump. 

And Castiel was merciless, keeping up his same steady pace while Dean panted against him, turned to putty in his arms. He kissed at Dean’s mouth and just below his ear, murmuring encouragements that Dean wanted to memorize.

Eventually, he got his shit together and palmed at the front of Castiel’s pants as well. He was delighted to find that Cas was feeling it just as much as he was, so he pressed his thumb against the head of Castiel’s dick in appreciation. Cas moaned, then, and it was fucking on. 

Dean blindly groped behind him for the pillows and blankets on the cot, tugging them off and throwing them to the canvas floor of the tent. Castiel’s eyes darkened on Dean’s and he immediately fell back, dragging Dean along with him until they were writhing against each other in the makeshift bed.

When Castiel was pinned he would bring his legs up around Dean’s hips and roll against him, dragging their dicks against each other methodically until Dean was distracted enough to be tackled back. Castiel on top of him meant an arm hooked under the crook of Dean’s knee, pushing that back toward his chest while he jerked them both off.

They kissed as much as the positions allowed and Dean was sure they were going to look messy and mussed to anyone who glanced their way in the morning. He could hardly think about that when Castiel’s fingers drifted further back, pressing just behind his balls, just a soft rub against the sensitive skin there.

“Jesus,” Dean huffed out, his legs falling a little further apart. Above him, Cas just smiled and pressed a little harder.

“Good to know,” he murmured with a grin that swore future exploration. Dean was flushed with sweat and embarrassment and a whole bucket of arousal. “We’ll have to take turns,” he said as he nipped at Dean’s exposed collarbone. 

“How charitable,” Dean choked. 

Not long after that, their clothes were a forgotten pile in the corner of the tent and their hands had feverishly explored everywhere they could. Dean had his face ducked against Cas’ chest, kissing at the skin he could find while they jacked each other off fast and unforgiving.

Castiel’s free hand was splayed against Dean’s lower back, holding him close, encouraging him to thrust into Cas’ grip. Dean just stared down at where their hands moved, shiny now with precome and sweat, unwilling to miss a second of it. Castiel’s dick fit so nicely in his hands, the flushed tip of it sliding out from his fist on each stroke. 

“Gotta let me taste you,” Dean breathed into Castiel’s skin. “Gotta.”

“Oh,” Cas groaned and was coming, the feel of it so hot on Dean’s skin that he nearly flinched. But he stroked Cas through it, keeping his grip firm as he watched two rosy spots bloom on his cheeks. Dean kissed him, hard but simple, then tentatively rolled his hips into Castiel’s hand.

Cas’ eyes fluttered open and narrowed with determination, his forearm going taut. He stroked Dean ruthlessly while grinning against his slack mouth and thumbing over the divots just over the curve of his ass. 

“Shit, Cas, don’t stop,” Dean muttered, “so close, your hands are so perfect, just, keep going.”

Castiel’s lips pressed feather-soft just at his earlobe. “I don’t intend to stop,” he said in what could only be described as a growl. And then Dean was gasping, pawing at Cas’ skin to get a good grip on him while his body sparked with orgasm. 

He collapsed back bonelessly. He was sticky and exhausted, but Castiel was a comfortable press against his side. He turned to face him. “We’re doing that so much more.”

Castiel nodded definitively. “So much.” 

There was a wet washcloth in a basin under the table. It was cold, but enough to scrub some of the come and sweat off their skin so they could sleep comfortably. Dean stayed in the tent while Castiel fetched supper, bread and rabbit stew, and they ate. 

As the moon rose they talked about Sam and Anna around mouthfuls of potato and carrot. Dean spoke mournfully of his lost motorcycle and Castiel stared at him like he was insane. They lounged back in their makeshift nest, Dean cradling Castiel like he had in the tree the night before, and they talked about pets and birthday cake. Dean asked what Castiel did before all this, before the bombs, and Castiel went quiet.

“Hey, you don’t have to tell me,” Dean said softly. “I get it.”

Castiel gave him a vague, unconvincing smile. “I’m just not sure that person exists anymore. I don’t like thinking about him.”

Dean curled a hand around Castiel’s wrist and thumbed his pulse. 

“I get it,” he said again. 

Dean stretched awake on the floor of the tent, expecting to find Castiel curled up next to him, but he was undoubtedly alone. He sat up and swiped a hand down to his face to wipe the sleep out of his eyes. He smirked a little at the indentation in the blankets where Cas had slept, reaching out to press his hand against them. 

He was just cursing himself for being too sentimental when voices drifted in from outside the tent. 

“I am not letting you go alone,” Castiel was saying, and Dean stood up and pulled on pants before he had a moment to think about it.

“What are you going to do?” Gabriel said dismissively. “You can’t climb a tree in that condition, let alone fight anyone off.”

 Dean unzipped the tent and stomped out gracelessly. Gabriel stared at him, eyes pinched and confused, while Benny just gave him a grin that stretched across his whole face. 

 Castiel probably looked mortified, Dean mused, but he couldn’t tell because he was too focused on how Cas was favoring his right leg. “What happened?” He snapped.

“He rolled his ankle,” Gabriel said once he’d regained his composure. “He was scouting ahead to see where we could station and he lost his footing on a tree knot.”

“It’s fine,” Castiel insisted stubbornly. Even just standing still, he had the foot lifted off the ground. 

Dean frowned at him and took a tentative step closer. “Cas, we need everyone at full capacity,” he said slowly. “You could compromise the whole mission.”

The glare that shot his way was leveling. “You are not handling this on your own,” Cas said flatly. “Three people can’t pull it off.”

“We’ll ask Jess,” Gabriel said lightly. “She was a cop,” he said to Dean. 

Benny snorted. “Cop. She was goddamn FBI.” 

“So says you."

“Enough,” Cas sighed. “Benny, go wake Jess and brief her on the mission. Gabriel, start prepping the packs and don’t hog all of the jerky.”

“Aye aye,” Gabriel said with a mock salute. He turned to Dean. “Don’t let him do anything stupid.”

Dean just shouldered under Castiel’s arm and let him lean heavily as he brought him back into the tent. “Why’d you go and do something stupid, huh?” He chided affectionately, depositing Cas lightly on the edge of his bunk. He dragged the trunk over and gingerly lifted Castiel’s leg onto it for elevation. 

“It wasn’t on purpose,” Cas said bitterly, going to unlace his boot. 

“Keep it on,” Dean advised, rubbing softly at Castiel’s calf. “The pressure will keep the swelling down.”  He sat up on his knees and kissed the curve of Castiel’s jaw. 

“I should be out there with you. You’re all risking your lives."

“You’re not fit for it,” Dean shrugged. “So, stay back and take care of yourself. I got a feeling you could use a day off.” 

Castiel hummed low in his throat. “I don’t know,” he said thoughtfully. “Last night was a respectable reward.”

Dean rolled his eyes and pat the side of Castiel’s cheek as he stood up. “Cheesy,” he admonished with no seriousness whatsoever. “Maybe take the day to work on your one-liners, Romeo.”

“I’ll leave the charm to you,” Castiel said wearily. “Please be careful, Dean.”

His voice was so earnest that Dean actually stopped in his tracks, breathing the sound of it in and holding it in his lungs. He shot Castiel a smirk over his shoulder and smiled. “Always am, aren’t I?”

The frown he got in return was less than reassuring.

As it turned out, Jess knew her shit. She was an impeccable listener and only took one explanation of the plan before offering her own input. Her steps were silent in the woods, quieter than all three of the men, and she demanded to take point.

“I say we give it to her,” Benny said. Dean suspected it was out of fear, but he agreed as well. 

Gabriel pointed at a cross-section of the map. “This is the spot where the river picks up. We’ll rendezvous there at dawn. Remember,” he added sharply, “don’t move until you hear something.”

Dean’s perch was south of camp. He wanted to take point on the potential rear ambush, figuring from his brief interactions with the United Commonwealth that they’d be most likely to attempt to strike from behind. The cowardly bastards.

He found a solid tree with some lower branches, lush with leaves and plenty of offered cover. He snaked up, settled in, and listened.

It wasn’t a surprise to him when his mind started to wander. Ironically, prior to the accident, Dean never spent a lot of time alone in his head. After years of it being his only comfort, Dean found solace in the quiet of his brain. It was the first chance he’d really had to sit and think since his life had been turned upside down 

It had just been a few short days since he’d finally woken up, and way too much had happened to him in that stretch of time. He finally felt his muscles ease as he leaned back on the tree branch, machete heavy at his hip. 

His clothes probably been burned, he mused to himself. Maybe Jess had washed them but he couldn’t imagine how they could be of any use. They were his uniform for four years, and then he’d just slipped into a new one without a second thought. The jumpsuit Cas had assigned him was comfortable, sure, and it kept him from getting sunburned, but damn did it get warm sometimes. 

The one he was wearing didn’t have blood stains all down the side where he’d been shot in the goddamn arm. 

He was lucky that wound hadn’t been more severe. It downgraded to an itchy scab sometime on his walk to his vantage point. Cas had insisted on changing the bandages before they left, gimpy foot propped up on the crate in his room.

Dean thought about Castiel, too. Dean thought about Castiel a lot as he whittled at a branch above him with a pocket knife. Castiel’s reverent eyes and his big, appreciative hands were top of the list of images that flashed in Dean’s mind. He also thought about the way he kissed, like Dean was allowed to steer or give up control completely and Castiel would have been happy in either one of those situations.

He wondered, for the millionth time, where the hell Castiel had come from.

It wasn’t entirely within Dean’s wheelhouse to fall in love. He’d had fleeting relationships growing up and certainly knew his way around a bedroom, but he always ran into the same wall eventually: they wanted something from Dean he couldn’t give them. He never knew what it was, not exactly. People gave him examples; things like commitment or a future, sometimes it was just being present or excited, sometimes it was things in bed.

It didn’t matter what it was, not to Dean. All that mattered was he knew he couldn’t uphold anything that serious for too long, and then guilt hit him like a freight train.

He thought about Castiel’s adoration and his own attraction and fuck, he should have warned Cas prior to hooking up with him that it couldn’t last forever. It had felt good being tended to, having Cas dress his wound and touch him so goddamn gently, but there was only so much of that Dean could handle.

He scoffed gently to himself. He didn’t even know if a future was something Cas wanted. Hell, he hardly knew the guy at all. As far as Dean knew, he took a new Dust Wolf to his tent every night. Intuitively, he knew that couldn’t be the case. Castiel had a sweetness about him, under the layers of Serious Fearless Leader, that was genuine and impenetrable. 

Dean felt his stomach tighten with affection and he rubbed his eye hard with the heel of his hand. 

Instead of wallowing in his own self-righteous pity, Dean decided to try and pull together memories from his time in St. Francis and piece them together chronologically. He just wanted to know if Sam had ever come to visit him after the first bombs went off, before the U.C. took the hospital. If he survived that first wave, he could definitely still be out there somewhere. 

No matter how hard he tried to conjure up specific memories, though, they were all still a jumble in his head. It was Sam talking to him about snowfall but then about the unbearable heat on his commute to work. He remembered Nurse Braeden talking about her 2 year old boy and then simultaneously being pregnant with him. It was too much to try and sort his memories out, he decided, and much too unreliable. 

Before Dean could get too frustrated with himself, he decided to use a trick Sammy had taught him years ago. He took a deep breath and concentrated on the middle of his chest. Every time he got worked up, he just breathed in deeply with his eyes closed, centering himself right between his lungs. He would listen to himself sigh and it always brought him back to the real world when he was feeling disconnected. 

Even then, sitting in the tree with a knife on his belt, Dean felt grounded for the first time in days. 

He wasn’t given long enough to enjoy it, though. Just a beat after he’d finished his last deep breath, he heard rustling about thirty feet out.

“Would you shut up?” Someone snapped, a girl. “They have ears like bats.”

