Chapter Text
Greendale, Summer of 1875
Castiel had noticed the movement at Rosedale Manor for several days now—carriages arriving, trunks being unloaded, unfamiliar voices echoing through the hills. He hadn’t paid it much mind, not until that morning, when he was just about to slip into the woods with a plan in mind. That’s when he saw him: a blond boy, likely his age, standing at the gate with one hand resting on the wooden post, watching silently as Castiel rode past on Angel.
Later that day, at the base of his favorite tree, Castiel fell to the ground for what felt like the hundredth time. His summer project—learning to climb—was turning out to be a painful, humbling experience. His palms were scraped, his arms sore, and his pride bruised.
“You all right?” asked a voice, unexpected and close.
He looked up, startled. It was the blond boy from the gate, now standing just a few feet away, hand extended in quiet offering.
Castiel took it, just for a moment, then quickly pulled away and stood, dusting himself off while keeping his head lowered, cheeks flushing with embarrassment.
“I saw you ride by,” the boy said, hesitating just slightly. “Your horse is a beauty.”
Castiel didn’t respond.
“Why are you out here alone?”
“I could ask the same,” Castiel muttered, still avoiding his gaze.
There was a soft laugh. Castiel looked up—just briefly—and saw that the boy was smiling. Not mocking, but warm. Honest.
“I’m Dean,” he said.
“Myname’sCastiel,” came the reply, rushed and barely audible.
Dean blinked. “Sorry, what?”
Castiel stared at the ground again, then mumbled with slightly more care, “Castiel. My name’s Castiel.”
Dean tilted his head. “That’s a strange name. Never heard it before.”
Castiel shrugged, brushing the comment off as if it didn’t matter, and turned toward Angel. Dean followed him without hesitation.
“Hey, wait—Cas. Can I call you Cas?”
Castiel didn’t answer, just kept walking.
“Were you trying to climb that tree?” Dean asked, still on his heels. “I can teach you, if you want.”
That made Castiel stop. He turned slowly, suspicious but curious. The sunlight caught his face then, casting golden light into his impossibly blue eyes—eyes that made Dean think, for just a moment, of the ocean they’d left behind.
“You know how to climb?”
Dean grinned. “Yes. I can show you. If you let me.”
Before Castiel could reply, branches rustled above them, and a voice rang out across the forest.
“Dean Winchester! I told you not to go off on your own!”
Dean winced. Castiel raised a curious eyebrow.
“Uh-oh,” Dean muttered. “That’s Bobby. He’s... our guardian now. Thinks I’m going to get eaten by a bear or something.”
“He’s right,” Castiel said flatly.
Dean laughed, half amused, half annoyed. “Sounds like you and Bobby would get along.”
He turned toward the direction of the voice but didn’t move. “I should go before he completely loses it.”
Castiel gave him a quiet glance, wary still, but a little less guarded.
“There are no bears in this forest,” he murmured.
Dean smiled. “Good to know. So I’ve got a guide now, huh?”
“I’m not your guide.”
“But you could be… if I teach you how to climb?”
Castiel hesitated, then looked down at his boots, nudging at the dirt. “Maybe.”
Dean took that as a yes. “Well, I’d like to know about this forest. If you’ll show me.”
Castiel looked up—just a flicker of blue beneath his lashes—and gave a tiny nod.
Dean took a step back, already retreating, but slowly, as though reluctant to leave. “I’ll come back tomorrow,” he said, not quite a question, not quite a promise.
“You can if you want,” Castiel mumbled, barely audible.
Dean’s smile widened. “I do.”
He turned and ran toward the path where Bobby’s voice still echoed between the trees, waving once over his shoulder without looking back.
Castiel stood still, watching the dust settle in the space where Dean had disappeared. Then, turning to Angel, he rested a hand on the horse’s flank. He didn’t smile, but he didn’t frown either. Instead, he whispered—so quietly only the trees could hear:
“I guess tomorrow… I’ll try again.”
~•~