Three weeks after its release, North Aspect made its first appearance on the New York Times bestsellers under paperback trade fiction. There had been a boost in sales following several inclusions on online "books to read for Pride Month" lists and the release of a podcast interview with Dean about how his experiences in the wilderness shaped his newest novel, but the book might have missed the list entirely if it weren't for what became a media snowball effect. North Aspect continued to be cited on every Pride book article that could be found throughout mid-June, including several celebrity lists, and Dean received more invitations to do interviews. After his first video interview was posted on Instagram, social media engagement skyrocketed, and sales followed in short order.

"They love that he's so unexpected…" Charlie observed. "A thirty-something Kansas outdoorsman who within five years has gone from all-American, gun-toting hunter to bisexual conservation guide come author? Everyone wants to know why."

Castiel didn't have an answer to that, despite his months of getting to know Dean, and he didn't think some internet personality was about to discover it in an hour. Dean's public persona was friendly and charming, the smiling man from his guide photographs… but not quite Dean himself. Castiel listened to each interview, noting where Dean redirected questions with humor or gave answers he could tell were oversimplifications. There was one moment, during a livestream with some YouTube literary influencer, where the woman pressed him on his relationship with his parents. Castiel held his breath as he watched something in Dean's face flicker. In an instant, it was gone, replaced by a determined frown.

"Uh, my mom worries more about other people discriminating against me than anything else, and my dad has been dead for years, so I didn't really have to worry about what he thought. It was big, you know, telling my family, but a lot of the things that were really set against me were external to that… my job, my business contacts, the general public…"

The interviewer went on to talk about Dean's exit from big game hunting and how that was a prelude to everything that followed. Castiel replayed the moment in his head several times, considering it yet another example of Dean telling pieces of truth without showing the entire picture.

Gabriel predicted they would get three, maybe four weeks out of the list before sales dropped off, but with the end of July and Castiel's vacation approaching, the midweek online announcements showed North Aspect hanging on for its sixth week, still in the top ten. Castiel felt vindicated. Something in the book was speaking to people, giving it staying power.

Charlie was apologetic during one of their impromptu team gatherings. "Hey, sorry to horn in on your vacation time, but I told Dean he needs to keep up some updates while you guys are on the road, make some videos…"

"I am sure I can keep out of the way long enough for him to create some new social media content," Castiel told her.

"Might be better for his sales if you didn't…" Rowena suggested, giving Castiel a look of consideration before she turned away.

Castiel looked over at Charlie, confused.

She raised her eyebrows in a quick gesture of concession before shaking her head emphatically. "No way. You do not need to join the social media circus."

It took another moment of thought before Castiel realized what they were talking about. While he certainly wanted to support Dean's book sales, he wasn't sure he was willing to go so far as to turn their friendship into an object of public speculation.

Frankly, he already had enough to think about, with the day rapidly approaching where he'd be forced to face Dean Winchester in flannel again.

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Castiel stared as the train entered the city of Pittsburgh, slouching in his seat. Being on a train for half a day was certainly an experience, but once he'd boarded, he found it somewhat soothing. The other passengers were quiet for the most part, engrossed in their own activities, and the train rattled rhythmically over its tracks while a constantly changing slideshow of emerald wooded hills, ochre-tinged fields, and industrial areas slipped by the window. Overall, he thought there were worse ways to start off a cross-country journey.

The city landscape was familiar and yet foreign in the fading daylight. Stretches of trees and parks bordered the railway in spots, masking the urban sprawl beyond until they finally entered the heart of the city and the buildings grew taller. The station itself could have been any city station, but emerging out onto the street, Castiel couldn't help but feel as though the sky was too close, the scent of asphalt and concrete just not quite right. Rounding the block as Dean's text had directed, he spotted the old black car almost immediately. Dean was leaning on the trunk, and he waited as Castiel came down the sidewalk.

Something tight and nervous thrummed through Castiel's chest. Dean seemed relaxed, dressed in battered jeans and a work shirt, which was open to a t-shirt underneath and had the sleeves rolled up above his elbows. He raised an arm in a greeting as Castiel approached, finally pushing off the car when they were a few yards apart.

"Hey, Cas. Nice train ride?"

"That was the longest that I have ever spent on any mode of transport," Castiel replied, stopping a few feet from the back of the car. "The scenery was beautiful, however, and I've now added a full state to my travels, so I suppose it was a fair trade."

A faint smile drifted across Dean's face. "Are you dying for food or anything? I planned to get about an hour down the road, into Ohio, before stopping for the day."

Castiel shook his head; he'd eaten a sandwich from the train's café.

"All right, then. Guess we can get going…" Dean stepped around to open both the passenger side doors, each of which made an audible creak. "You can toss your bag in the back for now." He waited for Castiel to slide the large duffel bag he'd brought onto the smooth black leather expanse of the rear seats and then situate himself up front before closing the doors with heavy, metallic thunks.

