Author's note- Woo boy- short, whumpy chapter here. I hope you like it. I have another chapter ready, just needs to get edited. But I wanted to post this now, so you wouldn't have to wait.

So, here's the thing about horses- I know a bit about horses. A bit. They fascinate me, but scare me. Face it- they could kill you if they wanted to. I once knew a girl who was really, really brilliant with horses, and she used to insist that there were two ways of being with a horse- you could either-

A- slowly learn to ride them, and hate it and love it and hate it alternately as you went, learning the discomforts and peculiarities along the way. Eventually, one day, you would realized that you had sort of learned how to read the horse, and you would start working together on each ride.

B- have an intense "birthing" moment with the horse, as you both adjusted to each other through an intrinsic connection. These sorts of things really only happen to people who really know horses, I have to assume.

The first time Cas meets Dean's ride, Lampblack, he had an unintentional B moment with him. It won't happen again. Now, he's back to square one, and he's going to learn this in the A method.

Also- Lampblack is a destrier- a kind of Medieval War Horse. Really big, very powerful. Wings is a courser- sort of a little lanky horse used for hunting. Good at going over different types of ground. Just in case anyone was curious as to what was going on with that.

All that being said, you should know- I really don't claim to know anything about horses, really- I'm just sharing what I do know. Please don't flame me with regards to anything I just said. I love you guys.

Castiel wiggled in discomfort on the back of Wings, the horse that had been unexpectedly produced by Jo earlier in the day. It was his second time on the back of a horse, and Cas was just beginning to suspect that he didn't like it.

He was, at first, fascinated by the differences between this lithe gray mare and Lampblack, as the Prince's stallion had turned out to be named. When Castiel had been vaulted onto the back of that animal, it felt at first as though he was riding a comet. Later, after the arrival of Prince Dean, it had become like a raging river under a raft, forceful and wild, but changeable and responsive, surging into directions chosen by it's talented rider. Wings, by contrast, felt more like he had thought riding a horse would feel like- varying in speed and basic direction according to her own will while perhaps vaguely aware of a presence on her back, but most likely not. She trotted over roots and wove between trees with what looked like enviable grace, but in practice was a shocking rough and bumpy ride, with lots of pitched turns and sudden stops to investigate bunches of grass. Prince Dean had tried instructing him at first, urging him to rock his hips forward and feel her movements through her reigns, but Castiel found him somewhat less helpful than the Prince seemed to think he was.

"You will never have as easy a time as you did with Lampblack," cautioned Dean, with a touch more mirth in his voice than Cas found polite. "He's been trained his whole life to handle well in battle. Your little mare was most likely ranging horse." Cas wondered again where Jo had gotten his "little mare." He hoped that it wasn't anywhere that would get her in trouble- but then, in second thought- if she had committed some sort of crime to get the horse; he was even now leaving with the evidence.

Their first few hours passed in a mixture of tension and worry- Castiel found himself constantly peering into the darkness in an attempt to observe the Prince's features for signs of pain while the Prince stared West, toward the village, looking for any sign of firelight that marked sentries, or worse- patrols. The forest thickened around them, obscuring more and more of the world with every passing minute. The leafy coverings grew pervasive and ever higher, creating a strangely cavern-like space around them. Castiel had never been so deep into the wood- the few times he had left the Castle Lawrence grounds since his arrival in that land had all been to a nearby town for trading with Ellen and a group of Lawrencian servants and guards. It was a two-day's walk south along a broad, open road.

When they could see the moon at it's zenith peeking through the black roof of foliage above them, Dean made a clicking noise at Lampblack, and the big horse slowed to a walk. Wings trotted up alongside the Prince, and Dean reached out and laid a hand on Castiel's. Some sort of magic, as far as Cas could tell, radiated from the Prince's hand through the reigns, and Wings slowed to a saunter shoulder-to-shoulder with Lampblack.

"Why are we slowing now?" asked Castiel, genuinely curious.

"It's midnight," said the Prince in a low voice, nodding toward the sky. "No one is following us, we've made good progress- we don't want to tire the horses. We may need them to bolt later on."

