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Dean is drunk. He has to be, even if his stride was perfectly straight getting up here, and he isn’t slurring his words, and he’s pretty sure Benny had just been giving him shots of water for the last hour or so. But it’s the only explanation for why he’s in a fancy-pants hotel suite, playing strip 4-card monte with three professional gamblers, a gunslinger, and his little brother Sammy. Being drunk and also, Sam’s face when someone had suggested the game and Dean had immediately agreed.
Unfortunately, the budge hasn’t done anything to blot out the memory of Bobby’s telegram from last week. It turns out it was one thing to expect that John Winchester was dead after all these years and another to actually have it confirmed. And Dean can’t stop trying to figure out what his father could have been doing for five years that he never crossed paths with his sons before he died two months ago. Where the hell had he been, and what had he been doing? Not hunting, that’s for damn sure, or they would have heard tell. Sam and Dean weren’t the most social of hunters, but they had connections who knew they were looking for their dad.
But all that thinking isn’t doing anyone any good, so here he is: half-naked and playing the most bizarre game of his life. He’s pretty sure one of the gamblers, Gabriel, is cheating against himself. He’s down to just his hat over his lap – Dean’s not eager for the next round to finish up – and keeps winking at Sam, who’s taking it surprisingly well by keeping his eyes down at the cards with his face as red as a ripe tomato. The second gambler, Balthazar, is probably flirting with the gunslinger, Ramiel, going on and on about how much he admires Ramiel’s weapon (which, Dean admits, is a pretty nice Colt with a custom pearl-handled grip, but not that nice).
Dean had seen the gunslinger when he and Sammy rode into town that afternoon and thought he recognized the man from an old wanted poster, but he was wearing a tin star on his vest. He’d asked around and all the townspeople had nothing but good things to say about the man. John would have shot first and sorted it out later; Dean just felt tired thinking about all the trouble.
And then there’s Castiel, the third gambler. He’s much quieter than the others. Dean would swear he’s cheating cause he hasn’t even lost his damn duster, but Dean’s been watching him pretty closely and hasn’t seen anything suspicious (Gabriel is pretty obvious about his cheating but, by the grin on his face, he doesn’t care).
Like the man can hear Dean’s thoughts, that black wool hat tips back again and Dean feels a shot run up his spine when those blue eyes meet his. Fuck, he keeps forgetting how fucking blue they are. Dean’s eyes drop down to those gorgeous lips, made more pink and tempting by the surrounding stubble, and watches as they quirk in a little smirk. His cheeks warm and his eyes drop down to the cards on the table as Gabriel, the banker for this coup, flips over the gate and whoops in delight; no matches, meaning everyone loses.
Gabriel braces his chin in his hands and leans on the table, staring right at Sammy with such frank delight that Dean almost doesn’t want to punch him in the face for lusting over his little brother. Almost.
“Eyes to yourself, Novak,” Dean snaps, and a quick flicker of motion in the corner of his eyes has him whipping around to see Castiel jerking his head down to stare at his hands.
“I don’t need you to defend me, Dean,” Sam grumbles.
Dean raises an eyebrow at his brother’s tone and looks over to see him glaring at Dean as he works off his shirt. “Uh, you don’t?” Dean clears his throat aware that everyone is staring at him with varying levels of amusement.
Sam blushes but doesn’t drop his eyes. “No, I don’t.”
“Hot damn. Cassie, ‘Zar, have fun in California, I’m staying here. Gonna go save a horse.” Gabriel says as he casually flips the flimsy table and crawls into a surprisingly welcoming Sam’s lap.
Dean reminds himself that Sam is an adult now even if he can remember changing his brother’s nappies as clearly as if it was yesterday. He ignores the commotion as Sam stands up, holding onto a now completely naked Gabriel (the hat was tossed somewhere across the room with the rest of the table), and disappears into one of the rooms.
Dean doesn’t really care what Sam gets up to, he’s just a little disappointed that he hadn’t known his little brother swung that way. He thought Sam just joined the game to keep Dean out of trouble – Dean has never been secret about his penchant for anyone hot and willing, no matter what they have in their pants or under their skirts – and here he is learning different.
“Save a horse?” Castiel mutters to himself, but Dean still catches it.
“Ride a cowboy,” Dean clarifies and feels a blush rise in his cheeks, but he smirks through it. He’s usually a lot more suave than this, must be that booze that got him into this mess in the first place. And he remembers what might be even better than booze or poker at getting him to forget all about John fucking Winchester.
~~~
Castiel watches the color spread across the beautiful cowboy’s face and descend the man’s gorgeous chest to highlight his perky nipples. They’re framed like a pretty picture by suspenders and a loose green bandana that matches the man’s eyes perfectly.