The inner panels and carpeting of the classic car were a nondescript beige, set off from the glossy black exterior, seats, and dashboard instrumentation. Though obviously aged, everything looked freshly cleaned and polished. Whether that was because Dean was particularly fastidious about his car or it was a special effort for this road trip, Castiel couldn't say. Dean got into the driver's seat, making the leather seat squeak, then pulled the last door closed. After taking a moment to adjust his seat belt and shirt, he glanced across at Castiel. The look seemed unsure, almost shy; Castiel thought he knew how Dean felt. It was strange and novel, being in such an enclosed space together. The car turned over with a deep rumble as Dean turned the key in the ignition, and rock music blared from the radio, making Castiel flinch. An instant later, Dean reached forward to decrease the volume.

He cleared his throat and examined Castiel's face. "Okay?"

Castiel nodded.

The engine growled as they pulled onto the street and began their journey.

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The ride to the first hotel was relatively quiet. Once Dean navigated out of Pittsburgh, the car roared down the highway alongside the setting sun, running at a level that Castiel was certain meant the engine couldn't be very fuel efficient. Combined with the poor safety features and limited availability of repair parts, he had to imagine the car held sentimental value for Dean. Maybe he would ask about it at some point. The long day hadn't left him much of a conversationalist; he found himself zoning out on the rolling landscape. Before he'd even managed to work up the energy to formulate discussion topics, they were exiting off and winding their way to the parking lot of a Hampton Inn.

After parking the car in a spot a bit away from the main entrance, Dean turned off the engine. "I'm going to need you to get out," he grumbled.

He shifted and pulled back his shirt on the opposite side, reaching over, and Castiel froze as he realized the strap running down under his arm was holding a gun. For a moment, he was so shocked that he couldn't even breathe, but he must have made some sound because Dean's head jerked up. Whatever expression was on Castiel's face caused him to fall still, then slowly lift his hands to hover over his lap, palms open, his look hovering between confused and cautious.

"Uh… I meant that I need you to get out because this hotel doesn't allow guns and one of the lock boxes is under your seat." Dean repeated, slowly.

"Y—You're wearing a gun?" It was a question that Castiel knew had an obvious answer, but he was trying to buy himself some time to process.

"Uh, yeah. I usually do, unless I'm somewhere that doesn't allow it." Dean waited a few beats, his eyes growing more concerned when Castiel didn't respond. "I… travel alone, usually out in the boonies, far from the law, in places with large predators. Just good habit to have a way to defend yourself if necessary."

Another question fell straight out Castiel's mouth without stopping for filtering. "Have you ever had to use it?"

There was a pause before Dean replied. "I've had to fire it a few times to scare off animals over the years," he muttered. "People… usually back off on sight. It just makes me feel better having it, especially after, well, you know." He dropped his hands, keeping them over the leg closest to Castiel, in sight. "Are you, uh, gonna be okay with this? ...If not, I can lock it up for the trip."

Castiel stared at him. Something had changed. Carefully maintained neutrality blanketed his features—except for his eyes. He couldn't hide the uncertainty there. It reminded Castiel too much of the abrupt edits in Salvation Ridge, of the moment during their first phone call when Dean wondered aloud if anyone would even want to read his story… It was on his tongue to agree before logic surged forward with one important final question. "Is it legal?"

Dean snorted. "Yeah, once you leave New York until right before California. Except for Illinois, some other places." He shrugged. "Welcome to the country…"

"Then, yes… I will be okay with it—now that I know about it."

"…You sure?" Dean asked, amusement creeping into the corners of his expression. "Because for a second there you looked like you thought this was gonna turn into an episode of one of those murder shows Sam and Kevin are addicted to…"

"It was simply unexpected." Castiel frowned. It made sense that Dean would have a gun, but it was just as logical that, as a resident of New York City, Castiel would not be used to being around them.

"For the record, I carry this so this doesn't turn into a murder story…" Dean rambled, running one hand across the back of his neck.

"You said there is a lock box under my seat…?" Castiel prompted, offering him an exit from the conversation.

"Yeah. Uh… Let me get this stuff stowed so we can go in." Dean cleared his throat before moving to take off the gun. "You can get your stuff from the back."

It wasn't until they were in the hotel lobby and Dean was speaking with the desk attendant that Castiel replayed something Dean had said.

"…It just makes me feel better having it, especially after, well, you know."

Unless he was mistaken, Dean was referring to coming out publicly; the fact that Dean felt less safe in his travels now made Castiel's stomach twinge.

The room Dean had booked was barebones—two beds, a chair, a television, and a bathroom—but there wasn't anything seedy about it. Still, this was the part of their trip Castiel had been regarding with the most trepidation.

He'd prepared himself as best he could for the days of hiking ahead by purchasing new boots and clothing, breaking in the former walking around Midtown as much as possible in the preceding months. The long distances seated in a car hadn't seemed like an issue for someone who worked at a desk as much as he did. But earlier in the year, he'd agreed to share a room for nights and split the bills, thinking he could suffer through any of the disturbance from sharing his space with another person just as well as he could deal with sleeping in a strange place. That had been before Dean's visit in June.