“Wolves,” said a snide voice in return. “Bats can’t hear shit, that’s why they echolocate.” 

“Do I look like a fucking zoologist to you?”

“Just shut the fuck up.” 

Dean took a moment to wonder how these idiots ever took control of any territory. 

He started to calculate their position: judging by their speed and direction, they were likely to end up right under Dean’s tree in thirty seconds. He could drop and grab one, easily get him with the knife, but then he’d have to deal with the other one. And if they had guns, that didn’t give him any time.

“Whatever,” the guy sighed. “We’re just getting two or three this time, right?” 

“Yeah, but the King wants the kids,” the woman sighed. Dean’s blood ran cold at the words and his hands flexed on the grip of his knife. “I don’t know why, but you know how he gets.”

Dad would have told Dean that his next move was flat-out fucking stupid. 

Red burned behind his eyes and he felt himself move before he could comprehend it. Knife unsheathed, he dove out of the tree and tackled the woman to the ground. She was tiny, but even Dean could feel the strength in her arms as she struggled against him. He stood up and held the knife to her throat, eyes narrowed at the man standing in front of them. He already had his gun drawn, aimed carefully at Dean but no finger on the trigger.

“Let her go,” the guy snarled. 

“Fuck you,” Dean spat, rage boiling under his skin. The woman had stopped trying to fight to get away, but definitely didn’t seem frightened. 

She heaved a sigh, the breath bringing her throat in contact with the sharp end of the knife. “Leave it, Tom,” she said with a hint of authority in her voice. “If you fire that gun every wolf in a five-mile radius will know where you are.”

Tom grunted in frustration. “So, what, I’m just supposed to let him kill you?”

She snorted, tilting her head and allowing the knife to nick her again. Dean tightened his hands around her wrist angrily. “He’s not going to kill me,” she said, and almost sounded disdainful. 

“Meg,” Tom said hesitantly. “He looks like he’s two seconds away from slitting your throat.”

“More like ten,” Dean said, eyes trained on Tom’s weapon. “I’m a patient guy.”

Meg twisted just enough to get a look at Dean’s face. “Funny. Anyway, you and I both know I’m more important to you when I’m alive, don’t we?”

The truth really did hurt sometimes. “Yeah, we do,” he agreed. “But what about your friend?”

Tom had lowered his weapon now, looking hesitant and confused. Dean wanted to roll his eyes but knew it would probably be a bad idea to take his gaze off the other guy. “I’ll go,” Tom murmured.

“Coward,” Meg laughed. Tom looked crestfallen, but she just laughed harder. “I’m joking, idiot. Get out of here.” 

Dean didn’t feel entirely comfortable allowing one of them to just run free, but the guy looked white as a sheet and entirely relieved to be able to hightail it out of there. Dean watched and listened until Tom was out of range and then turned with Meg, knife still at her neck.

“We got a long walk, princess,” he muttered. 

“Nothing like the royal treatment,” she said with a smile. “Lead the way, then.” 

Dean didn’t speak with her while they walked, keeping slow and quiet and holding his knife on her. She didn’t kick up too much of a fuss, though, just calmly allowed herself to be led back toward the camp. Dean remained wary; he’d been in enough suspicious situations before to smell one a mile away. 

But the closer they got to camp, and the lower the sun fell, Dean’s instincts started to dull as fatigue set in. Even then, Meg walked silently in his grip and even avoided stepping on twigs and dead leaves. 

And then there was a gunshot. 

“Shit,” Dean hissed, yanking Meg off the path and a little ways into the woods. It sounded about a mile off, toward Benny’s position. Dean’s grip tightened around Meg’s thin wrist and he was dragging her behind him as he booked it as fast as he could toward the source of the sound.

Meg kept up with him surprisingly well. “You’re the type to run toward gunshots, huh?” She panted behind him. Dean ignored her, single minded in that moment, just needing to get closer. 

By the time he reached the scene, eight minutes had passed and he had no idea what he was going to find. He barrelled into the forest clearing and tried to catch his breath. 

The first thing he spotted was the body. It was facedown in the grass, arms loosely above its head, an immense shotgun wound visible on its back. It was still shockingly red, the grass around it soaking up the blood that must have been seeping from its front. 

Dean swore quietly and took a step forward, shaking, eyes narrowed as they swept along the body. He couldn’t tell, not like this, not with the head facing away from him and the body so still and fucked up. 

“Sucks,” Meg mused, and Dean pulled hard on her arm. “Ow.”

He took another step closer, and, shit. That brought another body into view, another guy wearing U.C. colors and slumped up against a tree-trunk. He had a stab wound slashed across his stomach, where his lifeless hands were clearly, at one point, trying to press against the blood flow. Dean didn’t recognize him.

Meg did, though. Dean could tell with how her eyes were trained on his face as they walked around the scene. His heart was pounding in his throat and Dean wondered how he was even able to breathe with this much anxiety wracking his body. He felt numb as he came around to the other side of the corpse on the ground, barely able to take in his face. 

“Heya, chief,” he heard from above him, and nearly fucking fainted right then and there. “Who’s the chick?”

“Benny!” Dean hissed angrily. “Get down from there, you almost gave me a fucking heart attack.”

Benny hopped out of the tree with a whumph, straightening up slowly. Blood coated his Dust Wolves uniform, still shiny and wet but very clearly not his own. Dean resisted the urge to punch him in the shoulder. Meg was quiet, seething.

“What happened?” Dean asked weakly. 

“Aw, relax,” Benny said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Don’t have a scratch on me, sugar.” 

Benny explained the fight in detail that Dean could barely take in. From what he gathered, Benny got the drop on one and managed to wrangle the gun from the other, much in the way Dean was completely incapable of doing only a few hours earlier. 

“This is Meg,” Dean said, nodding toward his captive. “We’re going to have a nice talk with her.”

Again, blessedly, Meg said nothing. Benny raised an eyebrow. “Really, Dean? I took out two of ‘em and you got yourself a girlfriend?”

“Benny,” Dean growled in warning. 

“Leader’s going to be all kinds of jealous,” he continued happily. Meg did laugh, then, but it was entirely humorless. It made the smile drop off Benny’s face immediately. “Shut it.”

“I’m taking her back,” Dean said. “I haven’t heard anything from Gabriel or Jess, but it’s almost time to meet them at the rendezvous.”

Benny gave Dean a long look. “Yeah, and neither of them were stupid enough to come running when they heard the gun,” he accused. Dean flipped him off. 

“Just wanted to see what was left of you,” he said flippantly. Benny just winked at him and wiped his bloody knife on his pants. 

“Better hope your sentiment doesn’t give them a choke point,” the other man said. Dean didn’t know if he was trying to make him feel guilty, but either way, it was sure as hell working.

They split up, with Benny promising to pass the message along at the rendezvous. He gave Meg a sidelong glance, and she eventually whirled on him. 

“What?” She snapped. “Is the interrogation starting now?”

“No,” Dean muttered. She glared at him.

“It was just us,” she said flatly. “Me, Brady, Rosco, and Tom. We didn’t think it would take more than four of us to grab a few kids.” She shook her head. “You Wolves have never had balls like this before.”

“The Wolves never had me,” Dean said sharply, feeling keyed up and cagey. She was so damn casual about kidnapping the children for slavery that it made his skin crawl. “Let’s get you back camp. Castiel is going to have some questions for you.”

“Can’t wait.”  

When Dean and Meg arrived back at the camp, Castiel was waiting by the front gate chatting with one of the watchmen. Dean tried to ignore the feeling that swelled up inside of him at the thought of Castiel fretting, waiting for him to return, but he couldn’t stave it off completely.

Castiel did look happy to see him, but his face fell stony as soon as he caught sight of Meg. He hobbled over to them and crossed his arms over his chest, hard eyes meeting Dean’s. 

“Casualties?” He asked firmly.

“Two that I know,” Dean said, “their people. How’s your ankle?”

Castiel did not look comforted by this news. “You’re going to miss the rendezvous,” he said quietly. He refused to meet Dean’s eyes. 

“Found Benny after he took them out,” Dean explained, “he’ll let Jess and Gabriel know.”

A very visible relaxation set into Castiel’s posture and he finally dragged his eyes up to meet Dean’s. “I’m glad you’re all right,” he mumbled. 

Dean swelled with pride and leaned over to nudge his knuckles against Castiel’s shoulder. “Hey, me too. 

Meg huffed an annoyed sort of laugh, eyes focused up on the sky. “This is sweet,” she said, deeply rooted in sarcasm, “but can we get on with the torture?”

Castiel glared at her. “We do not torture,” he said acidly, in a tone that Dean had never heard him use before. 

“‘Course not,” Meg shrugged. “You just starve your people until they’re delusional enough to think you’re any kind of a leader at all. 

“That’s enough.” Dean tightened his grip on her. “You guys have anything to lock her up with?”

One of the guards shrugged helplessly and Castiel waved him off to go find some restraints. Holding onto her was getting pretty fucking tiresome, but Dean just tightened his grip and looked to Cas. He sighed and scratched his head, giving Castiel a weary look.

“This world you guys live in is fucking exhausting,” he said, attempting to keep his tone light. Castiel’s lips twitched up in a smile. 

“I agree,” he said. The smile dropped from his face as quickly as it arrived. His eyes darted toward Meg. “Dean, I need you to tell me everything you saw. Benny killed their men?”

Dean nodded. “Two of them. Knife wound, shotgun.”

Castiel didn’t look pleased with the information. “Did you see anything else?”

“Nah,” Dean shook his head and nodded toward Meg. “I was escorting her back here before the rendezvous when I heard the gunshot.”

The look that Castiel gave Meg was chilling even to Dean. “Did she say anything?”

“You could just ask me,” she said flatly, bored, her eyes up on the sky. “You want to know our plan? Well, this was it, and you caught us, all right? The King will leave us to rot.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes, finally meeting Meg’s gaze head-on. “Maybe then you’ll finally see that your King is not a kind and just ruler,” he said acidly. But Meg just raised an eyebrow and laughed. 

“The King?” She shook her head. “The king isn’t our ruler, idiot. It’s his right-hand man.” Castiel bristled and Dean didn’t know if he could roll his eyes any harder. 

“Whatever. Who calls themselves a king, anyway?” He complained. “It’s so fucking… pretentious.”

“Oh, he doesn’t call himself that. That’s our little nickname,” she laughed. Dean resisted the urge to yank hard on her arm. “‘The Boy King.’ But who needs a nickname with a name like Sam Winchester, y’know?”

Chapter Text

“Where the hell is Michael?” Dean demanded, storming through the camp as Castiel trailed behind him, trying to reach out for his arm. 

“Dean, please,” he said, “you need to calm down.”

His heart was pounding nearly painfully in his chest, loud enough to drown out the ringing in his ears. It couldn’t be him. Sam would never work with such monsters, let alone lead them or command them to steal children from their beds at night. Nausea ripped in Dean’s gut as he turned on Castiel.

“Michael was at the camp with my brother,” Dean said evenly. “He’s going to tell me what the fuck is going on.” 

Castiel’s wide, desperate eyes were locked on him. “It won’t help to hear about it,” he tried. “If Sam is their leader, Dean, then he may already be lost.”

“Sam is not lost,” Dean hissed as rage bubbled under his skin. “Sam isn’t cruel. He’s not a fucking dictator, Cas, the kid could barely boss me around when I was in a goddamn coma.” He ran a hand through his hair in a vain attempt to regain some composure. “Look, if it were about Anna, wouldn’t you want to find out everything you could?”

His voice had gone soft at the end, and Castiel’s expression seemed to match it. With a short nod, he crossed his arms over his chest. “Go find Michael. I’ll deal with Meg.”

Dean was off before Castiel had finished his sentence. 

Michael was eating porridge at the fire and Dean managed to keep his panic under control as he approached him. He didn’t want to come in guns blazing and terrify the guy. He raised his eyes to Dean’s in greeting, but shoveled another spoonful of breakfast in his mouth instead of saying anything. 