Balthazar makes some comment and disappears out the door with the gunslinger, Ramiel, who has his rooms far, far away from these. Balthazar has been stalking the man for a week and it’s the only reason they’d stayed this long. Castiel is both grateful it took long enough for him to meet Dean Winchester, and sorry Ramiel finally gave into his cousin’s dubious charms tonight. It means the gamblers will likely leave soon, with Gabriel, in spite of what he might say in the heat of the moment, and Castiel will only have one or two nights with the vision in front of him.
The vision bites his lip and looks at Castiel from under those long, sun-kissed eyelashes, making him bite back a groan. Then Dean’s smirk widens, and he stands and slowly slides the suspenders off his shoulders. “Well, Cas?” Dean says with laughter in his voice as he slowly unbuttons the top button of his trousers. “We lost the last round. What are you going to take off?”
Castiel leans back in his chair, hooking his fingers in his belt loops as he watches Dean’s fingers slowly unbuttoning his trousers and savors the heat starting to pool in his groin. Seems like maybe he and the cowboy are on the same page, here, and Castiel is pleasantly surprised. He’d known Dean was interested (the man wasn’t particularly subtle), but he honestly hadn’t expected him to actually do anything about it; cowboys seemed to prefer to stick to their own kind. He slowly reaches up for his hat, the next easiest item of clothing to remove.
“No!” Dean shouts, startling Castiel into freezing.
Castiel isn’t sure what he’s doing wrong so he just waits, one hand on his hat as Dean blushes again.
“Leave the hat on, Cas. Please?”
Castiel slowly lets his hand fall back to his side and Dean rewards him with a big grin that he can’t help but return. He stands up and finds himself face to face with those big green eyes, just a breath away from those tantalizing pink lips.
Dean’s gaze drops and his tongue comes out to wet his lips and Castiel bites back a groan. “Uh, personal space,” Dean says with absolutely no conviction, whatsoever, his eyes still glued to Castiel’s lips.
Castiel shrugs out of his duster, letting it drop to the floor, and takes his seat again, raising an eyebrow at the cowboy. Dean’s still wearing all the clothes he ended the last round with. There’s a moment of stillness, Dean’s eyes finally rising to meet Castiel’s again, and then Castiel finds a warm body crawling into his lap and soft lips crushing his own. Heat explodes in his veins and he devours Dean’s lips, mouth, and tongue, the cowboy returning the favor in kind. He finds his hands sliding under the backs of Dean’s legs and he lifts and stands up. Dean, the perfect angel, wraps those bowed limbs around Castiel’s hips and Castiel finds the nearest wall to brace the other man’s back against so he can press hard into him.
Dean's soft moan is like catnip, and Castiel is desperate to hear it unmuffled by his own mouth so he turns his attention from Dean’s mouth to tasting the skin along his jaw and then down his neck. Dean tastes salty with a faint hint of sweat and musk and Castiel isn’t sure he’ll ever get enough of it.
Dean’s hands bury themselves in Castiel’s hair, clenching and tugging in what he takes as encouragement. He shoves his thigh between Dean’s and rolls his hips and is rewarded with another groan and a curse. Even all the fabric between them can’t stop the surge of pleasure through Castiel’s body as their cocks rub together for the first time.
Castiel hikes Dean a little higher on the wall so his mouth can trail down the man’s chest until he’s licking one of those taut little nipples, making Dean arch and squirm in his arms. He nips sharply and Dean’s hips jerk up, thrusting his cock against Castiel’s hip. “That’s for teasing me with these for the last hour.” He switches sides and gives the other nipple the same dedication and attention as the first.
Castiel blows cool air over the damp, overheated nubs and watches goosebumps race over all that tan, freckled skin, making Dean whine, “Cas, please.”
He looks up into those hungry green eyes. “Please what, Dean?” he asks innocently.
Dean’s eyes widen, his pupils blown out, and he pants air between parted lips. “Fuck me, Cas, please.”
Castiel feels his nostrils flare and he can’t wait a moment longer to taste Dean’s mouth again in gratitude. He hadn’t expected that out of the brash cowboy. He lifts his head for a split second, ignoring the protesting whine from Dean, to orient himself in the suite and find the door to his own room before he’s plundering Dean’s mouth again. He spins them around and carries his prize to bed.
~~~
“So. Being a gambler, huh?”
Castiel grunts and nuzzles sleepily into the back of Dean’s neck, breathing in the smell of horse sweat and leather and Dean . Maybe if he doesn’t say anything Dena will lose interest and go to sleep.
“Is it fun?”
Cas sighs and sends a curse above for bringing him this beautiful, funny, energetic, chatty man. “It gives me freedom.”