That night, in his apartment, he'd walked into the living room to the sight of Dean Winchester lounging on his couch in flannel pajamas… and been struck with an intense urge to walk over and wrap his arms around him. The feeling was so sudden, so specific, that Castiel stopped dead and could barely manage to wish Dean a good night and excuse himself. It took him quite a while, alone in his bedroom, to calm down and recognize the sensation for what it was: sensual attraction. He'd read about it before, of course; most asexual people were familiar with the split attraction model. In general, he considered himself more likely to be mentally or emotionally attracted to someone, with the physical aspects of relationships being something he tolerated in varying amounts. That was the first time in his life he'd ever experienced that type of attraction to another person. The next morning, he rose and went, somewhat bravely, into the living room to find Dean already up and dressed. The feeling didn't come back.

In their room at the hotel, Castiel changed into sleepwear first, then sat on his bed, pretending to watch the evening news and waiting for Dean to emerge from the bathroom. This, he thought, was a litmus test. The door clicked and then opened, and Castiel tried to look without staring too obviously as Dean crossed the room in flannel pants and a cotton t-shirt. He had a long moment to gaze in expectation as Dean reorganized some items in his bag.

Dean was attractive, of course, but beyond that recognition that he was aesthetically pleasing… nothing. Castiel turned back to the television, not at all paying attention to the newsdesk broadcaster. Instead of being relieved, he felt frustrated. Why that night but not now? What had been different? Was it the shirt?

Even after they'd turned off the television and lights and retired to their respective beds, Castiel stared in the direction of the wall, listening to the sound of Dean breathing, turning things over in his mind. He tried to drag up the fleeting sensation from memory but only found the ghost of something he knew he had experienced. At his age, he thought he understood himself well enough, managed himself well enough… But maybe one never really reached complete self knowledge. Maybe there would always be new mysteries for him to puzzle over. He drifted off without coming to a decision on whether that was a disturbing or a reassuring thought.

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The morning alarm came early. Castiel was grateful that Dean's first priority also seemed to be getting the room's coffee maker to spit them out a dose of caffeine. Not a word was spoken until their paper cups were emptied, although Dean did raise an eyebrow at the grimace Castiel made after his first sip. Obviously, one sacrifice of leaving the city was going to be dealing with whatever stood in for coffee at roadside hotels.

When they'd both gotten cleaned up and packed, Dean briefly went over the plan for the day, which was to get on the road for about eight hours, then have a short hike at their first stop. They departed from Youngstown and got back on the interstate heading west. The ride was fairly low key until their first rest stop and third round of coffee, at which point Dean tentatively started trying to make some conversation.

"So, Cas… I'm mostly used to traveling solo, so if you need to stop or get hungry, tired, whatever… you gotta let me know." He threw a look across the front seat, then put his eyes back on the road. "Sorry the scenery isn't so great. Breaking a few of the rules of the road trip this time, staying on the interstate the entire way, but one thing about interstates is that they help you make time when you need to."

Castiel had been watching Ohio slip by with interest. The cities, if you could call them that after living in New York City, were stouter, dotted with more grass and trees. Then, they would pass through endless fields of farmland, although most of the time, Castiel was mystified about what exactly they were growing. "You wouldn't normally travel on I-80?"

Dean shook his head. "Naw. Half the fun is trying to find scenic back roads… but probably take you twice as long to get somewhere. If you're on a schedule and need to get somewhere fast, the interstates are the way."

"…Or there's flying," Castiel pointed out, remembering how Gabriel had said that Dean didn't fly.

Dean's mouth turned down in disgust. "Now that's no way to get anywhere…" he groused. "People should experience the country, not jump over it."

That didn't sound like a strong enough reason for Dean to have it written into his contract with Elysium. "How else does this differ from one of your usual road trips?"

"Well… hotel reservations, I guess. Normally, I just sorta find a place when I'm getting tired. A lot easier when it's only me though; don't have to worry as much about a single room being available, and if I can't find a place, there are always rest areas."

Castiel stared at him a moment, wondering if he were exaggerating, but his face seemed relaxed, open. "Does that happen a lot?"

"Uh… I dunno, maybe once or twice a year, I'll manage to get myself somewhere all the rooms are booked up for a convention or graduation or something I don't even know is going on. Or I just plan badly and get too tired where there aren't any motels."

"I don't think I could sleep, with traffic passing by twenty yards from my vehicle."

"Are you joking?" Dean grinned. "I don't know how you sleep in the city, Cas. If you can deal with that every day, I bet sleeping near a highway would be easy."

"If you will recall, my apartment is thirteen stories up. There's a reason for that."

"Yeah, guess I've seen enough of how you react to bar ruckus and classic rock to get that reason..."

"Sensitive hearing," Castiel insisted with force that wasn't needed given Dean's casual tone.

"That's another thing to be sad about, with the interstates and hotels… You don't get far enough away to really hear what night is supposed to sound like," Dean continued, oblivious to Castiel's moment of defensiveness. "You know what? That last night, when you stay at my place in Kansas, we'll have to go outside and just listen. That's what I think about—hell, what I dream about—when I'm stuck in these motels."

Castiel stared anew at the smile that transformed Dean's face in profile. It was soft, wistful… free. Dean glanced over and noticed he was being watched, ducked his head, the smile disappearing with a twitch of regret. Castiel wished he knew the right way to tell Dean that he didn't hide that part of himself away, but it felt like that might be too much, too revealing of his own feelings… Castiel nearly rolled his eyes, settling for turning to look out at the passing trees. The hypocrisy, he chided himself.