“Hey,” Dean said, squatting down to sit next to him. “I have a couple of questions for you.”

“Okay,” Michael said slowly. “But I don’t know if I’ll have any answers.”

Dean let out a long sigh. “My last name is Winchester. Back at the U.C. base, did you know my brother Sam?”

In Michael’s defense, he looked genuinely surprised for half a second, before he grinned helplessly. “God, of course that guy is your brother.”

Dean stared hard at Michael. “What does that mean? What’s he doing over there?” What is he?

Michael just shrugged and put his bowl aside. “He’s the boss’ right-hand, pretty much,” he said way too calmly. “They meet together and make decisions for the rest of the camp. That was one of the reasons they kicked me out.” 

“Because they didn’t like what you had to say?”

“I just wanted to be on the committee,” Michael sighed. “Or have a vote, like a real society.” 

Confusion swam in Dean’s mind. “And Sam didn’t want that?”

“Almost bit my head off just for suggesting it.” 

The whole thing was complete nonsense, as far as Dean was concerned. The way Michael described it reminded Dean nothing of his brother. There had to be extenuating circumstances, hostage situations, threats of violence. Some reason.

“Thanks,” Dean said, standing abruptly. “And you know, uh. Sorry.” 

Michael just looked at him evenly and did not have a chance to reply before Dean and turned on heel. 

He found Castiel pacing nervously outside of the tent where they held Meg. He looked white as a sheet and almost frightened when he caught sight of Dean. He stiffened, hands clasped behind his back. “Did Michael have answers for you?”

“No,” Dean said miserably. He walked straight into Castiel’s personal space, just needing to leach some of his energy. He wrapped his arms low around Cas’ waist and tucked his face against his neck, breathing him in.

He felt Castiel’s tentative hands draw up from his chest to wrap around Dean’s shoulders. Belatedly, Dean realized he should have asked Cas how he felt about the public affection thing, but at that moment he wanted nothing more than to just stand close. 

Castiel’s thumb rubbed circles against the knot at the base of Dean’s neck, a soothing and comfortable motion. With his eyes shut to the world around them, Dean almost felt normal for a moment. He pulled back and Castiel looked as if he would burst from affection. It was impossible not to chuckle a little as he pressed a chaste kiss to the side of his mouth.

“You okay?” He muttered, combing his fingers through the soft hair at Cas’ temples. “Did you talk to Meg?” 

“A bit,” Castiel said. His eyes were still locked on Dean’s. “She didn’t have much relevant information. I don’t know what good holding her will do.”

Dean shook his head. “They’re dangerous, Cas. They wanted to storm the camp. Who knows what they would have done if we didn’t get the drop on them?”

Who knows what Sam asked them to do? His brain supplied unhelpfully. Castiel must have noticed Dean’s consternation, because he pressed his fingers right against Dean’s sternum. 

“Relax,” he said, the low rumble of his voice taking Dean’s anxiety down a notch. “Just focus on this spot, right here.” Dean’s heart ached as he remembered Sam doing the same thing, his huge thumb digging right between his ribs. He gave Castiel a tired smile and felt his heartbeat slow down. 

“Sam used to do that,” he said wistfully. Castiel looked crestfallen, his hand dropping to his side.

“I tried to distract you and made it worse,” he said unhappily. “I’m sorry.” 

Dean gathered Castiel’s hands up into his own and squeezed them tightly. “It’s good,” he said with sincerity. “It’s really good, Cas.” 

Castiel’s expression grew fierce. “We will figure this out,” he promised. “We’ll rescue Sam.”

“And Anna,” Dean agreed. 

Somehow, this declaration did not seem to make Castiel happy. He glanced over his shoulder, back at Meg’s tent, and looked only despondent. “I don’t know what to do with her,” he sighed. Dean leaned in and kissed Cas’ temple. 

“She’s got guards, right?” He asked. “People you trust?” Castiel nodded and yelped as Dean started to drag him away. “We’re calling it a night.”

“The others haven’t returned from the rendezvous,” Castiel reminded him, but Dean just kept tugging. 

“They won’t be back for hours,” Dean said. “Come on, sitting in a tree all day got me all stiff.”

Castiel gave him an unimpressed look. “You want me to rub your back.” 

“Or other things,” he shrugged. His fingers were hooked in Cas’ belt loops and he was trying to yank him closer so they could stand flush together. “C’mon,” he mumbled into Cas’ throat. “We both got some steam to blow off.”

Cas’ mouth was wet and insistent against his in only a moment. It didn’t take long for Dean to get his hands under Castiel’s ass and lift all six feet of him into his arms. Cas made a surprised sound against his lips but didn’t stop kissing, obediently wrapping his legs around Dean’s hips. 

Dean couldn’t resist a grin as he pushed one hand up the back of Cas’ shirt, the other hooked snugly under his ass. “That didn’t take long,” he teased softly. Cas narrowed his eyes at Dean, clearly a little insulted, but tightened his grip on Dean’s shoulders as he was walked toward the nest of blankets on the floor of the tent. 

Laying them both down was tricky, but Dean managed, invigorated by the shine on Cas’ lips and the flush on his cheeks. He undressed them both with determined precision, more tuned into Castiel’s body than before. The heat in the air made it easy to move against each other, the sweat beading on their skin guiding their slow grind. 

Castiel’s gasps in his ear were as divine as prayer, each one intensifying that tug in Dean’s gut until the need to be closer to him overwhelmed everything else. “Gonna suck you off,” he said into Castiel’s mouth, and earned a little grunt for it. 

With Castiel’s pants already cast aside, all it took was for Dean to slide down Castiel’s warm body and grasp his hard cock, pumping him once or twice before fitting his mouth over the head.

Castiel was vocal in the best way; all quiet gasps and choked-off sounds and Dean vowed to make him groan loud one day.  For now, he just ran his tongue along the salty skin and breathed in all he could. He reveled in Castiel’s fingers trying to find purchase in his newly short hair as he opened his throat to take his cock down further.

Dean hadn’t done this, not with this much enthusiasm, in many years. But Castiel made him want to pull out all the stops, fitting his hands under Cas’ bare ass and encouraging him to thrust his hips up. A small noise of something like disbelief escaped Castiel’s mouth and Dean mentally congratulated himself.

“You can’t, Dean,” Cas said breathily, grinning. His eyes were bright and wild and he tracked Dean’s movements like he couldn’t bear to miss a moment. 

Dean pulled off with a wet sound that was probably more obscene than he intended. “Yeah? Why not?”

But Cas had thrown an arm over his eyes and was shaking his head as he heaved sharp, heavy breaths.A bubble of pressure in his chest incomprehensibly made him want to giggle, so to stave it off he thumbed over the wet head of Castiel’s cock and pursed his lips against it.  He felt a pulse of bitter precome pulse from the slit and he languidly licked it up. 

Castiel’s hips jerked and he sat up, grabbing Dean’s bare shoulders. “Stop,” he implored through a throaty laugh, pulling Dean up toward himself to kiss him. Dean never wanted to stop, not as long as he could. With a hum against Cas’ lips, Dean brought their hips flush and undulated against him for a moment.

“If I can’t do that,” he said quietly, “what can I do?” 

A small tube was pushed into Dean’s palm and before he could even ask all those questions like are you sure and what about and how should we he had Cas on his knees beneath him while he slowly slid his fingers inside.

“Where the hell did you get lube?” Dean demanded. He had three slick fingers inside, moving them in long, languid strokes just to see Castiel’s knees shake. Cas turned his head to rest his chin on his shoulder and peer up at Dean. 

“I thought it might - oh!” He jerked suddenly as Dean pressed up against his prostate. “Come in handy,” he finished through gritted teeth. 

Dean leaned forward and kissed his shoulder. “Way to think ahead, babe.”

Castiel flushed so fast Dean was surprised he didn’t faint. Dean quirked a grin and kept driving his fingers inside until his wrist ached. Castiel’s moans were low and rough and Dean was jealous of the pillow collecting his spit. 

“You know how good you look?” Dean said, folding over to kiss the small of his back. He let his lips drag wet across the sensitive skin there and Cas’ breath staccatoed. “Good enough to eat.”

If Dean hadn’t sat up quickly, he wouldn’t have noticed the way Castiel’s hands flexed in the sheets beneath him. “Dean,” he moaned softly, rocking his hips back against Dean’s fingers. “I’m ready, just, please.” 

Dean rubbed the head of his cock against Castiel’s ass, biting down hard on his bottom lip. “Okay,” he said as he squeezed Castiel’s shoulders. “You tell me what you need.”

“I need you,” Cas said quietly, and that was the last of Dean’s resolve. 

Fucking Castiel was a goddamned revelation. He was a livewire under Dean’s hands, squirming and panting and mouthing at Dean’s forearm and Dean couldn’t resist licking the flushed skin on the back of Castiel’s neck. He murmured encouragements in his ear and tried not to go too fast in lieu of grinding slow and hot into Castiel’s body. 

He pressed in hard and deep and Castiel’s teeth closed gently around the skin of his inner wrist to stave off a loud sound. “There?” Dean asked and the night seemed to suck his words up into its dull, humid air so the word fell flat on Castiel’s back. 

“Yes,” Cas murmured, his voice a clear bell cutting through the haze of Dean’s arousal. “Right there.” 

He felt hot from the small of his back to the base of his neck, so he figured his spine must have been on fire. It didn’t cool his jets at all as he drove forward, but he didn’t mind the slow lava building under his skin. “Fuck,” he swore as he nosed at the damp hair curling along the base of Cas’ skull. He let Cas bite into his wrist and forearm as he gave short, sharp thrusts.

Dean wormed a hand underneath Castiel’s body to grip his hard dick and slowly jerk him off. Cas’ hand was already there so they worked together; Dean fucked into him and palmed his balls while Cas jack his erection fast and desperate. 

“No idea,” Cas was panting nonsensically, “no idea how long I’ve wanted this.”  Dean’s heart surged and he shook his head. 

“Me too,” he mumbled against Castiel’s earlobe. Cas made a wrecked noise and arched his back, turning his head to catch Dean’s mouth against his own. They kissed sloppily, all filthy words and tongue, and Castiel was spilling hot into Dean’s hand in no time. 

“Don’t stop,” he grunted as Dean tried to pull out. “Keep - please.” 

“Yeah?” Dean grinned, pressing his sticky hand into the small of Castiel’s back. “You want more?” Even just saying the words was a total turn-on for Dean, let alone the idea of Cas needing him so badly. 

“Yes,” came the desperate response. Castiel blinked lazy eyes over his shoulder, his lips bowed in a swollen pout. “Fuck me.”

Dean’s resolve dissolved along with his awareness. Sparks itched along every inch of his skin and Cas’ ass was so hot all around him, clenching and squeezing, slick with sweat and lube. Dean’s eyesight went spotty as arousal overtook him, every muscle in his body seizing tightly as he came wet and hot into Castiel’s body. 

Just a few minutes passed before Dean realized he was mouthing at the back of Castiel’s sweaty neck and mumbling sweet nothings into his skin. Before he said anything embarrassing, he resorted to sucking a bruise into Cas’ shoulder. 

“Got marks on my wrist,” he said as he jut his arm out for Cas to look at. “See what you did?”

“I’m sorry,” Cas muttered as if he were genuinely sorry. Dean knocked his knuckles lightly against Castiel’s nose. He maneuvered them so Cas was pressed against his front and he had a leg thrown over his hips, uncaring of how sticky and sweaty they were. 

“Don’t be sorry,” Dean said firmly. He kissed the curve of Castiel’s cheekbone down to his lips, stroking a thumb down the slope of his undoubtedly sore ass. Cas made a small, whimpering noise into his chest. “How ‘bout I get the towel?”

