Chapter Text
They met almost eight years ago.
It was probably the best thing that had happened to him since he went to basic training.
Dean remembered their first encounter vividly. He had been outide the dining facility, filling his canteen, when a group of four new airmen were dropped off, fresh from in processing. Young, all of 'em. Scrawny looking too. Looked like they just got out of tech training. Was the Air Force really that desperate that they were sending boys over fresh from training?
EIGHT YEARS AGO
Everyone usually avoided the new guys. They were more likely to screw up than anything else. Dean saw the fire in their eyes first off. He approached the boys, all bunched together like scared puppies and waiting for commands. Honestly, he wouldn't have had any real authority over any of them, he was just a three-striper, anyway. But since there was no sergeant around, he decided there was no harm in approaching.
One guy stood out from the rest. In a literal sense, even. He stood off to the right of the other boys, seemed more confident, standing a little straighter before the others as Dean approached. Dean wasn't sure why, he wasn't dressed any differently than any of them, only in a more weathered uniform, but maybe they thought he might be a bit higher up, at least he was more experienced.
“Boys,” he chided. “Welcome to Hell,” his voice was enthusiastic as he stretched his arms out even with his shoulders. He got a sort of satisfaction when two of the boys flinched. He caught the outsider's eyes for the first time and his stomach flipped. Damn those eyes were blue. They had an intense light behind them. Not really eagerness, but confidence.
He regained himself and extended his hand to the closest boy. “Winchester,” he smirked as the young man stared at his hand a moment before grasping it in his own.
“Gallagher. Andrew,” the poor kid's voice trembled as he returned Dean's firm handshake. Dean looked at the name tape sewn onto the kid's uniform with a nod.
“Nice to meet you, Andy,” Dean offered a reassuring smile. “Its really not that bad. We just call it hell 'cause its fuckin' hot almost twenty-four/seven.”
Andy returned his smile tentatively before Dean moved on to the second boy and patted Andy's back. He and Andy wouldn't see much of each other in the months that followed, unbeknownst to either of them.
“Hey, I'm Dean,” he said a little easier, offering his hand to the next guy.
His hand was not acknowledged as the young man stared him down. “I'm not intimidated by you,” he said defiantly.
Slightly taken aback, Dean shook off the rudeness, dropping his hand to his side.
“Gordon Walker,” the young man said harshly before shoving past Dean and moving toward the dorms.
Dean heard a small voice mutter behind his back as he watched Walker retreat, “he's a dick.” He turned on his heal toward the third boy, the one that stood between him and Blue-Eyes.
“What?”
“I-I said he was a dick,” the boy stuttered out. Dean could tell he was young, probably only eighteen.
Dean looked at this kid's name tape. Milligan. "What's your first name, kid?"
“Adam Milligan. And I'm not a kid!”
“Whoa, easy there, Milligan,” Dean held up his hands in mock-defense.
“I'm tired of people calling me that. I'm twenty-years-old for fuck's sake,” Milligan said harshly, kicking at the dirt beneath his boots.
“You look younger,” Dean said simply in response. “You should use that to your advantage when we get leave,” he elbowed him jokingly. "You guys should go get yourselves something to eat,” he said toward Milligan and Gallagher. As the other two retreated toward the dining facility, Dean turned to Blue-Eyes.
“Save it,” Blue-Eyes held up his hand to stop Dean's introduction. “I'm not here to make friends. That's the last thing on my list,” he continued as if Dean hadn't tried to say his name anyway. “I'm here to do a job, and then get the hell out. I won't be getting attached to anyone in the process.” At that, Blue-Eyes dropped his hand and readjusted his duffel on his shoulder and moved past Dean to the DFAC .
Dean stood in shock. The guy's voice was deep. Too deep for his slight frame. And it sounded like he'd just swallowed about a ton of sand, voice gravelly and scratchy as he spoke. Dean shook his head to clear it of those thoughts, the “Don't Ask, Don't Tell” policy popping into his head for a moment, before jogging to catch up to the boy with the blue eyes. “Hey! At least tell me your name. So I know what to call you, I mean.” Of course, he'd already looked at the name tape on the man'said chest, but he wanted to know his first name.
“Novak,” the man said without turning. “Castiel Novak.”
“Castiel? That's a cool name. Where you from, Cas?” He was good at that. Without any express permission, Dean assigned nicknames to almost everyone he met. Usually it was after they knew each other for a while and it wasn't just a shortened variation of their name, but Cas's reaction to the shortening satisfied him.
“I told you. I'm not here to make friends,” Castiel said simply after pausing to seemingly consider the nickname as he walked into the dimly lit chow hall and made a beeline for the line.
Dean followed, realizing it was already after noon and he hadn't eaten since 3 that morning. He was used to going without much food, though, but Cas was probably starving. The other man didn't show how phased he was from lack off food except by piling the selection of food onto his tray without bothering with a plate. Dean did the same and followed him across the crowded room to a bare table.
Castiel seemed irritated by Dean's constant presence, but he didn't say anything. They ate in silence, “if you have time to talk you have time to eat” ringing in both their minds, Dean thought.
After the two of them left the DFAC, Dean headed straight for the dorms, longing for his bunk. He'd only noticed he was being followed when he flung himself on the stiff mattress and someone cleared their throat behind him.
“What do you want?” he grumbled, not looking back to see who it was.
“It seems we're bunk mates. It doesn't appear as though the top is occupied, correct me if I'm wrong,” gravel answered him as feet shuffled on the dirty floor of the building
“Cas?” Dean rolled onto his side. He looked up toward the bed right above his own. “Uh, no. No one uses that one. For good reason though,” he couldn't stop his voice from cracking at the memory of the former resident of the bunk.
“What reason is that?” Castiel asked curiously. He had his duffel perched on his back, held steady on his shoulder by one hand.