Dean nods and shifts to look over his shoulder, the blanket slipping down and bathing one perfect shoulder in the moonlight. “No one tells you where to go or what to do. No one orders you around.”
And if Castiel gets lonely, he has Gabriel and Balthazar for company. Or he can find another drifter like himself, like Dean. Castiel looks up from counting freckles on Dean’s shoulder to meet those big, green eyes, now washed silver in the darkness, and knows he’ll never meet anyone like Dean ever again.
“Sammy and me, we do the same. Mostly catching bounties. I guess we’re taking a break, now, though. Helping my uncle with his horse ranch. I don’t know how I’ll take it; I ain’t been in one place for more’n a month or two since I was 4 years old.”
Castiel thinks about what it would have been like to live this life as a 4-year-old, never in the same place, always moving, no roots and no connections. His heart aches for a little freckle-faced boy with moss-green eyes and golden hair. “I grew up in Chicago. My father wanted me to join the family business, settle down with a nice girl who could pop out a bunch of grandkids for him. I almost did; I thought I wanted it, too. Then he died and I realized that I didn’t even know who I was or what I wanted.”
Dean’s eyes flicker over Castiel’s face, looking for something, though Castiel doesn’t know what. His eyes go shiny just a moment before he turns back around and pushes closer to Castiel. “Goodnight, Cas.”
Castiel presses a barely there kiss to the crown of Dean’s head. “Goodnight, Dean.”
~~~~
Dean wraps the barbed wire around the new post he’s just placed deep in the Kansas soil and doesn’t think about Castiel, with his just-fucked hair and his big, strong hands, and his dry, sarcastic wit and the understanding (not pity) he’d offered when Dean had told him about growing up under ex-cavalry officer John Winchester. Not even a little bit. And he doesn’t think about how he’d woken up alone that next morning, either, nor the worried looks Sam had thrown his way on the ride out to Bobby’s ranch or in the weeks since.
He’s at least managed to get his father off his mind.
Baby snorts behind him and he tosses a glare over his shoulder at the big black quarter horse mare. “I don’t need commentary from the peanut gallery, thanks.”
She just shakes out her mane and stomps a front foot, probably trying to dislodge a fly and not emphasize her opinion on Dean's thoughts. Probably.
He rips off a glove and runs a hand over his face. He can’t help comparing his rough calluses from guns and long days holding Baby’s reins to Cas’ smooth fingers. He wonders if he’s just going completely insane. It’s been an entire month, and he can’t keep that one night out of his head. He sees blue eyes every time he looks up at a clear sky, and he hears that rough voice in the thunder that rolls across the plains when it storms.
The guy disappeared without a word; it’s an act Dean has pulled many times himself, so he’s got no grounds to be so disappointed about it. Or so hung up on the guy. It’s not like Cas didn’t make himself perfectly clear. He likes his freedom, he doesn’t want to be tied down in one place, with one person. Certainly not with Dean. Hadn’t wanted to see him in the morning, even. And Dean felt the same, obviously. The guy did him a favor, really.
Course, lately, Dean is pretty happy helping out here on Bobby’s horse ranch, sleeping in the same bed every night and seeing the same familiar faces every day. He doesn’t really miss sleeping in a bedroll in the cold or Sammy being in danger when they’re hunting down a dangerous bounty. Bobby’s got the work for both of them; turns out Dean knows a lot about training horses, learned at John’s knee, and Sam is a natural salesman; he’s got a second sense for matching a rider to the horse that’ll suit them best.
But Dean’s gotta change something, ‘cause staying in one place, a safe place, is giving him too much time to compare the tan of a certain duster to the summer-dry grass that stretches out as far as his eye can see. Like he’s doing right now, goddammit.
Dean thinks about going into town and picking up someone new or even visiting the cathouse, a thought he’s had for weeks and still hasn’t acted on. The thought of trying to charm someone else, kiss someone else, learn what they like and teach them what he likes, is just exhausting.
He’s about to turn and go back to the ranch house to start the pot of chili he’d promised Sam and Bobby that morning when something dark in the sea of gold catches his eye. He squints against the sun to try to make out what it is. All he can tell is the man’s wearing a black hat and a duster that’s actually a lot browner than the golden grass that sways around him, and he’s riding the ugliest horse Dean has ever seen in his life. It’s a big rawboned dun with a roman nose and Dean kinda wonders if the rider had to get the bridle custom-made for that ugly moose head.
As he gets closer, Dean pretends he doesn’t know who it is until he’s close enough to see the blue of his eyes, so much deeper than the sky above them.
“Hello, Dean.”
Dean gets his smirk in place a few beats too late. “Hey, Cas, where’d you get that nag? The feedlot?”