Cleaning Castiel led to more kissing and spit and fingering, and Dean was able to wring a second orgasm out of Castiel with hardly any coercion. Dean tried to ignore how addictive Castiel tasted, how alluring his half-lidded eyes and bitten lips looked. He shoved that too-much feeling out of his mind and replaced it with a smile that only Cas could see.  

Hours later, Dean carefully slid his arm from under the crook of Castiel’s neck. He got up delicately, stepping back into his jumpsuit and boots. Castiel looked peaceful, moonlight peeking in from under the tent flaps and illuminating his sleeping face. Dean wanted to kiss him, again, but instead he quietly grabbed his bag and left the tent.

The guards in Meg’s tent were two men that Dean didn’t recognize off-hand, but they seemed to know who he was right away. They didn’t even question him as he went inside, nor when he left again, this time with his hand at Meg’s elbow. He gave them a short smile. 

“Taking her to the woods,” Dean explained. “Apparently there’s a weapons cache hidden by the lake.”

One of the men gave a low, appreciative whistle. “Could use that,” he said quietly. “Good luck.” 

And Dean left the Dust Wolves camp, Meg’s leather cuffs bound to a rope he fastened to his belt. She walked obediently just a few steps ahead, but occasionally threw curious glances over her shoulder. 

“What?” Dean snapped. 

“Just wondering where the hell we’re going,” she said with a shrug. “That bullshit you made up about the weapons cache was pretty convincing. You gonna kill me, Winchester?”

Dean bristled. “No. We’re going to your camp,” he explained. “I got you so they don’t shoot me on sight. I just want to talk to my brother.”

“Easy enough,” Meg said. “He thinks you’re dead. You’re gonna blow his mind.”

The sound of her voice made Dean grit his teeth. He knew it would be a long night of hiking with her, but in the end when he got to see his brother again, it would all be worth it. 

“They are not going to be happy that you killed some of us,” Meg said conversationally after they’d been hiking a while. Dean yanked a little on her leash. 

“Maybe he shouldn’t have sent you to kidnap children,” he growled.

“I told you, that was all Sam’s idea.” 

That nausea swam up in his stomach again and Dean fought it back by looking up at the stars twinkling through the forest canopy. He just wanted to forge ahead, not look back over his shoulder. He wanted to ignore the fact that Castiel would wake up alone and maybe confused. Or heartbroken.

He ignored all of those things and continued walking until the edge of the forest was in sight. “How much further?” He asked Meg as he tipped the canteen against her lips, allowing her to drink some water. The rubble of what was once Lawrence loomed in front of them. 

“Seven hours,” she estimated. 

Dean swore. He did not want to wait that long to get there, but even more, he didn’t want to be stuck with Meg for that long. He ran a hand through his hair, deep in thought.

“Relax. A convoy comes through,” she said. “A few cars. They’ll swing through Lawrence in an hour, we can hop a ride with them.”

So, they planted along the road and Dean tried not to think about where they were and where he was headed. Part of him thought this must be a monumentally stupid idea, but Dean had never been one for thinking things through until the end before acting. Meg was being surprisingly quiet and obedient, which made him more suspicious than comfortable. 

She was right, though. An hour passed and the rumble of trucks echoed off in the distance. Five minutes later and Dean was riding in the back of a Jeep, Meg out of her cuffs and in the passenger seat. 

“Can’t we just kill him?” One of the U.C. guys - Tom, Dean remembered - whined from the front seat. Meg socked him in the shoulder.

“This is the King’s brother, you moron,” she said. “Can you imagine what would happen if he found out we hurt him?”

The threat made Dean incredibly uneasy, but he was quietly happy for the security. He even dozed in the back seat for a little while, the familiar jerk of a moving car lulling him right to sleep. By the time he blinked awake, he recognized the outskirts of Bonner Springs. They were just minutes away from the landfill.

The United Commonwealth camp, he reminded himself. 

The gates of the camp were endlessly tall, lined with curled barbed wire that Meg insisted was electrified. There was a fleet of cars and jeeps all parked by the entrance, armed guards pacing and watching from every angle Dean could see. There were even some perched up on the tall walls, binoculars hanging from their necks.

Tom pulled the Jeep into an empty space and a shorter girl with a massive gun jogged up to the side of the car. “Who’s that?” She said in lieu of ‘hello.’ “You got a Wolf?”

“Second best Wolf,” Meg said proudly. “This one’s a Winchester.”

“No shit,” she breathed. “Well, we’d better get you guys inside.” 

Dean let himself be led, not unkindly, up to the main gates. They shouted some nonsense at each other, probably some sort of password system, and the gates were swinging open. Dean’s breath caught in his throat.

The place was unrecognizable as a landfill. Whatever garbage there was had been cleaned and repurposed into what resembled an upscale shantytown. No tents or canvas; all the dwellings were built with wood and corrugated metal. There even seemed to be a irrigation system in place with a series of pipes and metal tubing.

“You guys have toilets?” It wasn’t the most profound thing Dean had ever said, and Meg’s laughter definitely didn’t make him feel better about it.

“Uh, duh,” she said. “Not everyone is just cool with shitting in a hole.” 

Dean opened his mouth to retort, but all his words died on his tongue when he caught sight of his brother, standing tall and broad and smiling down at a clipboard in his hands. Everything in Dean seemed to slow to a stop; all his exhaustion and anxiety began to melt away and when Sam looked up with knitted eyebrows, their gazes met and Dean forgot everything.

The clipboard toppled out of Sam’s hands and he was still staring, mouth wide and surprised. From this distance, it almost looked like he might be tearing up. They started to move toward each other, tentatively at first, but then Sam was loping at him like a fucking bengal tiger and before he knew it he was wrapped up in the tightest hug he’d gotten in ages.

“Dean,” Sam said, small and wrecked, his cheek pressed up against Dean’s own. “How are you here? Are you really here?” He pulled back, eyes searching Dean’s. 

“Yeah,” Dean laughed and squeezed Sam’s shoulder. His brother looked so tall and healthy, though he still had that dumb long hair. His smile dimpled his cheeks. “Still got some fight left in me.” 

Sam looked at him from head to toe and shook his head. “You look skinny.”

“I guess that’s what happens when you starve in a hospital for a week,” he shrugged. Sam clearly wasn’t processing anything Dean was actually saying, just running his hands along Dean’s arms and grinning. 

“You’re awake,” he said, unadulterated joy in his tone. “You’re alive, and you’re awake.”

“Sure am,” Dean agreed. Maybe some tears pricked at the corner of his eyes as well, but he was loathe to admit it. “And I’m here to kick your ass.”

Sam drew Dean into another bone-crushing hug, clinging to him as if he had no other choice. “Whatever you want. God, are you hungry? Tired? Where have you been? How did you find us?”

“Slow your roll, Sammy,” Dean said, the nickname easy on his tongue. Sam’s eyes shone with relief. “Let’s find a place to talk.” 

The walk through the United Commonwealth camp made Dean’s stomach drop further with every step. The people looked showered and healthy, strong. Unlike the Dust Wolves camp, there was an air of industry and progress around them. When they got to Sam’s house - and really, that’s what it was; a shanty that was clean and well-decorated and powered. 

“Do - do you guys have electricity?” Dean balked as Sam flipped a light on. Sam just gave him a soft smile. 

“Yeah,” he said gently. “Dean, how are you here? I’m - I’m so glad, believe me, but I don’t understand.”

Dean launched into the story, each word sounding more unbelievable than the last. It was difficult for him to believe that it had only been a few days since he’d woken up. Sam’s eyes were locked on him, round and empathetic and maybe even a little guilty. Once he got to running into Benny, Sam stopped him.

“Nurse Lafitte?” Sam gaped. “Are you serious?”

“He saved my life, Sam,” Dean said firmly. “Twice. He set my IV before, uh.” He cleared his throat. “Before the hospital was shut down.”

By your people, Dean didn’t say. 

Sam swiped a big hand over his face, suddenly looking weary. “Benny’s with the Wolves,” he said. Dean cleared his throat awkwardly and Sam’s expression fell. “You’ve been with them?”

Sam’s dour face left Dean feeling horribly empty. He looked goddamn heartbroken and a little bit of irritation burned behind Dean’s eyes. “Jesus, Sammy, it’s not like I joined a band of cannibals. Christ.”

“No, it’s just,” Sam stuttered, and stopped. He took a breath and looked right into Dean’s eyes. “They’re not good people, Dean.”

Dean could in no way wrap his mind around what Sam was saying. The Wolves were inexperienced, maybe a little idealistic, but Sam’s vehemence against them was completely baffling. “They’re not bad,” Dean argued. “They fed me, they gave me clothes.”

Sam shook his head. “They brainwashed you,” he said, his voice brimming with sadness. 

“They didn’t fucking brainwash me, Sam!” Dean said, standing with his insistence. Sam stared at him with wide eyes, looking properly admonished. “Look, I just don’t think you guys understand each other. They think you’re enslaving people out here.”

A laugh burst so suddenly from Sam’s throat that Dean jerked with surprise. “Slaves? Are they nuts? They’re savages!”

“This doesn’t make any sense,” Dean said, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I don’t understand what’s going on. What happened to the world while I was out?”

“Dean,” Sam began.

“No!” Dean had his back to his brother now, pacing the shack as rapidly as his mind reeled. “How could this happen? The world is a total hellhole!” He whirled on Sam. “I have spent the last week doing everything I could to find you, and the Wolves have done nothing but try to help me.”

“Wait,” Sam said, brows pinched together. “They knew who you were, obviously. Benny knew you.” 

“Yeah,” Dean said distractedly. “So?”

“None of them told you about me?”

Dean stared at him. “Uh, no. Not until Meg mentioned you were, fuck, the king of the Commonwealth or whatever.” 

Disgust bloomed on Sam’s face. “I hate that nickname.”

“Get to your point, Sam,” Dean snapped. 

Sam sucked in a deep breath. “Before the separation, we all worked together,” he started slowly. “There were no uprisings or rebels, nothing like that. It wasn’t until the hospital was taken that the split started.” 

Dean narrowed his eyes at Sam. “The U.C. took the hospital,” he accused, but Sam just shook his head. 

“The people who were running it were destroying it,” he implored desperately. “Everyone inside would have died within months. The U.C. came and just put some rules in place that would make the resources last longer.” Sam pursed his lips. “You would have died a long time ago if it weren’t for them.”

“I’ve nearly died because of the U.C. three times since I’ve woken up,” Dean spat. 

Sam looked horrified. “What do you mean?”

Dean rolled up his sleeve to show off his delightfully scabbed bullet wound. “That Ruby chick shot me in the arm. From what I heard, she probably got punished for not finishing the job.”

Sam was on him in an instant, examining the wound closely as his thumbs pressed into the pliable skin of Dean’s upper arms. His eyes were wild and bright and he kept shaking his head, disbelieving. “She shot you? We’re not supposed to take guns outside of the compound.”

“Well, your people are breaking the fucking rules,” Dean grumbled, yanking his shirt sleeve down. “Are you going to tell me they shouldn’t be snatching people from their beds at night, either?”

At that, Sam sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and had the decency to have guilt written all over his face. “I know about that,” he said quietly. “It’s not ideal, but those people need food. Shelter.”

“They had food!” Dean couldn’t believe his ears. “They had a family.”

“A rabbit shared between thirty people isn’t food, Dean. They’re starving,” Sam said softly. 

Dean kicked at the dirt under his foot. Sure, things got tight sometimes but that didn’t warrant kidnapping. 

“If things were so great, there, Dean,” Sam said quietly, “why didn’t Castiel tell you I was here?”

The earth creaked under Dean’s feet at Sam’s words. He felt his blood rushing through his veins, his fingertips tingling as he stared at his brother in shock. “What did you just say?” He asked, voice flat. 

“I just mean,” Sam tried, but Dean grabbed him by the shirt front.

“What did you say,” he repeated, eyes locked on Sam’s, “about Cas.”