Cas nodded, even though he knew the Prince couldn't see him. He wanted to insist that Dean stop- he wanted to check his wound and change the bandages and rest his own aching hips and back- but he knew that the Prince wouldn't assent to such an idea.

The thought of the bandage wrapped around the Prince's waist wrenched Cas' mind back to the night before, and he flinched as he recalled the first time he saw- really saw- Prince Dean's awful wound.

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It hadn't been until he was nearly at Jo and Ellen's cottage at the edge of Twyfory Wood when he had taken a wrong step and jarred the Prince's fragile composure, causing him to let out a wrenched cry of pain. The arm around Cas' shoulders tensed, and Dean's grip wound into his tunic.

The abrupt movement almost sent Castiel to his knees, and he was suddenly aware of sticky warmth against his side. Sliding carefully down toward the ground, Cas lifted the arm from around him and moved to untie Dean's other wrist from Lampblack's reigns, where it had been lashed at the Prince's insistence hours earlier.

The sheer amount of blood that had washed over Castiel and the Prince had been enough to make Cas weak in the knees. When he peeled back the Prince's tunic and looked at the wound itself he couldn't believe that Dean was still attempting to walk. "What's the order?" asked Prince Dean, only barely conscious. His right arm curled up against his chest, laced with bruises and rubbed raw from the reigns that had twisted around it.

Cas looked around the encroaching wood helplessly. He had his tunic, and the Prince's. He could slice one up and create a sort of bandage, no matter how meager a bandage it may be, but the sense of vulnerability he felt was stronger than anything he had felt before in his life. The empty land around him felt like the canvas that covered a target for Gabriel's archery practice. And Jo and Ellen's cottage was so very near.

Sighing, he gently lifted Prince Dean's aching right arm and began looping Lampblack's reigns around it. The Prince shuddered and seemed to deflate. He kept his eyes closed as he asked, faintly, "your order?"

Cas gulped and nodded. "Yes," he said, and his voice sounded strange in his ears. He knew that he was taking a chance with the Prince's life. They may make it to Ellen's cottage, or the Prince may die before they get there. Or you could stay here and he will most certainly die- you wouldn't have to take any chances at all, said a voice inside his head. "Yes, that's the order," Cas reiterated to Dean.

He slipped the Prince's arm over his shoulder and heaved him up. He could feel Dean struggling to help him as he did so, pulling hard on the reigns against the heavy form of Lampblack. "One more step," growled Castiel into the Prince's ear, and slowly, they began to move forward.

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It was surprising to think that moment had been less than a day ago from where they walked now, and Castiel would have liked to believe that Jo's balms and sachets and careful ministrations had done a week's worth of healing, he strongly doubted it. In fact, he had a sneaking suspicion that it was the effects of a thick paste that had been slathered on the wound- "for pain," Jo had said, that was giving them this window of movement, of escape.

Jo had put together three more sachets of the paste for the journey- Cas had them tucked in a saddle bag, as well as two bound that Jo had wrapped with springs of lavender. "For sleep," she said, and apologized that she didn't have more of either packet.

The horses moved into a clearing and the world silently lit up with starlight. Dean clicked his tongue quietly and Lampblack slowed to a stop, immediately dropping his head toward the soft grass at his feet. Cas held Wings back at the edge of the clearing and watched as the Prince dropped his head backward onto his shoulders and gazed skyward. He seemed, for a moment, to be bathing in the pale light that fell on his hair and face, and Cas was struck for what felt like the hundredth time with how surreal the last several hours had seemed.

He didn't want to endlessly compare today to yesterday, or question again his motives for volunteering for this mad journey. His mind was too full already with worries about Ellen and Gabriel, with the soaring highs of flying on the back on Lampblack though fire and over fields, with the crushing exhaustion of all he had experienced in too short a time. Instead he watched Dean silently commune with the sky, and felt an unexpected surge of loyalty that came with being a man in the Prince's party.

After what felt like several long minutes to Castiel, Dean took a deep breath and looked back at him. "We are still a bit closer to the road than I would like," he said. "We're going to change direction, but I want you to know that I know where we are going, alright?" He gave Cas an imploring look, and Cas realized that he was waiting for a response.