They stopped to pick up a quick lunch at a rest area in Indiana, and Castiel watched Dean lock away his gun and ammunition before they proceeded across the border into Illinois. It was a few more hours before they pulled into their second hotel of the trip, a Super 8 where they unpacked and got changed into more appropriate hiking clothes. It was more of a transformation for Castiel. Dean simply swapped out his shoes for a well worn set of hiking boots and grabbed his pack and hat. When Castiel had abandoned his travel pants and button-down for cargo pants, a t-shirt, and a UV-blocking windbreaker, he saw Dean's eyes flick over his clothes. The other man's face was set in what Castiel was starting to recognize as an expression of concealment; it reminded him of the way his cousin Gabriel would mask his own thoughts during discussions.

"…My first time hiking," Castiel explained. "I had to invest in some outdoorswear."

"Looks good." Dean kept his eyes on his pack, rummaging through one of the compartments, but Castiel thought he saw a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth that might have been a repressed smile.

Castiel frowned at him. "I'm not one of your clients, Dean. You can give me your honest opinion on my choice of hiking clothes."

Dean looked up, a small measure of surprise showing in his eyes. Then, he gave Castiel a faint smile. "They're fine, Cas. Didn't expect you to be hiking around in office clothes… Most of my specialized gear is for the cold. I don't bother with much this time of year. You got bug spray?"

They drove a short way from the hotel, into a forested area marked as 'Starved Rock State Park'. Dean trailed Castiel through the visitor's center, while he read placards describing the history of the area and its significance to Indigenous populations before its later conversion to a park and lodge. When they left to take to the trails, their positions reversed, and Castiel let Dean lead them into the woods.

Soon, the parking lot was far behind them, and striated cliffs of earthy gray and green grew up around them. It was mostly quiet, although occasionally the leaves swished above them in an unfelt breeze or a bird timidly sang out from the canopy. The area smelled of damp earth and rock; the atmosphere was heavy and shimmered where rays of sun came through gaps in the trees. By fifteen minutes in, both of them were sweating, and, as Dean had predicted, the mosquitos were out in full force as the heat of the day faded in the shade of the trees. Still, there was a magic to it all that wasn't lost on Castiel as they wove their way through twisting walls of rock and climbed wide staircases cut from the earth. Here and there, sluggish pools and trickles of water flowed through the forest floor and down the rock faces. They wound into narrow corridors cut through the stone, then back out, following the dips of the terrain. Dean didn't say much, beyond occasionally giving Castiel a name he could match to the booklet he'd taken from the visitor's center, although he did take out his phone to snap several photographs as they proceeded, likely for his social media pages. They finally reached a large, open canyon with broad shelves of textured rock, overgrown with lush summer greenery, where a thin sheet of water splashed down in a waterfall and flowed back into the forest.

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"This is LaSalle Canyon," Dean said as he pulled a few extra containers of water from his pack, then held one out to Castiel. Castiel was grateful Dean had bothered; his own water bottle was nearly empty. "Any spring, this would be a torrent, maybe even closed; not as much water running this season." After pausing for a long drink, Dean examined his face. "How are you feeling? Okay?"

Castiel was soaked with sweat that wasn't evaporating in the summer humidity, and he was glad for the break, but overall, the trail was a fairly easy one. "Yes, this seems to match my hiking ability."

Dean nodded. "We're about at the halfway point. …I almost feel bad hiking here now. This entire place is sandstone. Too many feet are just grinding it away in places. I'll keep us on the main trails, go by the river, rather than go around on the rocks there. May come a time when people won't even be allowed to hike down to those back canyons…"

Castiel looked around as he followed Dean back out the way they had come into the canyon, seeing smooth paths worn in the terrain but unable to imagine the soles of boots being able to trample into rock. He supposed, however, that was how the canyons had been made—not by people, but by water over time.

The second half of the hike was a much different perspective, tracing along the Illinois River. At some points, the trail overlooks opened up views of miles of woods across the water, the slanting rays of the late day summer sun heating up the air and blinding him after the cool, green light of the woods. The hazy blue sky showed not a cloud, and the puffs of breeze wherever the trees thinned out were a welcome break from the sticky July afternoon. Despite the heat, the walk left Castiel feeling as though he could have gone further, and he told Dean so as they walked back to the car.

"So, guess I'm judging about right." Dean fell into step beside him, now that that wide walks allowed it. "Next few days shouldn't be too much harder than this. I'll just have to keep an eye on what I plan for Rocky Mountain National Park; miles don't pass as easy when there's a lot of up and down, especially that high up in the mountains."

Cleaning up at the hotel was a bit of heaven, but exhaustion hit Castiel as soon as the warm water washed the sweat, dirt, and bug repellant from his skin. He wanted nothing more to lay on his bed, which suddenly seemed as though it had a much higher quality mattress than it appeared, and not move until morning. Dean emerged from changing in a soft, clean t-shirt with some band logo on the front and herded Castiel up and out to dinner at a nearby restaurant. They sat across from one another at a booth as far away from the bar as they could get, but there appeared to be a baseball game on television, and the sound level occasionally spiked into roars of approval or displeasure. Dean winced along with Castiel as a few of the louder spectators yelled about some game official decision.

