Chapter Text
It wasn’t that Dean wasn’t down-to-earth. He was as grounded as the next small-town rancher. His boss-mare, a proud Andalusian mare registered as 67 Impala, who Dean lovingly called Chevy (or Baby), produced strong foals that any horseman worth his salt would pay his right hand for, especially if they were sired by his resident stallion, a palomino mustang registered as Gold Continental, but fondly called Goldcard.
The rancher and his brother weren’t poor by any means, either. With the money they made with Dean’s prize foals and freelance farrier work, Sam’s top-notch training, and their combined prowess at rodeo-style performances, they had no trouble paying for hay, and grain, not to mention that their adoptive mother (and Tavern owner), Ellen Harvelle, also ran a veterinary clinic with her daughter, Jo, and insisted that the boys didn’t pay vet bills.
Thus, Dean was very down-to-earth. He just liked to fantasize about outlaws.
What? The idea is appealing.
He could just imagine he and his brother riding across the open deserts and plains, rumors flying as they breezed through town after town, acting as vigilantes for what they believed was right. He could imagine Chevy and Ruby (Sam’s fiery blood-bay mare) tied outside a pub out in the middle of nowhere, the very presence of even he and his brother’s horses holding people at bay as they whispered amongst themselves about the infamous Winchesters.
These dreams and fantasies definitely weren’t inspired by anyone. Definitely not. Especially not the band of outlaws that thundered through sleepy Littlefield not six months back who called their posse Charlie’s Angels.
The leader - Charlie - was an enigma. A fiery redhead with a similarly fiery redhead, Anna, as her right hand. Her posse consisted of five riders besides herself and Anna. There was a short and highly charismatic rider who called himself Gabriel, a taller blonde man with an English accent who went by Balthazar (or Baz, for short), another taller man with dark brown hair named Michael, a blonde man with icy blue eyes who called himself Luci (short for Lucifer), and one quiet black-haired rider who never said much. They had stopped by Lawrence Haven to purchase horses from the brothers and had stayed a couple nights in the guest house while they tried out some of the recently broke-to-ride three and four-year-olds that he and Sam had bought and trained.
Dean applauded their choices, honestly. Each rider knew exactly what they wanted in a horse, and all were excellent riders.
The leader - Charlie - had chosen a handsome palomino mare that Dean and Sam called Oz. She was calm and mellow, but very strong-willed. Charlie had swung into the saddle and taken her around the big empty paddock going from a walk to a jog to a lope to a gallop without trouble, earning applause from Sam, who had a difficult time training the hard-headed Mustang.
Next came Anna, who chose a persnickety Quarter horse gelding called Uriel. The dark bay went into three bucking fits before quieting and running a clean sweep. Anna - for her credit - wasn’t fazed by the gelding’s bad manners and decided on him all the same.
Michael rode third, choosing a handsome dapple-grey Thoroughbred. The stallion - Lance was his name - took a liking to the dark-haired man, even picking up a smooth lead change that would make a dressage rider weep as he swept along the length of the field, an ease in his stride that he had only ever shown with Sam.
Luci went next, walking along the hall that held the horses that Dean and Sam wanted them to try. A blood-bay Andalusian named Crowley (Chevy’s half-brother) pricked his ears and nickered as the blonde walked by. Luci nodded approvingly and tacked the gelding quickly. The blonde’s riding style brought out the best in Crowley, the two working together like rum and coke.
Baz chose his horse very quickly, instantly gravitating towards a charming chestnut Quarter Horse/Thoroughbred cross named Leo. Ever the pleaser, the gelding behaved well and performed at his top for the blonde, Baz being thusfar the best rider in the group and following the chestnut’s movements seamlessly.
Gabriel was second-to-last to choose, his eyes landing on a charismatic Andalusian/Mustang cross (that Sam had taken special care in training) the color of Sunshine through high-quality whiskey. Loki - that was the gelding’s name - tested the short outlaw at first, before deciding that he was worthy and putting forth his best charm and movement, drawing a nod of approval from Sam.
Lastly came the black-haired rider. He tried out three different horses before asking that Sam show him the wilder young horses. Sam protested, but in the end begrudgingly led him to the paddock where some of the more unruly colts and fillies were being kept. To Dean’s great surprise, he shucked his hat, coat, and boots and padded quietly through the gate and went to sit in the middle of the paddock, chin on his chest and legs folded native-style with his palms facing up where they rested on his knees.