Sam swallowed audibly. “Castiel and I were friends for a long time, Dean.” He gently uncurled Dean’s fingers from his shirt. “He was adamant about keeping the people in the hospital alive. Keeping you alive.”

Dean’s world was narrowing to a single pinprick of vision, questions and anger all crowding into his mind. “Castiel knew me before I woke up? He knew you?”

“For about two years,” Sam confirmed. “We fought to keep the hospital running even after some people in the U.C. declared it a waste of resources. Nurse Lafitte, too,” he added. “I can’t believe they didn’t tell you, Dean.” 

“I,” Dean stammered,  “I told everyone about you. No one said they knew who you were, or if you were alive... They let me believe you could be dead.” 

The sorrowful look on Sam’s face made Dean want to collapse against him. “I’m sorry,” Sam said. “I don’t know why they didn’t tell you the truth. But you’re here, right?” He gave Dean a rueful smile. “You found me.”

Sam didn’t understand, not even a little bit, and Dean was hard-pressed to explain. The Wolves made him feel like he belonged somewhere for the first time since before Dean had his accident. He couldn’t remember a time he’d been surrounded by so many people who trusted him, who gave a fuck about him. And maybe, maybe none of it was real.

“This is so fucked up, Sammy,” he said, voice breaking a little.

Dean thought about Cas, his gentle smile and his wide, honest eyes. Dean wanted to punch his lights out. His fists curled in at his sides as the anger rose up again. He thought of how easily he and Cas had fallen for each other when Castiel had years of a head start. Dean felt like a fucking idiot.

“It’s okay,” Sam said soothingly. “I’ll take you to meet our leader, we’ll get you all squared away here.”

Dean snorted. At this point, he wouldn’t be surprised to find out the guy was an absolute delight. Sam gave him a small smile.

“He’s a good person. He’s just trying to rebuild so things can go back to the way they used to be.”

“Because the way it used to be clearly worked out so well,” Dean said flatly, rolling his eyes. Sam frowned at him and opened his mouth, probably to argue, but Dean cut him off. “What about Castiel’s sister? She’s here, isn’t she?”

“Anna? Sure,” Sam said. “She takes care of the kids. Teaches second grade.”

The way Sam spoke about the world, about the U.C., it was as if everything was normal. Like even the concept of ‘second grade’ wasn’t completely incomprehensible anymore. Dean laughed a little and grasped Sam’s shoulder. If this guy could make the world seem normal, maybe he wasn’t that bad. 

“I know them,” Dean said, tilting his head up to meet Sam’s eyes. “Maybe I could talk to him about bringing the Wolves in. Maybe this dumb fight can end.”

Sam huffed. “The people who lied to you?”

“C’mon, Sammy,” Dean sighed. “Everyone deserves a chance. Besides, don’t you want to stop anyone else from getting hurt?”

“Yeah,” Sam mumbled as he ran a hand through his hair guiltily. “Yeah, you’re right. I don’t know what he’ll say, but it’s worth a try.” 

Dean nodded. If Cas could just talk to Anna, maybe he’d realize the U.C. wasn’t a bad place to be. Despite everything he’d learned since arriving at the camp, Dean’s heart still thumped a little harder when he thought of Castiel. He felt like a moron. 

“Sam? Sam!” A frantic voice called from outside the shack. A loud banging followed, as if someone was slamming their fist against the door. “We caught a Wolf, Sam!”

Sam yanked his door open and a U.C. guard who Dean didn’t recognize came spilling through the door, panting. With a raised eyebrow, Sam gestured for the guard to continue.

“He just walked straight up to the front,” the guard panted. “They have him in the holding cells.” 

Dean frowned. “You arrested him? He came willingly!”

The guard turned to Dean with wide, round eyes which flicked down to the Wolf emblazoned on his jumpsuit. Her gaze turned hard. “It’s their leader,” she said to Sam. “We thought you might want to talk to him.” 

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Sam said with Dean hot on his heels. 

“This is stupid. You have to let me talk to him, Sam,” Dean demanded, yanking on his brother’s sleeve. Sam finally stopped, turned with a huff, and crossed his arms over his chest. Dean stared up at him as heat rose on his cheeks. 

Sam seemed to take some level of pity on him. “Look, I know there’s something going on with you and Castiel, all right?” He said, and Dean’s eyes slid guiltily to the side. “But… he lied to you, Dean. He manipulated you.”

“Yeah,” Dean said stubbornly. “And I want to kick his ass.” 

“My point,” Sam went on, “is that he was able to manipulate you, man. I just don’t think you should talk to him.” 

It became clear to Dean, then, that Sam was disappointed in him. All he had of Dean for the better half of a decade was his useless body lying half-dead in a hospital bed, and now having fallen for the lie of a rebel leader. Sam was let down and wanted to protect him.

Dean pursed his lips. “That’s crap,” he said flatly. He wasn’t some victim or damsel in distress, and Sam’s hero-worship was not about to get in the way of him getting shit done. “Look, I’m sorry I didn’t see straight through his bullshit, but who knows, Sam! Maybe he had his reasons.”

“He was always interested in you,” Sam said quietly. “Asked a lot of questions. He’s not, I mean, he’s not a bad guy. He just makes really bad choices.”

“Same could be said about me,” Dean shrugged. “Lock me up, too.”

Sam rolled his eyes and continued to walk toward the holding cells. “Don’t be so dramatic, Dean. Look, I need to talk to the boss about this first, okay? Just let me follow protocol. It’s important.”

“Fine, whatever,” Dean said, waving an arm in front of his face. “I’ll lay off.” 

He had zero intention of laying off. With a promise to Sam that he’d head back to the house and wait for him there, he slipped into the crowd and began to follow him from a safe distance. The holding cells, as it turned out, were a series of shipping containers all lined up like a goddamned above-ground submarine. If Dean weren’t kind of pissed off, he’d be impressed.

Sam knocked at one - there were no guards standing at the door, so Dean surmised that’s where their leader must have been. There was a container down the row, though, which had a throng of guards buzzing and chatting around it. Bingo.

He decided to throw caution to the wind and just walk right up to the patrol.

“Hey. I need to get in there,” he said to a guy cradling a shotgun. He narrowed his eyes at Dean suspiciously, but before he could continue Dean barrelled through. “I’m Sam’s brother.”

They didn’t seem impressed. He started to formulate a little more of a lie before a hand fell heavy on his shoulder. He startled and turned to find Meg grinning at the guards in front of him. “Let him through, boys. Boss’ orders. Think we can get some information out of the Alpha.” 

“Uh, yeah,” Dean said, flashing Meg a grateful nod. “I’m a top interrogator. And a double agent.” 

Meg didn’t look to happy with his additional comments, so he decided to keep his mouth shut and let her take the reins. She fast talked the most hesitant of the guards and before he knew it, he was walking into the shipping container alone.

Castiel was huddled against the back of the container, shackled to a steel beam stretched vertically from the floor to the ceiling. He was slumped in the corner and cringing away from the sunlight that was filling the containing from the open door. He looked exhausted, like he’d hiked all night without stopping for rest. Dirt was caked onto every bit of his skin Dean could see, matted into his clothing. 

Dean shut the door behind him and tentatively stepped further in. As Castiel’s eyes adjusted, he blinked, bringing Dean into focus. His expression didn’t change.

“Hello, Dean,” he said. His voice echoed in the container, rough and used. 

“Hey, Cas,” Dean murmured. “You followed me.”

Castiel nodded, short and quiet. “I assume you’ve found Sam.”

“You’re damn right I have,” Dean said. He felt hot with anger and shame and all the words he wanted to say were sour in his mouth. “No thanks to you.”

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry,” Castiel said to the floor. “I didn’t know if I could trust you.” He looked up at Dean, smiling shallowly. “If you were on their side in the beginning, the Wolves never would have stood a chance.”

“I’m not so sure that’s a bad thing,” Dean said acidly. Castiel hung his head and even despite everything, Dean ached with the urge to go to him in comfort. He sighed, long and heavy, and Castiel’s shoulders twitched.

His voice was tentative when he asked, “have you seen Anna?”

Dean shook his head even though Cas wasn’t looking at him. “No, man. But Sam’s says she’s a teacher.”

Cas huffed a small, humorless laugh. “Do you think I could see her?” He was scooping up piles of dirt from the floor of the container, letting it sift through his fingers, picking up; rinse, repeat. The mechanical resignation of his movements made Dean’s stomach twist. 

“Probably not,” Dean said flatly.

Castiel turned his eyes back to Dean’s. They were sunken and red-rimmed and soon pulled away to look back down at the dust in his hands. “My father used to tell me that God can see everyone on Earth. And that feeling of warmth and belonging was His gaze on your back.” Castiel let the dirt sift out of his fingers again. “I don’t think God has looked at me in a long time.”

Dean smirked. “Well, I’m pretty sure God never glanced my way in the first place.” 

The door banged open so suddenly that Dean nearly fell forward onto his knees. His brother came bursting through it with a furious red-haired woman crowding behind him. Sam looked absolutely despondent. 

“Anna, please listen,” he was begging. Anna shoved her way past Dean and collapsed against Castiel, pressing her face into his dirty tunic. Dean took a few steps back and stood shoulder to shoulder with his brother. 

“What are you doing here, Castiel?” She asked. She sounded sharp and disapproving, but what was more surprising was Castiel’s lack of reaction. He sighed a bit and grasped her hand in his shackled one. Her expression softened. “Are you finally going to join us?”

“No, Anna,” Cas said sadly. “Not if I’m given the chance.”

Anna threw his hand down and crossed her arms over her chest. “You are so stubborn,” she said evenly. “I don’t understand why you’re putting this off! You’re going to die out there if you keep this up.”

“Are you happy here?” Castiel asked, ignoring Anna’s despair. He looked straight into her eyes and Dean felt his heart stutter at the sight of it. 

She stared at him for a moment, calculating, before answering. “Yes,” she said eventually. “I take care of the children. I’m safe.” 

He nodded slowly. “That’s all I wanted to know.” 

“Oh, Castiel,” she said, voice empty and sad. She stood, then, her hands firmly on her hips. “I’m sure whenever you come to your senses that there will be a place for you here.” 

But Castiel wasn’t looking at her anymore; he was looking past her, at Sam. Sam shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny. “She is safe here,” Cas said, and it wasn’t a question.

“Yeah, man,” Sam said earnestly. “We’re not in the business of endangering our people.” 

It was accusatory, the way he said it, and Cas flinched a little bit. “Anna, I’m glad you’re safe,” he said, not looking away from Sam. It was as much of a dismissal as Dean had ever heard him give, but Anna didn’t seem offended. She rolled her eyes and turned on heel to leave the container. She stopped and looked to Dean on her way. 

“Maybe you can talk some sense into him.”

When she left, Dean felt more confused than he had before. 

“Hello, Sam,” Castiel said once the door had shut behind Anna. Sam ignored him and glared at Dean. 

“You shouldn’t be talking to him,” he said angrily. He loomed over Dean with such menace that Dean genuinely thought he might take a swing. “You swore you would stay back at the house.” 

“C’mon, man,” Dean implored. “What’d you expect?”

“This is serious, Dean! I can’t be babysitting you because you have some stupid crush on our prisoner!” 

“It’s not some crush,Sam!” Dean shot back, then immediately flushed. He didn’t turn around to look at Cas, but he could see how Sam’s eyes flickered to Castiel before returning to his. He lowered his voice. “Look, I get it. No one should be more pissed at him than me right now, right?”

“Yeah,” Sam said slowly, suspiciously. 

Dean shrugged. “Well, yeah, I’m pissed. But he doesn’t deserve to be locked in a dark, dirty cell, all right?” He paused and looked over his shoulder. “Okay? He just wanted to see his sister,” Dean said. “I did the same thing and I’m not a fucking hostage.” 

“He ordered his thugs to kill our scouts!”