"If this is unbearable, we could ask Katie to pack up our stuff to go," Dean suggested.

Katie, Castiel thought, must be their server. "No, I will manage." Dean kept examining his face with skepticism. "Besides," he decided, "if I do not remain sitting upright, I may very well fall asleep in my french fries."

At that, Dean tilted his head and nodded. "Yeah, you're gonna sleep like the dead tonight. Fresh air will do that."

As Castiel watched, Dean scanned the other tables. "I have to apologize. I feel as though I haven't been making much conversation—not just tonight, but thus far in our trip."

"Hey, Cas, every single word you say is one more than I usually hear on a road trip. It isn't your job to be, like, entertainment or something." He smiled abruptly to himself. "Also, I think if you'd spent the whole day at Starved Rock talking, I would have purposely lost you in a canyon somewhere."

Castiel smiled in return. "Do you ever have to guide people like that?"

"Usually not the birders or the wildlife enthusiasts, for obvious reasons. I've had a few loud photography groups though. I just smile and remember I'm getting paid…" Dean stared off into the middle distance, apparently reliving some past annoyance.

Their burgers arrived, and the smell of the food made Castiel realize he was ravenous. They both tucked into their meals for several minutes without surfacing, Castiel eating almost as enthusiastically as Dean always seemed to.

"Damn, these are good," Dean concluded. "Not the best I've ever had, but decent. This is something else I don't usually get on my road trips."

"Burgers?"

"Well, restaurant food in general. Maybe a stop here and there, but usually, I'm living on trail food."

"What's that?"

"Uh, mostly lightweight things—trail mix, jerky, dehydrated noodle stuff. Or, if I'm somewhere I can stash a cooler, I pick up stuff at a grocery store, like we're going to do tomorrow morning."

"…We are?"

"Yeah, got a cooler in the trunk, and we can stock up on whatever we want to eat for the day and minimize stops. Tomorrow is our longest drive, about twelve hours."

"Sounds… enchanting."

Dean flashed his eyebrows, a smile still playing around the corners of his lips despite the fact that he was trying to appear sympathetic. "Well, look at it this way, Cas… At least your legs will have some time to recover. And wait 'til we go through Iowa… Words can't describe it. You'll know it when you see it."

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It took three rest stops and almost five hours of Iowa before Castiel finally turned to Dean. "What exactly am I waiting to see in the state of Iowa…?"

Dean's chest twitched with silent laughter; he didn't even turn from the road to face Castiel. "You're looking at it," he stated, voice wavering.

Castiel glanced back out the window, where endless fields of deep green stalks seemed to eat up the horizon. "…Corn…?"

"Yep." Dean was grinning now. "Corn, corn, and more corn."

Castiel peered at him, wondering if there was something he wasn't understanding about the significance.

Sneaking a glance over, Dean caught the expression on his face and let out a sharp laugh. "And cows! Don't forget the cows." He giggled and turned back to look out the windshield, reaching up a hand to wipe one eye.

Castiel then understood; he sighed, not enjoying feeling gullible. Playing on his naivety was a favored tactic of bullies, back in his younger days. "I fail to see the hilarity," he growled.

Dean's tittering slowed, and he shot Castiel a few perplexed looks before clearing his throat. "I did the same thing to Sammy first time we drove through here. Gotta say, he did not have your patience… barely made it an hour in."

They drove in silence for a moment, Castiel waiting until Dean's smile had flattened out into a disappointed pout before deciding the teasing hadn't been mean spirited. Keeping his eyes facing forward, he tilted his head. "Well, patience is one of my virtues…"

"You almost made it to Omaha," Dean observed. "It's impressive."

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At some point toward the end of the day, most of the way through Nebraska, the landscape changed. It was as though the sky opened up, suddenly stretching above the highway in a dome that ran as far as the eye could see to the horizon in all directions. The rolling hills, now almost the color of green tea, began to show outcroppings of pale fawn soil and rocks. Castiel sat up, took it in for several minutes, before he turned to Dean.

"Is this prairie?" he asked.

"Sorta… Technically, we've been in prairie since Illinois and Iowa, but there's different types, and the interstate runs through so much farmland and so many cities that you don't often get a chance to really see the native habitat come through… We just entered 'short grass' prairie, which most people don't really think of when they think of grasslands. You can also call it a 'steppe'. Lots of open land, no big trees."

It was strange and new, and Castiel was suddenly thinking of Salvation Ridge and the open landscape that must have greeted settlers at that time.

"This is really the point in the country when you feel like you're out west." Dean smiled that same serene smile Castiel had seen before.

This time, Castiel watched out of the corner of his eye, pretending to study the steppes outside the window when Dean inevitably looked over.

Their home for the night was a lodge, a flat, single-floor complex whose architecture somehow matched the landscape. For dinner, they pulled a selection of food from the cooler—microwave burritos, bagged spanish rice, and some remains of a vegetable platter.