“Oh, I love this part,” Charlie whispered, clambering up the fence to sit on the top rail next to Dean, her posse following suit and settling in to wait.
Dean turned and motioned Sam away for a moment.
“Are you positive that these are Charlie’s Angels? They’re polite, and Charlie has already promised that they would pay,” He muttered to his brother, motioning at the five supposed outlaws reclining or sitting on the four-board fence, as placid as the day is long.
“Yep. One of my buddies out in Beaverdam told me they were headed this direction,” Sam said, eyebrows knit in some emotion Dean couldn’t read. “Maybe they’ve just gotten a bad rap.”
“Maybe.”
Charlie was motioning them over, flapping a hand at them excitedly.
“C’mon, it’s happening!” She whisper-shouted at them.
Sam and Dean shared a look, before shrugging and pacing over to lean against the fence. The black-haired outlaw still sat in the middle of the paddock, not having moved from his earlier position. The thing that had both Winchesters slack-jawed, though, was not Cas, but the horses. The young horses in the paddock where the man was sitting were all either very wary of people or just wild.
The young man had them standing in a circle a respectful distance away, all with heads lowered and ears pricked towards the young man. His lips moved, saying something that the onlookers could not hear, his lips twisting in odd shapes not familiar of the English language. Lifting his head, the young man let out a sharp cry, all dozen-and-a-half young horses shying or bolting and moving away.
All except one.
The white Arabian filly lifted her head and snorted, but stayed firmly in place, shaking her dark mane and taking a step forward, similarly dark tail swishing to sweep away a fly. The young man rose to his feet, long legs unfolding as he stood with his shoulder facing the filly. He slowly extended a hand, still speaking quietly in whatever foreign language he had been for the past while. The filly pawed with one front hoof, looking uncertain, before nickering quietly and pressing her soft black nose into the calloused palm the young man held towards her.
Moving slowly, the young man moved around to the left of the filly, still speaking, and - in a single smooth motion - vaulted up onto the filly’s back, stroking her neck as she shifted and pranced. A soft shift in the young man’s position turned the filly towards the open field before a soft nudge of the man’s bare heels set the Arabian off at a walk, before a soft click urged her to a jog, then a lope, then a gallop the likes of which neither Sam nor Dean had ever seen from an Arab. The filly’s long strides ate up the ground greedily, mane and tail flowing as the young man on her back held his seat solid, shifting his weight to move with the filly.
“Cas is the best rider in the posse. He hasn’t fallen or been thrown since he was very young. He learned horsemanship from his father, just like his brother Gabriel, but Cas is the one who really retained it. No horse is wild with him on its back,” Michael commented, voice quiet with awe.
Sam nodded in agreement, eyes wide and sparkling.
“Is he always so quiet? I didn’t even know his name until you said it just now,” Dean questioned, eyes never leaving horse and rider as they pounded through the pasture towards the fence where the posse was congregated, Cas slowing the young mare as they approached until she stepped to an easy halt right in front of Dean.
The filly blew a puff of air at him, ears swiveling as Cas stroked her arched neck, swinging his leg over her withers and sliding to the ground with the soft scuff of bare feet on packed soil.
“I will need three days to get her used to tack. Will you allow us to remain here until she is comfortable with it?” Cas spoke softly, and dear God Dean couldn’t believe his ears. Cas’s voice was like the rumble of a herd’s hooves or a rockslide. Quiet and rough and gravelly, Dean was glad he was leaning against the fence and mostly blocked from the young man’s view because he would have a very awkward situation on his hands otherwise.
“Ah, yeah. We have a guest house that you can rent out while you break her to tack,” Dean did his best to cover his stutter, but Sam’s half-muffled snort told him that it didn’t work too well.
“Excellent. We will settle up for the horses and the rooms when we leave,” Cas murmured, laying a hand on the filly’s neck and whispering something to her that sounded like Comanche. The filly whinnied quietly before tossing her head and pounding off towards the herd that was grazing placidly near the fence between them and the barn.
Cas leapt easily over the fence, picking up his shoes, hat, and jacket before turning and saying something quietly to his brother. Gabriel nodded and replied just as quietly before turning to the Winchesters.
“Cas will wake at dawn tomorrow to start training the filly to accept the saddle and bridle. He asks that you meet him at the empty pasture the rest of us rode in,” The short outlaw claimed, chin lifted as he met the younger Winchester’s hazel gaze steadily.
Dean folded his arms over his chest and nodded. not quite liking the expressive staring contest Gabriel and Sam were engaged in. Dawn it is.