Castiel narrows his eyes dangerously and goosebumps break across Dean’s skin despite the July heat. Those blue eyes flicker behind Dean to Baby and Dean straightens up suddenly, ready to defend his lady’s honor at the first word. Castiel just quirks a smile at his shift and shakes his head and Dean definitely doesn’t feel a warmth spreading through his body because Castiel can tell how he feels about his baby girl.
Then they’re both silent, just staring at each other across the fence that Dean’s just finished securing. Dean drops his eyes, slapping his thigh with his gloves. “Whatcha doing here? Shouldn’t you be in San Francisco, rolling in gold nuggets or somethin’?”
The big dun, still as a statue until now, shifts suddenly and Dean sees Castiel’s hand has tightened on his reins, his head dropping down to hide his eyes behind the brim of his hat. “I should be, yes.”
Dean waits, but Cas stays silent. “Okay. So why are you here?” He can’t keep the bite of hurt out of his words.
The hat tilts back and Dean’s chest aches at the sad smile on the other man’s face. “I missed you,” Cas answers with brutal honesty.
“Goddammit, Cas, you can’t just say things like that.”
“Did you miss me?”
Fuck. Dean scoffs, “It was one day,” and looks down at his boots.
A creak of leather brings his attention back to Castiel, who dismounts smoothly. Dean swallows hard as the other man’s thighs flex and shift, finally forcing himself to look away and focus on the hills in the distance.
“That isn’t what I asked, Dean.”
Yeah, well, Dean isn’t the one who left without even a note. “What about California? The Queen of Diamonds?”
There’s a long pause and then a soft sigh as Castiel gives in. “I’d rather draw the Queen of Hearts.”
Shit, that was smooth. Dean lets himself look at Castiel from under his lashes, drinking in the sight of him. He looks dusty and tired, with lines of exhaustion on his face and bags under his eyes. He looks beautiful. “Hearts, huh? Seems kind of fast, angel.”
Cas ducks between the wires of the fence to get closer, leaving his ugly gelding to graze on the other side, and reaches out to stroke Dean’s cheek softly. “I thought you’d have more of a problem with the Queen part.”
Dean shrugs and wraps a hand around Cas’ neck, bringing their foreheads together. He takes a deep breath of horse and dust and Castiel . “At least you didn’t say the Joker. What about freedom?”
“Freedom is in the choice, Dean. and I’m choosing you.”
~~~
One Year Later
Dean stood on the edge of a mountain, looking down into a deep valley as the wind whipped around him. He shifted the urn in his arms and looked down.
“Sorry it took so long, Dad. They don’t have a lot of mountains in Kansas.” His gaze flicked to Sam, who just smiled a little. “Uh, well, you never liked to stay in one place, so we figured riding the winds would make you happier than sitting on some mantle somewhere.” Plus, neither Sam nor Dean actually wanted their dad watching over them quite so closely, dead or not. Dean wasn’t trying to forget his dad anymore, but he also didn’t need a constant reminder. “You wanna say anything, Sammy?”
Sam shook his head. “Naw, that was perfect. He’d have loved it.”
Dean swallowed the emotion clogging his throat and nodded. Yeah, he probably would have. John hadn’t been a man who liked a lot of flowery talk, especially at funerals. “Remember when he rode his horse through Pastor Jim’s funeral and almost trampled Ellen? And she pulled out her pistol and almost brained him with it?”
The brothers laughed and shared a few more happy stories of their dad, avoiding anything too emotional by unspoken accord.
“Dean,” murmured a deep, but soft, voice, silent until now. Dean glanced over at Cas and the other man tipped his head towards the sinking sun.
“Yeah. Yeah, alright.” Dean took a deep breath and lifted the lid of the urn. Before he could turn it upside down, strong hands on his shoulders turned him so he wasn’t facing the wind. He shot Cas a grin over his shoulder and leaned in to give him a quick peck on the cheek as Sam guffawed. “Thanks, babe.”
Cas just rolled his eyes.
Dean tipped the urn over the cliff, watching the gray and white dust swirl away into the wind.
Sam wiped his eye and avoided looking at Dean or Cas. “Bye, Dad,” he whispered.
Dean slung his arm over Cas’ shoulder and tugged him close. “Let’s go home, babe.”
“Of course, Dean.” His tone was flat but Dean could see the smile deep in his ocean-blue eyes.
“Can y’all save the kanoodling for when we get home, guys, come on,” Sam whined.
Dean wrapped his free arm around Sam’s neck and pulled his little brother down close. “Aww, love you, too, buddy.”
“Jerk.”
“Bitch.”
“ Boys .” Cas’ stern voice cut off the tussle before it started.
“Love you, Cas.”
“Love you, too, Dean.”