"I'm not sure these are 'burritos'," Castiel said after his second of the small wraps, "but there's something to be said for comfort food."

"Hell yeah. I can't believe you've never had a microwave burrito. What do you even eat in New York? You know, at home."

"I probably get takeout more often than I should…" Castiel tried to remember what was around his kitchen. "Pasta and sauce, toast or bagels, sandwiches, salads, pre-packaged or frozen meals…"

"That is the kitchen of a man who can't cook or can't be bothered," Dean taunted.

"And I suppose you are an accomplished chef…"

"Well, no, but I can cook, at least simple, homestyle kinds of things. Our mom worked a lot growing up, so I had to start dinner most nights."

Picturing the quiet, focused way Dean dealt with his packs and maintained his car, Castiel supposed cooking wasn't entirely out of character for him. As for himself… well, he'd never had a real need to learn. Travelling with Dean on the road, his life in the city seemed almost wildly extravagant at times.

The morning brought more weak motel coffee—Castiel was convinced it was the same coffee bearing different labels at every location—and a short drive to Ash Hollow State Historical Park. His initial impression of the landscape proved to be entirely accurate; the area was part of the Oregon Trail. The visitor's center provided lots of interesting information, including filling in some of the more tragic history of the area. Castiel stood reading a placard about the Harney Massacre, in which the United States army attacked a Brulé Lakota settlement, killing many women and children. Dean hovered off his shoulder.

"That was pretty terrible. Even back then, when people still thought it was their right to take the whole country all the way to the Pacific, some of the papers back east called a spade a spade… They used to call Harney 'The Butcher'."

"Starved Rock also had a lot of history from Indigenous peoples… Is that common in the park system?"

"More often than not. If you think about it, the places that were available for conservation were the ones that were difficult to strip and settle, either due to the terrain or because someone else was holding the territory… but really, every place in America has a history long before any of us got here. You just don't get handy signs telling you about it…"

They left the building in a somber mood. He and Dean spent the later part of the morning hiking along the miles of trails that surrounded the Ash Hollow area. Castiel couldn't stop drinking in the infinite blue sky, towering clouds, and shrub-dotted hills. A few times, he caught Dean watching him, a ghost of a smile on his face. Castiel looked at so much, so long in the bright summer sun that his eyes began to hurt. Halfway through the trail circuit, Dean offered over a pair of sunglasses, having noticed him squinting at everything. They ended up grabbing food from the car to picnic out on the hills. Neither one of them made conversation, but it was an easy silence. Looking out at a horizon that seemed states away, wind whipping under the brim of his hat, sun beating down on his shoulders, Castiel felt as though he'd been swept clean.

Dean suggested that they take the car down the road a few miles to Windlass Hill, where they parked again and then followed a trail that soon turned into quite an uphill climb. Castiel was breathing harder than Dean by the time they reached the top overlook. The view was stunning. The steppes sloped away from them in all directions, falling down into a valley and rolling on and on until they faded into blue, indistinct shadows along the bright line where the sky met the earth. Dean paused to take more photographs and record a short video, trying to show the wagon ruts still visible in the earth. When he finished, they took one last look out from the hill together.

The wind died down, letting the sound of insects rise from the grass and the sun's warmth sink in. Castiel and Dean stood shoulder to shoulder, and looking down at the green twill fabric that covered Dean's arm, leaving only the tanned and freckled back of a hand visible, Castiel wanted to lean in and press the length of his own arm against it. This time, the sensation wasn't as much of a surprise, but as soon as he tried to examine it more closely, it was gone, taken away by the next gust of wind.

Looking up, he met Dean's eyes, and they held one another's gaze for a beat.

"Worth the climb?" Dean rasped eventually.

Castiel nodded. "Absolutely."

"Well, let's hope you keep feeling that way. Next stop, the Rockies…"

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The drive from Nebraska to Colorado was the highlight of the trip so far. It seemed as though every few hours, the landscape changed. The Rockies themselves came into sight and grew until the car was among them. Overwhelmed by so many natural features that he'd only ever seen on film, by the time they pulled into Estes Park, Castiel was starting to feel mentally exhausted, despite his excitement at his surroundings. The city of Estes Park was stunningly picturesque, a bowl of civilization nestled inside a ring of dark, evergreen forest and crown-point mountain peaks. They unloaded their bags into the tiny lodge where they were staying. It was decorated in a charming, rustic fashion, but the room was pretty cramped once they got everything inside. Dean led them a few blocks away, to a place that proclaimed itself 'Antonio's New York' and turned out to serve pizza and Italian cuisine. Castiel chose not to comment on the irony of restaurant choice. Over dinner, Dean coached him on the plan for the next few days.