"Oh. Yes," said Cas, nudging Wings toward the Prince. "I hadn't thought to question your direction, my lord." He felt a thrill, or maybe a kind of fear, whenever Dean addressed him directly, but he was also conscious of something else- a sort of fondness or respect for the mere act of being asked for his opinion of the Prince's decisions.

Dean smiled sadly at him, and Cas thought he saw the Prince decide something before he began to speak again. "Cas, my men call me Captain. My servants call me Lord." He looked at Cas pointedly, and Cas caught his cue.

"Captain. Your directions, Captain," he tried.

Dean smiled tightly. "No, Cas. I mean- you aren't really either." He frowned as Cas's confusion. "You were never given a weapon and shield and training in return for your loyalty, and you most certainly aren't at Castle Lawrence scrubbing pots anymore." Cas said nothing, but his face remained unsure. "You are my man, and I am yours. How about you call me Dean?" asked Dean, deciding to spell it out.

A smile quirked at the corner of Cas's mouth. "Dean," he said, nodding. Dean nodded back. "Cas," he said, and clicked his tongue at Lampblack. The huge black stallion tossed his mane and began to trot away from the clearing. Wings followed at an amble.

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As the sun rose before them, Cas became slowly but ever increasingly more impressed with his little horse. The ground that had been shrouded in shadow for their whole journey was becoming clearer, and Cas was pretty sure that he wouldn't have been able to navigate it on foot. Twisted roots, unexpected slopes and sudden pits covered the landscape, all rimmed with concealing ferns and other underbrush. Around him Cas heard water trickling from unseen rivulets and streams, and his fondness for Wings grew a bit more.

Ahead of him, Dean and Lampblack seemed to be having more difficulty, as evidenced by their frequent stops and sudden curving avoidances of obstructions. As the trees grew higher and closer, they had been forced to ride in single file, and Cas hadn't been able to see Dean clearly since they had stopped in the clearing hours earlier. He stared at the slope of Dean's shoulders and tried to imagine how the Prince was feeling and when he would stop to rest.

Castiel was shockingly, painfully aware of himself. Even with his horse's impressive footwork, it had been a bumpy ride, and Cas hurt. His hips and lower back felt wrenched and exhausted, his hands were raw and chafed with the action of gripping the reigns. His thighs were achingly sore and even his shoulders and neck felt tight from the endless tense ride. He hoped that Dean couldn't feel any of these casual hurts in addition to his awful wound. He had to assume that the pain of riding went away with experience, or no one would ever get on the animals twice.

It had just occurred to him to ask Dean when he could reasonably expect to feel better when he noticed that something was wrong. Lampblack stalled suddenly, and seemed to hesitate before stepping down a small slope toward a glade alongside a quick, clear stream. Waiting for Dean's direction, the horse tossed his head lightly. Cas looked to Lampblack's rider, and saw him slump forward towards the horse's neck.

Cas scrambled from his mount's back as quickly as he could, hitting the ground harder that he thought he would with a hiss of breath. He thighs and knees screamed as he struggled to his feet and hurried forward. Forgetting to drop his reigns in his haste, he accidentally dragged Wings forward with him a step before he stopped to untangle the leather from his wrists.

Cas stepped up alongside Lampblack and reached for the Prince. Lampblack was a lot bigger than Wings, and even pressed forward against the horse's neck, Dean face was above Cas's eye line. Cas placed his hand gently on Dean's shoulder, and the Prince gasped, but kept his face hidden, his hands curled in Lampblack's mane.

"Dean," said Cas quietly, and the Prince turned his head toward his voice. Dean's face was pale and tired. His eyes slid in and out of focus and his jaw was set. "It's all right, Dean," said Castiel, and Dean closed his eyes tightly and pressed his forhead against Lampblack, stifling a sob. "We'll stop," Cas continued, reaching up to take Lampblack's reigns from Dean's hand.

Cas lead the horses down the brief ledge into the clearing by the stream, one set of reigns in each hand. Dean breathed tightly next to his ear, and Cas kept up a steady stream of soothing words. "We've come such a long way," he said in a voice that he hoped was both calm and hopeful. Dean's hand reached out and fell over Castiel's, over Lampblack's reigns.

"I want Sammy," he said in a small voice.

"I know," said Castiel.