Dean bit his lip as guilt flared up in him. “That, uh, that may have been a group decision.”

Dean hadn’t been the subject of Sam’s ire for some time, but he definitely didn’t miss it. The fury and disbelief on his face was enough to make Dean doubt admitting it to him.

But Sam just pinched the bridge of his nose. “Of course,” he mumbled, more to himself than anything. “That explains the sudden violence after three years. Jesus, Dean.”

Dean shrugged brattily. “You were the ones invading our camp and kidnapping children. How was I supposed to know?”

“Fine,” Sam said. “But he,” he pointed at Castiel, “he almost got you killed in the hospital, Dean.” 

“That was not us,” Castiel growled. “That was him.”

Sam almost shoved Dean out of the way to yell back at Castiel, but Dean put his hands on his shoulders to hold him back. “Stop lying, man! He wanted to keep it running and you guys wouldn’t adapt to the new rules!”

“He wanted to slaughter half the people in the hospital, Sam,” Castiel fired back. 

“Better half alive with ample resources than all dead with no resources,” Sam volleyed, and Dean had heard about enough.

“Shut the fuck up, both you,” Dean snarled. By some miracle, they did both shut their mouths. “Look, the way I see it, the hospital ran fine with the U.C. in charge until it ran out of juice.” 

“Yeah,” Sam said with his glare still set on Castiel. 

“Then this dude came up with a solution that some people didn’t like, huh?”

“Yes,” Castiel agreed quietly.

“And it ended up being a situation no one liked, right?”

Sam and Castiel were both silent and contemplative. 

“I mean shit, Sam, how do you know I wouldn’t have been one of the patients they decided to off? 

“He wouldn’t have done that,” Sam said firmly. “He knew how much we all cared about you.” 

“That’s why he did it,” Castiel murmured, scooping up handfuls of dirt again. “He knew it would drive you to his side.” He let the dust fall. “And it worked.” 

Sam’s jaw clenched and unclenched. Dean could practically see the gears turning in his head. Eventually, he drew back, running his hands through his hair. “But why?” He asked softly. “Why me?”

“Because you’re smart and trustworthy,” Castiel said with a shrug of one shoulder. “As a voice of reason, you are invaluable to the flawed design of the United Commonwealth.”

That made Sam angry again. “Why is it so flawed? We’re thriving. We’re happy.”

“Michael returned to us,” Castiel said. “After he’d been exiled him for disagreeing with the bombings.”

Sam snorted. “We caught Michael working a deal to distribute our crops outside of the compound to neighboring states for no payment. It would have destroyed the U.C.”

“Dude, that guy would barely share the air around his tent,” Dean sighed. “He was the most selfish motherfucker I’ve ever met. Who caught him? They lied to you.”

“Dean,” Sam started, but didn’t seem to have a sentence to finish it with. 

Dean shook Sam by the shoulders. “Face it, Sammy. Your leader is a tool.”

“He wants to rule, not govern,” Castiel agreed with gentle insistence. “He’s demolishing the cities. Only keeping those loyal within the walls and sending those that don’t to their deaths. And now he’s arming your scouts. Dean was shot well within our territory.” 

Dean’s arm ached at the memory. 

“Why didn’t you tell Dean I was alive?” Sam asked, the vitriol drained from his voice. “Why didn’t you let him come to me sooner?”

Castiel glanced over to Dean and shook his head so minutely that Dean almost missed it. “I am selfish,” he said simply, and Dean’s heart thumped in his chest. 

“Take me to him, Sammy,” Dean said to his brother. “I’m going to ask him to set Castiel free.”

“That’s a bad idea, Dean,” Castiel said. 

Sam looked almost pained as he said, “I agree with Cas, man. There’s no way he’s gonna do it. I mean, our people alone are already after him because of what he did to Brady and Rosco. If we just release him, they’ll be furious.” 

Dean rolled his eyes. “Castiel didn’t even want to do the plan,” he said sourly. “The idiot twisted his ankle and couldn’t be a part of it.” 

Castiel grunted but didn’t argue. 

“Let me talk to him instead,” Sam implored. “If he has a soft spot for me then maybe he’ll listen.” 

“I can’t ask you to do that,” Dean started to say, but Sam had that hard look of determination that Dean knew was impossible to fight against. “You have to be careful, man.”

“Dean!” Castiel nearly shouted as he loudly clambered to his feet. “You can’t send Sam in there, he might get hurt. Please, just let things run their course. Neither of you can risk yourselves for me.”

“Not a chance, Cas,” Dean winked. “I want you to live long enough to apologize to me.” 

A small smile flit across Castiel’s lips as he slumped back against the metal wall. “Winchesters,” he mumbled affectionately. “Stubborn as mules.” 

“We’ll get you out of here, Chaplain,” Sam said, then stumbled, “I mean, uh, Castiel. Sorry, old habits.” He smiled warmly and Dean stared between them, dumbstruck. 

“You’re a fucking priest?” He sputtered at Cas, flabbergasted. “‘Cause I’m pretty sure we did some unholy things back at camp.” 

Sam made a face that Dean chose to ignore but Castiel chuckled lightly. “I was the chaplain at St. Francis,” he said. “Was. My faith wavered long before I met you, Dean.”

“Fuck.” Dean swiped a hand over his face. “No wonder you and Sam rubbed elbows in the beginning.” He shrugged it off for the time being and turned toward his brother. “You be careful.”

Sam nodded shortly. He still looked hesitant and kind of tired, and all Dean wanted to do was give him a noogie and steal him back to the forest. “You shouldn’t wait in here, though,” Sam said awkwardly. “It won’t help anyone’s case much.”

Dean scratched the back of his head. “Can you, uh. Can you give us a second?”

The shipping container felt so much emptier once Sam left, the distance between Dean and Cas stretching out for what seemed like miles. But Dean pushed himself to close that gap and kneel down in front of Castiel. He leaned in and gently touched their foreheads together.

“We’ll get out of here,” Dean said. “Okay?”

“When I woke up alone, and you and Meg were gone from camp, I was sure I’d lost everything.” 

The way Castiel spoke compelled Dean to wrap his arms tightly around him, even though Cas couldn’t hug him back. “I had to find Sam.”

“I know,” Castiel murmured. “I’m glad you did.”

Dean smiled, raking his fingers through Cas’ hair and curling them around the shell of his ear. “You sure about that?”

“Yes,” Castiel said easily, and Dean kissed him. 

Chapter Text

There was a hunting trip, years ago, that Dean had gone on with his father and Sam. It was one of many and certainly had the potential to blend together with all the others.

But then Sam had been bitten by a snake. 

He was just nine in mid-May and it was a hot and humid spring. The ground was damp under their feet and all sorts of chittering critters were thrumming with life in the forest. Sam and Dean had spent the day quiet in trees with their long-barrelled rifles cradled against their shoulders, ears perked for prey.

But after a no-kill day they’d hopped down from their perches and started to trudge back to the campsite. Dean had been making some joke - something about how the smell of Sam’s feet had scared off all the hunt - when Sam cried out and collapsed. 

Dean was at his side in a second, eyes whipping across Sam to find the source of his pain. He was curled in around his right calf ankle and Dean was examining it in seconds. He yanked down Sam’s bloody sock and two pinpricks screamed yeah, snake bite. 

Terror had gripped Dean in that moment as his peripheral vision caught a brown spotted snake in the underbrush. Copperhead, his mind screamed, venomous, common. Sam’s ankle was swollen and Dean wanted to kill the thing that had done this to his brother. 

He had a rock in hand before he could comprehend it, but Sam was yanking at him, desperate. 

“Don’t,” he whined through his tears. “Don’t kill it, Dean.”

The snake was still visible and all Dean would have to do was drop the rock on its head. But Sam’s red-rimmed eyes compelled him to pause. The kid whined pathetically as he tried to pull himself to his feet despite his stumbling. 

Dean dropped the rock and scooped Sam up in his arms. He wiped his tears away with his thumb and tried to give his brother an encouraging smile. “All right, Rambo,” he teased gently, rubbing small circles on his brother’s back. “Let’s just get you back to camp.”

They got back to camp and Dad took a look at the wound for a millisecond before grilling Dean about the snake. Dean described it to the best of his ability and Sam’s tears were subsiding while Dad wrapped it up. 

“I think it was a Copperhead, Dad,” Dean said softly. His dad pulled a face.

“Probably not,” he said as he ruffled Sam’s hair. “I think it was a Gopher snake. They look similar, but Sammy’s going to be fine.” 

Dean shuffled, uncomfortable. “You sure?”

“Pretty sure,” Dad said, but that didn’t feel good enough.

Sam was fine, of course, and Dad was right in the end. Years later, Dean had poked at Sam and asked him why he really kept Dean from killing that snake. Sam had shrugged and blinked up at the ceiling. 

“I stepped on it, it was only defending itself,” Sam shrugged. “It doesn’t deserve to die.” 

“It’s been too long,” Dean said some time later, agitated, squeezing Castiel’s thigh. “I have to go after him.” 

“It’s not a good idea, Dean,” Cas cautioned. “I’m sure it’s a very delicate situation. Sam is capable.” 

“Sam gives too much of a shit,” Dean groused as he pulled himself up to his feet. Anxiety made him itch all over and he just wanted to go find his brother and find out what was going on.  “The guy just has to bat his eyes and Sam will build him a fucking house.” 

Castiel heaved a sigh and set his eyes on Dean’s. “Maybe you’re right,” he admitted after a moment. “It  has been awhile.”

Suddenly, the door to the container swung open and Meg was clambering in, her mouth set in a hard line. “You guys might want to think about high-tailing,” she said flatly. “Shit’s going down with the boss.”

“What?” Dean demanded, advancing on Meg. “What about Sam?”

“Oh, yeah,” she said, “he’s there too. You probably want to check it out.”

Castiel cleared his throat as he stood. “Maybe you could unlock my handcuffs.”

Meg stared at him for a second, then shrugged one shoulder. “Yeah, sure.” At Dean’s incredulous look, she she shrugged again. “What? I have a soft spot for you two idiots.” She hooked a key off her belt and picked Castiel’s cuffs, letting them fall loudly to the ground. “Now, go save the world or whatever you heroes do.”

“Thank you, Meg,” Castiel said earnestly, and Dean had a moment.

He realized the opportunity he had in front of him. He could get Castiel out of here, drag him to safety, and then come back and figure out whatever the hell was going on. If Cas stayed with him, he could get to Sam sooner but he could lose the both of them. Dean felt goddamn paralyzed. 

“Castiel, you have to get out of here,” Dean said quickly as he turned to him. “Just go, get back to camp. I can take care of this.” 

But Castiel narrowed his eyes, his jaw clenching in defiance. “Sam is my friend,” he said firmly. “I owe it to the both of you to stay.”

Dean should probably have been embarrassed by the amount of unabashed affection that bloomed on his face, but instead he just reached out and gently squeezed Castiel’s shoulder. “Come on, then.”

They blinked against the sun as they stepped out of the shipping container, but barely had time to allow their eyes to adjust before the commotion was catching their attention. The angry murmuring of the crowd drew Dean like a magnet, desperate to find his brother again.

The citizens of the U.C. stood gathered at the base of a wooden platform restlessly. Dissent buzzed through them, tension tight in the air among the bickering crowd. On the platform was Sam, head hung lower than Dean ever cared to see it, his hands clasped behind his back.  

At the front of the stage was a sandy blond man, stocky and smiling, holding his hands up in an attempt to placate the crowd. His face emitted openness and warmth and Dean’s lip curled in disgust. He could feel the manipulation rolling off of the guy in waves as the crowd eventually listened to his body language and quieted down.

“That’s him, their leader.” Castiel said softly into Dean’s ear. “Lucifer.” 

“What?” Dean hissed. “That’s the guy’s name? Jesus, how could these people be so fucking stupid?”