"We're high enough up here that you can get altitude sickness, so first thing to remember, hydrate, like constantly, and eat heavy on carbs, low on fat. Grains, fruit, veggies, pasta, bread, clear soup…" The pasta dinners they'd ordered came with soup and bread and seemed to fit the list. "Probably should stay away from alcohol and fried food. They also say you should stay away from caffeine, but we both know that ain't happening… Second thing to remember is to take it slow. Tomorrow, we're just going to stick around the city in the morning, do some walking and touring. If you're feeling all right in the afternoon, we can drive up over the mountains and back on the Trail Ridge Road. No hiking until Day Two…"

Bunking down probably would have been a bit stranger if he'd been less tired—the room was so small that if he and Dean had both reached out an arm from either bed, they could have shaken hands. As it was, Castiel fell into a dreamless sleep within minutes of his head reaching the pillow. Morning was too early, and he met it with bleary silence until they walked to a real coffee shop, with real coffee. Insert gratitude to coffee-giving deity of choice here, Castiel thought, sighing happily over the largest, most robust cup he could buy.

The first part of the day was spent strolling through downtown Estes Park, poking through shops, occasionally pointing out an especially ridiculous piece of tourist swag to one another—a lamp with a ceramic base shaped like a moose, small wooden 'Estes Arks', which, to Castiel's shock, turned out to be models of an actual, full-size building down the street. Castiel sprung for admittance to one of the day tours of The Stanley, the stylish old hotel on the hill that had inspired the setting of Stephen King's The Shining.

"Kevin is already envious of our stop at Starved Rock State Park," he told Dean. "Apparently, it was the site of some gruesome murders in the Sixties. Touring the Stanley Hotel will be another feather in the proverbial cap…"

Walking back into town after that, Dean abruptly decided, "We need pie." He pointed ahead, where the overhang of a bakery proclaimed, 'You Need Pie!"

Castiel rolled his eyes but followed Dean into the restaurant for lunch, after which the man spent ten minutes agonizing over pie filling choices, finally going with both Cherry Rhubarb and Apple. At his insistence, Castiel tried a bite of each and proclaimed Cherry Rhubarb the winner.

When they finally circled back to the motel in the early afternoon, Dean asked, "You feeling okay? No headache or trouble breathing or dizziness?"

"I feel quite normal," Castiel insisted.

"All right, let's go for a drive."

They headed west out of the city and soon made their first entrance into Rocky Mountain National Park, turning up a single-lane dirt road a short distance in, behind several other cars. The views only became more spectacular as they wound their way up into the mountains, passing by forests of coniferous trees and trickling waterfalls splashing down the pale gray and tan rock faces. There were no developments, no guardrails along the route. Every so often, there was a pull off where they could exit their car and take photographs of an especially pretty vista. The road rose into alpine stretches of grass and meadow, dwarfed by snow-streaked peaks around them. Castiel had never felt so small, even in the understory of New York City at the foot of a dozen skyscrapers. The Rocky Mountains stretched away from them in every direction, endless and unfathomably old. At the end of the ascent, they parked at the Alpine Visitors Center and stepped out to wander the barren ridge. The wind that pressed against their jackets was icy, picking up the scent of the snow that clung in the hollows of the slopes.

When Dean had finished shooting another video, they got back in the car and turned onto the paved Trail Ridge Road. The drive back to Estes Park was just as beautiful, rising up to a summit before reversing the journey from exposed alpine slopes down into the lush green forests below. Just when Castiel thought he was getting used to it, he would look upon some other prospect in disbelief and awe. The world melted and warmed as they descended back into civilization. The jackets soon came off, and by the time they returned to the city, Dean had the windows rolled partway down, the scent of rocks and pine flooding the cabin.

"That was incredible," Castiel told him back at the lodge.

Dean smiled, a soft, warm expression. "Well, no better way to get a real taste of the Rockies when you don't have weeks to spare. Tomorrow we'll drive in and do a bit of hiking." He paused, looking out across Estes Park. "By this point in the trip, you probably get what a terrible writer I am…"

Castiel frowned, tilted his head. "What do you mean?"

Dean waved a hand at the skyline, rows of dark mountain peaks that faded cerulean, a towering sky pale with washes of cloud. "This. No matter how long I spend trying to tune a phrase, anything I write… it's just like a kid trying to draw with a crayon, Cas, you know?"

For a moment, Castiel didn't respond, pondering over the meaning of Dean's statement. "I expect," he ventured, "that any man measuring himself up to the grandeur of all of nature would find himself falling short."

"Yeah…" Dean exhaled, turned back to the view again, before nodding. "Yeah."

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The next day brought an early morning drive to a large parking lot just inside the park, where Castiel started his first real mountain hike. They made their way to Bierstadt Lake, a relatively flat area where tall, lime-colored grasses ringed dark blue water inside the ever-present evergreen forest. The sun had risen not long ago, and the air still had a crisp chill to it, but it was going to be a beautiful day, from what he could tell. Circling the lake, Dean led them on an easy climb that soon had them overlooking the bowl of nearby Bear Lake, nestled in a perfect ring of trees, green and gray mountains looming above. They hiked down into the forest, around the glassy surface of the water, stopping at each overlook, both of them taking endless photos on their phones. When they had completed the trail loop—and Castiel had once again assured Dean that he was feeling none of the items on the checklist of altitude sickness symptoms—they continued down to Sprague Lake, crossing through areas of boulders and over one particularly large creek. It was there that Castiel got to see his first large wildlife in the park, two moose grazing in the tall grass surrounding the lake. They kept a very respectable distance, and Dean filmed the male and female pair for a long time. The only sounds were the wind gusting across the lake surface and the songs of the birds in the surrounding brush.