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Castiel tried not to look at the Prince as he changed his bandage. He was not surprised to see that the wound was seeping blood, the stitches pulled to the point at which they could be considered wounds themselves. Cas sighed and began to clean off the blood with a rag made from shredded Lawrencian tunics.

Dean took small, gasping breathes as Cas worked and looked about him, taking in the clearing, the stream. "I saw Gabriel flush out a damn wolf right here," he declared suddenly, and with a conversational air.

Cas looked up in surprise. "You have been here before?" he asked. "With Gabriel?"

"Oh, yeah," said Dean with a smile. "I hunt all over my woods."

Cas snorted at his indication of ownership, then he thought of something- "Wait," he said, looking at Dean. "We are still on Lawrencian land?"

Dean chuckled, then winced, pressing a hand to his side above his wound. "And we will be for another day and a half, at least."

Cas thought hard for a moment, then explored the topic further. "Is Briory Commons on Lawrencian land?" he asked.

"The quarry market? Yes," Dean looked a little confused at the question. "It's one of the hazards of having a resource like a quarry- huge revenue, but you have to locate the primary market right next to it, if only for ease of trade. It would have been nice to have a market that size right at Lawrence- more defensible, but what are you gonna do?" Dean chatted conversationally, his voice only catching once or twice.

Castiel felt as though a chasm had opened between he and Dean- the Prince. He tried to picture the countryside as a hawk would see it. How far was the market from the castle? Was he further from home now than he was when he had gone with Ellen to buy ribbon and oils? Had he really not left Lawrencian land since he had first come to the castle?

"He did the most amazing thing. He had his bird track the prey the wolf was tracking…" The Prince was speaking. Cas snapped his head up. "The pelt is in my room." Dean smiled at the memory of the hunt. "And Victor tracked one of my kills, a hart, right through this very stream. That was a feast. Were you there?"

Cas felt something well in him. Frustration. Envy, perhaps. He remembered the days of Gabriel gone hunting the Prince's party, sitting alone in his room in the stables. He remembered feeding the fires under the huge ovens in the Castle Lawrence kitchen when the call was heard that the Prince's party was returning. Once, as Cas cleaned a deer brought back by a hunting party, his hand had snagged an arrowhead that had broken off within the animal's neck. He could still see the scar from where it had dug deeply into his palm.

"No," said Cas. "I was never there." Was it simple luck of the draw that had made Gabriel a guest at Dean's table with his men, while Castiel worked out of sight, deep in the bowels of the castle? Even as he thought it, Cas felt a wave of guilt rise within him. That same luck had made Gabriel viscerally, palpably present during the rape of their homeland, had forced the boy to watch as everything he loved burned and he was forced into servitude, while Castiel's memory conveniently failed him. Perhaps that was a perverse sort of luck, too.

Dean could see something flicker through Cas's face, and immediately saw his mistake. "I'm sorry, Cas," he said quietly. "It almost like, if I don't really think about anything, it's all just a landscape that I know, and nothing has really changed." His eyes welled, and he closed them, raising a hand to his forehead. "It hurts, Cas," he admitted after a moment.

Cas shook his head, and his moment of self-pity passed away. "I've got something for that," he said, and took Jo's packets out of the pack beside him. "We don't have much of it, but I don't think we have to make hard choices about use until tomorrow, at least." Cas finished wrapping Dean's side, and scooted up to sit beside him, their backs against the extended roots of a huge, shady tree. For a moment, they just sat together and watched the horses drink from the stream and pull at the tufts of grass that poked out above the small dell.

"Why are you here?" asked Dean, and when Cas looked at him, he could see that the Prince's eyes were drifting closed. "Aren't all your friends back at the castle?"

"I hope not," Cas sighed. "I guess I think that there is a chance that Gabriel got away, or maybe captured…"

Dean snorted. "I doubt it. They couldn't hold Gabe."

"I guess I just have this… sense… that I will find my way home, but I had to leave to find it. Maybe I was meant to be in your… I was meant to be your man." Cas tucked his knees against his chest and looked over at the Prince. His eyes had closed and his breathing was evening- an indication that Jo's medicines were working.

"And I'm yours…." Dean sighed as he drifted to sleep.