The whispers caught some attention from the people in front of them, so Dean shielded Castiel from the man’s view the best he could as he crossed his arms over his chest. Sam caught his eye almost immediately, gave a very small, minute shake of his head, then dropped his eyes back down. He wanted Dean to stay put.

“I understand why you’re upset,” Lucifer said. “I would be angry, too. If someone came to me and told me the man I trusted my life to - my children’s lives to - was untrustworthy, I would be furious.”

Dean bristled. Sam looked so guilty and sad up on the stage, a look Dean hadn’t seen on his face in decades. The crowd grumbled its agreement and the man on stage continued. 

“But let me remind you, Sam wasn’t trying to be deceitful.” He smiled over his shoulder at Sam, who barely met his eyes. “Sam wants what’s best for all of us.” 

“Then why?” shouted a woman from the audience. Dean immediately pegged her as Ruby, the woman who’d shot him in the woods. Even if she couldn’t see him, he hoped she felt the daggers he glared at her back. “Why would he tell lies about you?”

“Sam wasn’t lying,” Lucifer said, and the crowd erupted. He smiled and held his hands out to encourage them to quiet down. “He was misinformed. Sam was under the impression I was operating from behind the curtain.” 

It dawned on Dean, suddenly, that the crowd wasn’t angry with Lucifer. They were angry with Sam for attempting to smear the man’s name. All that rage and vitriol, all the demands for answers, it was directed at his younger brother and Dean was overcome with the urge to rush the stage.

Castiel laid a hand on his forearm and Dean immediately felt that irrational pull ebb away. He let his muscles relax, but tried to stay on the defensive.

Lucifer chuckled. “As you can see, that accusation is entirely untrue. What sort of monster doesn’t look out for the needs of his people?”

Dean grit his teeth and tried to focus on Castiel’s hand on his arm.

“But you mustn’t blame Sam,” Lucifer went on. “He had Wolves whispering in his ears.”

“Fuck the Wolves,” Ruby snapped, and Lucifer shot her a look.

“No,” he said evenly. “The Wolves don’t deserve our hatred, they deserve our sympathy. Choosing to live out there, like savages, like peasants, because their insurmountable pride blinds them to the betterment of their people.”

Castiel’s fingernails dug into the skin of Dean’s forearm as his grip tightened. Dean chanced a look at him and saw his eyes narrowed, fire crackling behind them. Dean turned away from the stage and grasped Castiel’s shoulders in an attempt to distract him.

“Look at me,” he said softly. Castiel did.

“How could he say those things?” Cas murmured. His voice was hollow and broken and Dean wanted nothing more than to silence Lucifer from saying another word. 

Instead, he just curved his fingers around the back of Castiel’s neck. “He’s a manipulative asshole. Don’t listen to a fucking word he says. Your people love you.”

“But they starve,” Cas rasped. “They have to hunt and boil water to bathe. They use a latrine.”

Dean jostled Cas and kept his gaze fiercely. “Listen to me, Cas. Not one of your people even began to let me know that Sam was here.” An apology blossomed at Cas’ lips but Dean pushed his finger against them. “Shut up. Not one of them wanted to betray you. You understand that?”

Cas nodded, but didn’t look entirely convinced. But Lucifer was talking again and drawing Dean’s attention back. 

“But though tricky the tongues of Wolves can be,” Lucifer said, “this Commonwealth stands United. Sam has realized his mistake and is up here to rightfully plead your forgiveness.” 

The people at the base of the stage erupted with fury in the opposite way as Dean and Cas. Sam’s eyes flickered to Dean’s, round and apologetic, then back down to his toes. 

“He deserves it,” Lucifer announced. “No man here should ever feel like he can’t express his concern. So, Sam will apologize, and you will forgive him.” 

Lucifer turned and clasped his hand on Sam’s shoulder, giving him an encouraging smile. Sam matched it and Dean’s heart lurched in his chest. He wanted to cry out as Sam and Lucifer switched places, he wanted to snatch a gun of a U.C. hip and headshot the asshole from where he stood. But then Lucifer caught his eyes and he felt frozen. 

The man didn’t look surprised. He only gave a small smile and pressed his fingers to the small of Sam’s back to encourage him forward, all while keeping his eyes locked on Dean’s. Cas radiated fury from behind him but neither moved a muscle.

Sam finally lifted his head to the crowd. 

“I’m sorry,” Sam said to the restless group. “I came to Lucifer with my baseless concerns, but once we spoke, I realized how out of line I was.”

“Sam, no,” Dean whispered into the warm air. 

Sam now refused to look in Dean’s direction. “I allowed rumors and misinformation to influence my actions. I implore each and every one of you to look around you and ask yourselves if this, our wonderful society, could be built by a bad man.” 

Dean could hardly listen to this. He was torn between yanking Sam off the stage and storming out of the compound completely. Lucifer watched him, not an emotion readable on his face. 

“I’m sorry for the doubt that I felt,” Sam said. He sounded so earnest and Dean thought it was like listening to nails on a chalkboard. “And I promise to analyze the sources of my reservations before I act on them.”

Lucifer stepped forward again. “Sam has accepted a position as my advisor,” he said with a smile. “With him on our committee, I know we’ll be able to move forward pragmatically.” 

Dean’s blood ran cold. He was frozen to the spot, every inch of him aching and solid. Castiel muttered something behind him, something with shock and disappointment in his voice, but Dean couldn’t discern it. 

“No,” he said too loudly, and too many people turned to look at him. “No, Sam! Sam!” 

Sam wasn’t looking at him though. He was hunched and defeated and Dean lurched forward blindly. He barrelled straight into Ruby, who stumbled back in surprise but grinned when her eyes fell on the pair of them. 

“Well, would you look at this?” She said, her eyes glinting. “It’s your brother, Sammy.”

Dean’s eyes whipped to Sam, whose lip was curled in annoyance. The crowd was pushing back to make a circle around them, which meant Dean definitely just blew their cover straight to hell. Cas was clenching his fists and staying alert, turning back-to-back with Dean. 

“Sure is,” Dean said clearly. “And he’s not accepting any bullshit position here. He’s coming back with me.”

“Dean, no,” Sam said from the stage. Lucifer watched them calmly, relaxed and assured, and Dean wanted to headbutt him. Sam glanced toward the U.C. leader and looking pleadingly back to Dean. “They need me.”

Dean grit his teeth and turned toward the man in charge. “Lucifer, huh?” He snapped, moving closer to the stage. The crowd parted for him despite their angry, sour glares. “The devil and his fucking flock.” 

Lucifer raised an eyebrow at him, ever-calm, a small smile on his lips. “Dean,” he started, and his voice was so warm that Dean actually wanted to hear what he had to say. “I chose this name for redemption. Because everyone deserves a second chance, don’t they?”

A growl threatened to rise up in Dean’s chest. He suppressed it the best he could. “Not everyone.”

“You’ve given Castiel a second chance,” he said conversationally. “And he obscured the truth about your brother.”

Dean didn’t even want to think about how this asshole knew all of this, but he had a sneaking suspicion the shipping container wasn’t as soundproof as he thoughtmaybe expected it to be. “I haven’t decided yet,” he lied. 

Castiel bristled at his back but didn’t say anything.

Lucifer spread his arms. “We could talk alone, if you like.”

“Fuck you,” Dean spat. “Give me my brother.”

“Dean,” Sam implored again. “I don’t want to go.”

It was a lie, Dean knew that as much. But if Sam felt the need to lie at a time like this, when Dean was putting his own life on the line and standing up for him, he must have had a good reason. Dean was finding it really difficult to give a shit about what Sam’s reasons were.

“Let me talk to Sam,” Dean said to Lucifer. “Alone. Let me talk to him.” 

Lucifer tilted his head. “I don’t control Sam any more than you do,” he chuckled. “If he wants to talk to you alone, I have no interest in stopping him.” 

Rage was bubbling so hot under Dean’s skin that he thought he would burst from it. Every slimy word out of Lucifer’s mouth mounted his anger and only the pressure of Cas’ back against his own kept him at all grounded. 

“Good,” he grunted out. “Sam, get over here.” 

Sam’s face was nothing short of murderous as he clambered down from the platform. Dean clapped a hand on his neck, hard, and directed him away from the crowd. A couple of the U.C. guards followed them, but thankfully kept their distance at what seemed to be Lucifer’s word.

Once they were far enough away, Dean threw his hands up. “What gives, Sam?”

“I have to,” Sam said, his voice quiet and pathetic. “Dean, without me, these people won’t have anyone fighting for them.”

“We can fight for them together,” Dean said, brows knit. Sam sighed heavily with a shake of his head. 

“No, we can’t,” he said sadly. “They don’t trust you, Dean. You’re the…” he trailed off, his voice breaking. “You’re the ones who killed our men. You’ve always been the enemy.” 

Dean put his face in his hands. “I haven’t been conscious long enough to make enemies, Sam!” He said into the skin of his palms. Castiel’s hands landed on his shoulders and he shrugged them off as he advanced on his brother. “We are getting the hell out of here.”

Before Dean’s fingers could circle around Sam’s wrist, his brother was mumbling, “he’ll kill you.” 

Dean stopped and looked up into Sam’s eyes. They were red-rimmed and tired, and Dean felt a sharp pang of guilt. “I’m not gonna let anything happen,” he said softly, but Sam was already pulling back from him. 

“You think what happened to Topeka, to Lawrence, you think anyone let that happen?” Sam hissed. “He’s too smart, Dean, and these people want to believe him.  He’s not a good enemy to have.”

“Neither am I,” Dean said, sharp and angry. Sam bit on his bottom lip and turned his gaze skyward. 

“Please don’t underestimate him,” he said, voice tight with distress. “Not like I did.” 

Dean felt his heart fill with lead, sinking heavy and cold in his chest. “I just got you back, Sammy,” he said weakly. He could see the way Sam’s eyes welled up and his chest just felt hollow. “Please, come back with us.”

But Sam shook his head and pressed the heel of his palm to his eye. “Look, Dean, you just have to believe me. It’s better this way. I can keep an eye on him and you, you both,” he added brokenly, looking toward Cas, “will be okay." 

“He threatened us,” Castiel said softly. He shouldered up next to Dean. “Sam, you don’t have to do this.”

Sam grit his teeth. “You don’t understand. I’ve been fighting for him, arming these people, deluding them and myself into thinking he was doing the right thing.”

“What did he tell you, Sam?” Dean asked shortly.

“Does it matter?” Sam said so softly that Dean nearly missed it. He cleared his throat and straightened his back, trying his best to meet Dean’s eyes. “I’m not going. I owe it to everyone to see this through.”

“You know where our camp is,” Castiel said with a nod, and Dean shot him a look. 

“No! No, Sam, let’s just go and we can work together to make this right.” 

Sam was turning his back on them and Dean felt electric and mad, like his knees would give out unless he tackled Sam to the ground. 

Before he had an opportunity to get anywhere, Meg moved into his field of vision and blocked him off. “We gotta go, Winchester.” The crowd behind them was getting loud and restless, words like wolves and vermin sneaking out from their vicious banter. Dean glared at Meg but she shoved him hard until he stumbled. “Now.”

Sam had disappeared before Dean could memorize all the new things about him. 

Mostly, Dean’s limbs were numb as Meg ushered them toward the compound exit. In his mind, he wanted to fight back to his brother and drag him out himself, but before he regained his strength his feet were on the pavement of the highway just outside the U.C. base. 

“We have to go back,” Dean said as the emotional crest broke. Panic rose up in his chest and he turned back toward the base. “We have to get him, Cas.”

“I don’t think he wants that right now,” Castiel said softly. Dean could punch him. Cas took a breath and clarified, “Sam is being tactical.” 

Dean frowned. “I think Lucifer threatened to slit his throat,” he growled, but Castiel shook his head. 

“Then Sam would have fought,” Cas said, grasping Dean’s hands in his own. “Lucifer threatened something much larger, Dean. Maybe our lives. Or war.” 