The sun was high by the time they finally got back to the parking lot where they had left the car; the crowds were building.

"How you feeling?" Dean asked as they were unloading their packs into the trunk.

"I am still all right, Dean. I'll alert you if that changes." His tone must have been a bit clipped because Dean held up a hand.

"Sorry, don't mean to drive you nuts, but you've never been above sea level, and I've had altitude sickness… It ain't fun." Dean laid the hand down on the roof of the car and looked out into the distance for a moment, thinking. "Okay, I got an idea…"

They drove over to Lily Lake, another very popular area of the park, and for good reason. The area directly around the lake was fairly easy walking, but along one edge there was a ridge that they climbed to get a view back down to the lake below. It was a little bit of an effort for Castiel, but they took it at a pace he could handle, taking a long break atop the ridge to drink water and appreciate the scenery. After they'd picked their way back down, they made a second loop of the lake lower down, joining the lines of other hikers and enjoying the cool air emanating from the water in the warming afternoon air. This time, when they returned to the car, Dean suggested they use the afternoon to drive a scenic byway known as the "Peak to Peak", and Castiel accepted, his legs finally starting to feel the strain of an entire morning spent on the move. The rest of their journey was spent companionably in the cabin of the Impala, soaking in more mountain views than Castiel ever thought he'd see in person. Traversing the national forests, looking out across the Continental Divide… it bordered on surreal at times, as though Castiel couldn't possibly be the one experiencing it.

The very full day ended with the two of them sitting outside their motel room, in front of a small fire pit. Castiel was scrolling through the Instagram update Dean had made at lunch. Every shot could have been out of a magazine.

"You take such wonderful photographs," he remarked.

Dean shrugged. "Hard to take a bad one up here… You just point and shoot."

The commenters seemed to be coming down on Castiel's side of the argument, raving about the beauty of the pictures—and a few about the beauty of the photographer, at least on the selfies. Suddenly, he stopped reading, his buoyant mood dented. One vicious comment, a spiteful slur embedded in an otherwise cheerful thread, swam in his vision. He didn't want to mention it to Dean… if he delayed, perhaps Charlie would see it first and delete it. Still, it shocked him, and he wondered how many times a day Dean felt similar blows, took hits to his confidence. He looked over to where Dean was gazing into the fire, quiet and content. "...I don't think I ever told you how brave it was for you to come out publicly."

Dean turned and raised an eyebrow, baffled by the lack of segue, then shrugged. "Somebody's gotta do it. Might as well be me."

"Can I… Can I ask you something personal?"

There was a wariness to Dean's eyes, though he answered, "...Sure."

"Did you… Is your family supportive?"

Once again, Dean shrugged. "Yeah, doesn't matter at all to Sammy. He's only mad I didn't tell him sooner. My mom just… worries, mostly."

"My mother also worries about my asexuality. I believe she is mostly concerned that I will be lonely, not any of the more stereotypical motherly worries, like grandchildren."

Dean snorted. "My mom gave up waiting on me to bring home a nice girl and give her grandkids a long time ago. Now she's moved on to harassing Sam, although between you and me, it'll be a cold day in hell before that one happens either…"

That was something interesting that Castiel wanted to ask about, but he didn't want to get distracted from the current topic, so he set it aside before continuing. "Do you ever wonder what your father would have thought?" There was something there. Castiel knew it, and as much as he knew he shouldn't press Dean on it, he couldn't seem to stop himself.

The change in Dean's demeanor was immediate; his expression locked down so firmly, his face might have been stone. "He's dead, so it doesn't matter what he would have thought." The tone was all finality.

Mother worrying, father deceased… It all amounted to the same response he had fed his interviewers. "Dean, I…" Castiel tried to tread carefully. "It's just, the change you made to leave the hunting business, the way you never talk about him…" Dean's expression tightened. "I can't help but feel as though it's all related."

"I just wanted a change," Dean insisted, but the way he glared at the fire pit told a different story.

"If you think he wouldn't have approved or—"

"No, Cas." Dean's tone grew sharp. "It ain't that, I—I don't want to talk about it." He pushed up from his chair, abruptly in motion. "I just…" He ran a hand through his hair, agitated, looking anywhere but Castiel. "I need some air."

"Dean—"

But Dean was already striding away, heading across the parking lot to the street beyond. Castiel sighed, put his hand to his face. He had only himself to blame; he knew Dean wouldn't respond well to the questioning and pursued it anyway. Still, it wasn't simply his own selfish curiosity at play. There was pain there, under the surface. No matter how many times he gently offered to listen, Dean kept pushing his own emotions aside, trying to bury them and convince himself and everyone else that they didn't matter.

Castiel leaned back, looking up at a hazy black dome studded with only a few of the brightest stars. He didn't know how to convince Dean, but they did matter. Dean mattered.

Without companionship, he felt uncomfortably exposed, alone in front of the motel. After wrestling with the lid to snuff the fire pit and ensure they didn't spark some newsworthy blaze, he went back to their room, changed for bed. Then, he got himself something to read and sat up, awaiting Dean's return.