“Last guy died,” Dean had said vaguely. He was grateful Castiel didn't press for more information. He would end up telling Castiel all about his former bunk mate a few months later in a drunken fit.
Castiel only nodded, “do you mind?” After receiving permission from Dean, Castiel hung his duffel up on the rail of the bed and made up the top bunk with the blankets folded at the foot before climbing up.
NOW
He flipped through the magazine, not really paying attention to the colorful pictures of flowers and pastel-colored dresses and tuxedos. Sighing, Dean tossed the bridal magazine onto the kitchen table and sat back in his chair, scrubbing his hands down his face.
“Damn, I dunno, Lisa. Whatever colors you like, I guess,” he mumbled through his fingers. It had been a long ten months of planning. Lisa had most everything done, but she kept asking him about little things that he could care less about. Now she was asking what color her bridesmaids dresses should be.
“Come on, Dean. Please? Which one is your favorite?” Lisa pulled the magazine toward the large pile she already had in front of her, flipping the pages. “Ooh, what about this one?”
Dean looked toward the picture she pointed to. It was of a cobalt blue, knee-length, strapless dress. Other than that, he couldn't tell much else. It was pretty, sure, but the color reminded him of desert sand and blue eyes, dry heat and sleepless nights.
He shook his head, “no. Not that one.” His voice was flat as he looked away from the paper, fidgeting with a dew frayed threads on the hem of his shirt.
“What's wrong with it? Its pretty.”
“Just not that one, okay?” he didn't mean to snap, but the look on Lisa's face said he obviously had.
Dean had never told Lisa about the extent of his relationship with Castiel Novak. She knew, of course, that he was a friend from his Air Force days, but she didn't know how close they had been.
He'd met Lisa two years after he got out and almost immediately started dating her. They'd been together for three years and engaged for ten months. She didn't know much about his past and he wanted to keep it that way.
EIGHT YEARS AGO
Dean opened the letter addressed to him in scribbled lettering. It had Sam's address as the return, but it didn't look like Sammy's handwriting.
That scared him. He unfolded the slightly crumpled paper and straightened it out. He hadn't received any letters from his brother in weeks and he'd been starting to freak a little.
Dean,
I need you here, man. I got involved with this girl and I don't know. She's great.
But its weird. I don't know what to do, Dean.
It was more a note than a letter. Dean could barely read the small scratched letters. Something had happened, he knew it. Sam's handwriting was always so perfect and neat. What was wrong with his brother?
Her name is Ruby. She's involved with some rough people and into some bad stuff.
But I love her, y'know?
Damn, I gotta go, Dean.
Sorry for not writing in a while. Been distracted.
~Sam
Dean couldn't really decipher what he'd just read. He read it a few times over before lying back on his bed, letting the paper fall from his hand onto the floor.
The words rang in his head.
Into some bad stuff.
What did that mean? Illegal stuff? Was this chick in the mob? Was it drugs? Shit, he didn't know. And he was fuckin' stuck here for three more months. Couldn't do anything about it.
He felt something nudge his foot and he opened his eyes. “Hey, Cas,” he mumbled.
“Hello, Dean. Is something the matter?” the other man propped his gun by the bunk and sat down at the foot of Dean's bed.
“Got a letter,” Dean hooked an arm behind his head to look up at Castiel. Even in the disheveled state the older man was in, he still looked good. Stop it, Winchester.
“What did it say?” Cas asked, obvious concern in his voice.
“It was from Sammy. Said he got himself a girl.”
“Well that's good. Isn't it?”
Dean handed the rumpled paper to his friend. It was nothing new, he always let Cas read the letters he got from home. Sam was the only one who wrote him, but it was more than Cas got. Dean wasn't sure what the deal was, but in the two months they'd known each other, Castiel hadn't received a single letter.
Castiel straightened out the crinkled paper and read the scrawled words, eyes squinting like they always were. Dean thought the man's eyes would be squinted like that for the rest of his life, he hadn't stopped since he got here except for at night. Not that it didn't look good on him. Cut it out, Dean!
After he seemed to finish the letter, Castiel looked up at Dean. “Something is wrong. This girl isn't good.”
“Thank you!” Dean sat up, slapping his knee. “I'm glad you see it too. This chick sounds like bad news and I think she's dragged Sammy into it, now. I mean, look at that!” he pointed to a particularly rough section of writing. “My brother does not write like that.”
“Is there any way you can get in touch with him?” Castiel asked seriously.
“No. Time difference... I'd never catch him,” Dean mumbled, burying his face in his hands. “Dammit! Way to go, Winchester. Fuck it up again. 'Go and enlist. Make a difference. Sammy'll be fine!'” he mocked.
“Dean,” Castiel said, his voice a step lower than normal. “I'm sure Sam will be alright. Don't blame yourself.” He placed his hand on Dean's shoulder, causing the other man to flinch.
“Thanks, Cas. But you know that's not true.”
Both men were startled by theit sergeant barging into the barracks. “Winchester! Novak! Come on! Patrol, now. You're goin' to town.”
“Dammit! That fuckin' hole is thirty miles away!” Dean grumbled, grabbing his gear and slinging his bag over his shoulder. Castiel followed, making sure his gear was all there before grabbing his gun.
“Who we going with, Sergeant Henriksen?” Dean asked as they approached three waiting Humvees.
“You two'll be with Walker. And the other trucks will have three guys each.”
Dean groaned as they got to the lead vehicle, seeing Gordon Walker behind the wheel. This was going to be a long drive.
He let Castiel climb in and get settled before he followed suit.
“Don't get comfortable, Winchester. We're goin' through a hot zone, so you and Novak will be getting' out with the detectors.”
Shit. Dean hated looking for IEDs.