Dean felt pinpricks of tears at the corner of his eyes but he swallowed thickly to fight them off. “Why him?” he asked quietly, to no one. Castiel ducked his head. “Why does Sam have to protect everyone?”

“I believe,” Castiel began softly, “that Sam feels guilty for the years he spent under Lucifer’s influence. I truly believe he’s trying to make amends.”

“That’s bullshit,” Dean erupted, tangling his hands in his hair and pulling. He was flushed with anger and adrenaline and betrayal bubbling through his veins. Cas came up behind him and curled himself around Dean’s body, hugging him tightly from behind.

Castiel pressed his face into the small of Dean’s back and just held him until Dean felt his pounding heart start to stabilize. He took several deep breaths, folding his hands over where Castiel’s were resting on his stomach, and came back to himself. 

“I just got him back,” Dean said weakly. “He just got me back.” 

“This isn’t over, Dean,” Cas mumbled into the skin of Dean’s neck. He kissed the curve of Dean’s shoulder and repeated his words again, and again, and once more. 

On the second day of their walk back, Dean tongued at the lip of his empty water bottle and Castiel blushed as he watched him. He had the decency to avert his eyes when Dean sent a glare his way, but couldn’t seem to bring himself to say anything. Their relationship hovered in this awkward limbo of silence and shared peanut butter crackers. 

They slept near each other at night, huddled for warmth and maybe more than Dean wanted to admit. He was angry, so incredibly angry, that Castiel had hidden the truth about Sam from him, but couldn’t ignore that the dynamic of the fucked up world probably demanded it.

Then, one morning, Dean stepped in a fucking rabbit trap. The blades clutched his ankle tightly, though not enough to break the bone. He pulled the sharp edges out of his skin and tried to survey the damage without Castiel fussing.

“This sucks,” Dean said loudly. He felt stiff and dirty, his Wolves jumpsuit stiff with caked mud. His muscles were unforgivingly taut under his skin and each step forward felt pointless. As he spoke, Castiel stopped and gave him a mournful look. 

They spent some time dressing it. Dean decided he was just fine to walk on it, but Castiel attempted in vain to argue with him. 

“Dean,” he began. His voice was throaty and dry and Dean anguished over feeling sorry for him.  Cas was perpetually apologetic, offering to carry Dean’s pack and giving him the side of the Oreo that had more frosting on it. Dean tried not to let it break his heart, but Cas was giving him a hard fucking time of it. 

“No,” Dean snapped. He was so exhausted. “I get to be angry.”

Castiel’s mouth was a thin, hard line. “Of course you do.”

“If you were at the hospital,” Dean said, “then you know what me and Sam are like. We only had each other, man.” His heart started to pound faster in his chest as he talked, and all he could do was attempt to keep his breathing even. “We didn’t - I only got to see him for like, twenty minutes in there.” 

The soft noise that came from the back of Castiel’s throat did nothing to keep Dean from powering through.

“I might not be the sharpest tool in the shed, Cas, but I know survival.” Castiel looked like he was about to argue, but backed down at Dean’s glare. “Nothing was going to keep me from coming here to see him.”

“I know,” Castiel said.

Dean clenched his fists. “No, you don’t,” he said sharply. “Because I wish I hadn’t.”

When his voice broke, Dean had to respect the way Castiel attempted to keep from flinching. 

“He’s going to get killed because of me,” Dean murmured, much more softly. “I should have died in that hospital bed. Hell,” he laughed, humorless, “I should have died on the road.”

As soon as the words are hanging out there between them, Dean regretted them. Not because he didn’t mean them, but the fury in Castiel’s eyes was palpable enough to strike just a little bit of fear in his chest. Cas shoved up into his personal space, gripping Dean’s wounded upper arm tightly. 

“Ow, fuck-”

“Shut up,” Castiel growled, giving Dean no choice but to comply. “You are allowed to be angry at me. But you are not allowed to be so small-minded about your role.” 

Dean jut out his jaw with petulance. Cas curled a fist into his shirt and shook him none-too-gently. 

“What happened to the world was inevitable, Dean,” Castiel said flatly. “If you’d died out on the road during your accident, do you think Sam would have survived the revolution? Would Sam have had the strength to fight back?”

“Don’t talk about my brother like that,” Dean deflected. 

Castiel did not let him get away with it. “If what I witnessed in that hospital has any merit, the two of you need each other to survive. Neither of you will accomplish that by being so damned selfless.” 

The laugh that forced its way out of Dean’s throat came out more like a sob, and before he even realized it he was dragging Castiel close to him, gripping him as tightly as he possibly could while tipping their foreheads together. 

Castiel held him like that, allowing him to clutch desperately at him and try to keep his composure. He took short, sharp breaths in through clenched teeth and tried to feel grounded again. Castiel pressed his thumb tight against Dean’s sternum, telling Dean in quiet tones to concentrate right there. 

“You learned that from Sam,” Dean accused weakly. 

“It works,” Castiel said simply, dragging his lips across the stubble under Dean’s ear. 

Dean slowly felt the fire in his veins cool, and soon he had his shaking under control. He pulled out of Castiel’s arms and ran both hands through his hair, trying desperately to not feel embarrassed. He peered at Cas through a cage of his own fingers. “I’m still angry,” he sighed.

Castiel stared back at him, expressionless, and nodded. “We should keep moving.”  

When Dean and Castiel arrived back at the Dust Wolves base, the first thing Dean did was sock Benny in the jaw. 

Benny stumbled back and smiled as he spit out a stream of blood. “Yeah, okay,” he said gruffly. “I deserved that.” Dean clapped him on the shoulder and told him it was good to see him. 

The Wolves were all happy to see him back, if a little sheepish and guilty. Dean was sure that Castiel hadn’t sent forward scouts, but somehow they just knew that Dean had discovered the truth. 

Jess apologized so much that Dean was flat out sick of it after a few hours, refusing her thirtieth offer for picking up his chores. Eventually, she cracked, and admitted she was worried about Sam. 

“I met him just before the hospital fell,” she said quietly. “The day he left with them…” Her eyes unfocused as she trailed off and Dean resisted the urge to grimace. She looked at him sharply. “We have to help him, Dean.” 

“We will,” Dean said honestly as he drew Jess into a hug. “When he’s ready to be saved.”

Castiel relayed the story of the U.C. compound to many enthralled faces around supper fire. He didn’t exaggerate or embellish, or ever throw Sam under the bus. He was truthful and fair and his people were grateful. Dean squirmed with discomfort and tried to ignore the adoration on the Wolves’ faces. 

Gabriel suggested invading which was promptly shot down by the other Wolves, facing criticism on fighting fire with fire. “Sorry,” he grumbled, “just thought they deserved a taste of their own medicine.”

Dean thought of Sam sitting at Lucifer’s side and itched with agreement. 

Days later, a letter arrived by messenger. He called himself Adam and refused to place the letter in anyone’s hands but Dean’s. He looked at Dean with such hope and reverence that Dean could only send him back the U.C. with the promise that things were changing.

The letter was from Sam, of course, and the apologies within it were overwhelming. The entire letter was filled with guilt and determination and Dean couldn’t bring himself to read through it all at once. It took him hours just to get through it once.

“I’m sick of everyone saying sorry,” he said one night at dinner. “No more fucking apologies.” 

He met with Gabriel and Benny and Jess and they talked about the letter. They all talked about Sam and his compassion and selflessness. How he said he was sorry, but someday, there would be peace again and they could find each other.

He wants you dead, Sam wrote. I am staying here to stop that from happening again.

“Sam doesn’t need to be there to placate, he needs to lead,” Jessica said, arms crossed.

“Lucifer needs to go,” Gabriel said simply. “Guy’s off his rocker.”

Benny just shrugged. “Sam’s the quiet type,” he said with a small smile. “Smart, determined. We gotta get his feet on the ground.”

Dean drowned in encouragement and appreciation and felt like he could explode with the warm feeling blooming inside of him. So together, they drew up plans. And together, Castiel approved. They had somewhere to begin.

The Wolves had drawn Dean into their pack and he felt, for the first time, like maybe he belonged.

And the Wolves spoke of Castiel like he was the man to get it done. Like between Dean and Cas, they had a real society blossoming, and they couldn’t have been happier to follow the two of them to the ends of the Earth. Truly, with Benny’s burly arm around him and Gabriel’s insulting compliments and Jess’ krav maga lessons, Dean felt like he could take on anyone. 

With the exception of Castiel, who was self-consciously avoiding him in camp. It had been days since they’d had a moment alone. If Castiel wasn’t actively staying out of his way, he was doing a damn good impersonation.

One morning, he peeled the bath tent flap back and walked in, happy to find Castiel floundering in a basin in a vain attempt to cover himself up. Once he saw it was Dean he relaxed, but glared at him. “What are you doing, Dean?”

Dean yanked out the same crate Castiel had sat on before and plopped down, raising an eyebrow in Cas’ direction while he propped his injured foot up on the bath basin. He cradled a bland bowl of rice and bread in the crook of his elbow. “Oh, sorry, is this crass?”

Castiel laughed. The corners of his eyes crinkled in joy as he slipped under the warm water he was immersed in, his hands covering face once he broke the water’s surface. He came back up after a moment and set an affectionate look Dean’s way. “I forgive you,” he said.

“Me, too,” Dean said, but it wasn’t a joke. Castiel paused, hands clasped on either side of the basin, his smile half-melted off his face. His expression was fiercely serious and Dean felt his gut seize.  

“Dean,” he began, voice gravelly and earnest, but Dean cut him off, scooping some rice into his mouth and chewing the undercooked bread.

“You told me you never knew your father,” Dean said around the food. Castiel snapped his mouth shut and gazed at Dean with apologetic eyes. “And then you told me, you know, all that stuff about God’s gaze.” 

Cas started to interrupt. Dean held a hand up to stop him, determined to get through it, and swallowed.   

“Look, there’s a lot about you I don’t know,” he pushed on. “There’s a lot I don’t understand. But there’s plenty that I do know.”

Castiel was sat up in the bath, looking desperately like he wanted to crawl out and get dressed. But Dean was in no way going to allow him to do that yet. A smile pulled at the side of his mouth and he let it blossom. 

“I know that your people trust you. I know that you give a shit about them. And me,” he said, mostly to see the flush rise on Castiel’s neck. “And Sam. Honestly, Cas, that’s more than I can say for most people I’ve chosen to hitch my wagon to.”

Castiel huffed a short laugh. “You’re very intuitive, Dean.”

“You’re not off the hook,” Dean said, clipped. “And you have a lot to fill me in on. Jesus, I might be crazy, but I want to hear it all.” 

The way Castiel beamed at him made Dean’s stomach tighten, but Cas refused to look away. “Everything we have time for,” Castiel agreed quietly. 

Dean took another bite of the undercooked biscuit and made a face. “So, this is how the world ends,” he sighed. “Not with a bang, but with soggy bread and gangrene.” He wriggled his bandaged foot. 

Goosebumps were starting to rise on Castiel’s skin. “It hasn’t ended,” he said firmly. A silence fell between them, taut, until Dean stood and picked up one of the soft, clean towels. 

“C’mon, get out of there,” he smiled, and passed Castiel the towel as the other man clambered out of the basin. He didn’t give Cas a chance to dry off before he was plastering himself along Castiel’s wet body and nosing at the wet, dripping hair at his temple. 

Castiel clung to him so tightly. “We’re going to help Sam,” he said firmly. It took everything in Dean not to let out a sob of appreciation.

“I told you I didn’t feel like God ever looked my way,” Dean said. “I’ve never felt that acceptance or belonging or whatever.” 

Cas leaned up and kissed the side of Dean’s mouth. He tasted like lakewater.

Dean just sighed along Cas’ cheek. “I’m thinking, now,” he said, the warmth off Castiel’s skin radiating against him, “I might be religious after all.”