‘Here goes nothing ’, Dean thought to himself, quickly slipping out of his t-shirt and tossing it to the back of the pick-up truck he'd arrived in. He didn't hesitate to drop his boxers, he’d gone over this in his head more times than he even admitted to himself, and had come to terms with the fact that he would be doing this. It was part and parcel of this format, so he'd better nut up and do the thing.

The heat of the day was already beating down and it wasn't even nine in the morning yet. The Bushveld of South Africa seriously wasn't a joke.

Looking around, all he could see was dry grass, a few bushes and some distant trees, outcropping of rocks a way further, and not much else. He’s already beginning to worry about water, and he hasn't even met his partner yet.

Speak of the devil, there he was, the approaching man suspiciously adept at taking long strides on the rough pebbled ground barefoot, when Dean's bare feet had already reminded of themselves oh being, well.. Bare.

Dean cleared his throat and smiled politely, taking a step towards the other man, hand extended for a greeting. He stopped in his tracks when the stranger smiled a gummy wide smile which crinkled his nose, and Dean tried very hard not to notice how heart stoppingly adorable it was. Grabbing this stranger’s hand firmly, Dean swallowed. Hard. Fuck if that wasn’t the most gorgeous face he’d ever seen in his life. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from the bluest eyes to ever blue.

He'd seen naked people before, obviously, and he was perfectly fine with running around butt nekkid for this thing, totally understanding that being naked didn't equate sex, but the other man was something he hadn't prepared for. So Dean blinked away the pressing need to take a good look-over and concentrates strictly on his eyes, as if that was even unavoidable, returning the handshake that had gone a bit lax and probably lasting way too fucking long, but it was all Dean could really do right now.

”Castiel Novak, nice to meet you.” There was earnestness on the man's, Castiel's, face in a way Dean couldn't remember seeing on anyone's features before. He instantly seemed like someone Dean could trust with his life, and the thought almost made him shudder with the profoundness of it. It was weird as all hell and back.

He decided to stop thinking beyond the absolutely necessary, when his brain offered an urgent notice of how cute this guy's smile really was. Nevertheless, Dean couldn’t stop taking notice of the broad shoulders and the smattering of hair on a very, very handsome chest.

”Dean Winchester.” He wasn’t too sure if there was a grimace on his face, or the way he dropped Castiel's hand like it burned was a bit off. Maybe this guy already thought he was a freak for staring and having a hand-holding session with their asses out in the middle of nowhere. 

Suddenly Dean was all too aware of the cameramen and the truck still idling behind him, the producers making sure things went smoothly before leaving them to their own devices for the next twenty days.

His throat clicked, too fucking dry, when he tried to swallow around the feeling of embarrassment. Not knowing what to do with his hands since his skin didn't come with pockets, apparently, Dean waved at the nearby bush where he'd spied their survival satchels.

”Wanna see what we got? Did you bring anything useful to the game?” Dean wanted to groan in disbelief of himself when Castiel's smile slipped. 

Dean gave himself a swift mental kick in the ass to get back into gear. He wasn't here to protect anyone's delicate sensibilities anyway. He'd just have to keep his goddamn libido in check.

Dean was saved by the producers catching their attention, and after a dual thumbs up, the car left them in its dust. At least they weren't at each other's throats. Naked as a newborn and if completely honest, slightly terrified.

Castiel gave him a cursory glance, shrugged, and started ahead, Dean hanging his head for a second before catching up with him. ”I brought a primitive bow. Had to leave my pride and joy behind, too techno.”

They reached the bush, and Dean found a metal pot, courtesy of Castiel, and his bow and five arrows at his feet. His machete must be in the sack.

Castiel showed him a flint and steel kit. Fire for sure. ”That's awesome, Cas,” Dean slapped a hand on his bare shoulder, then paused. ”Can I call you Cas?” He was asking the three men at large, unsure if nicknames were allowed, or welcomed. A cameraman gave a thumbs up, and Castiel seemed to be staring straight into Dean's soul.

”Sure.” He didn't sound all that sure. ”Is there a name I should call you, or does Dean suffice?”

Okay. This guy was obviously a comedian.

Dean just looked at Castiel for a moment, before an already familiar smile started to form on the man's lips. Maybe the guy just had a dry sense of humor.

”You can call me princess if you like, but I prefer plain old Dean.” The answering laugh did a number on Dean's insides. And he hadn't even drank any rank water lately.

Further inspection uncovered their diary cams they were supposed to spill their guts for, and a folded, crude map, the 'X' marking their extraction point on day twenty-one.

Cas tapped a finger to the paper,”I'd say our best bet for water is further past those acacias. See how there's more growth marked here? Maybe we'll find an animal trail to follow.”

”There's enough daylight left to try to find water first. We'll worry about our shelter later,” Dean nodded, squinting while approximating the distance. He was going to miss his boots.

Shouldering his satchel, Castiel - Cas - caught Dean off-guard hard enough for him to jerk his head back; ”By the way, I usually wake up with a hard on,” Cas announced casually, breaking the eye contact and turning to head towards the acacia trees. ”Just thought you should know, to avoid any unpleasantness.”

Dean scurried to catch up, mouth hanging open, drawing up a blank. ”Okay then.”

 

They waded through the knee-high grass in silence, both concentrating on their foot placements since the grass was like needles on their bare feet if you stepped on it wrong.

After two hours of little if no change in the scenery, the undergrowth started to look greener. It got their hopes up, and they fought their thirst by putting a small pebble in their mouths to activate the salivary glands, effectively recycling their own water.

An hour more of trudging through the grass, they happened to spot a small clearing under a large tree, a stark bald patch of ground, ideal for setting up a camp with some adjustments.

There weren't any clear animal tracks in the vicinity, so they weren't served on a platter for lions and leopards, and it was small enough to cat-proof easily if they decided to stay there longer.

Right now there was no point in scorching themselves under the sun. They agreed on a break and sat under the tree, leaning on the trunk, thankful for the small reprieve the shadow allowed. It wasn't water, but it was something.

Dean woke up startled. Something had alarmed him, and this wasn't the time or the place to be taking naps. The heat was doing a number on him he hadn't expected, and he started to worry about heat exhaustion.

“I was just going to go take a leak,” Cas frowned down to Dean. Him getting up had roused Dean. “Are you ok?”

He did a quick check; His head didn't hurt, he could breath fine, he didn't feel sick. All systems functioning within normal parameters. “I'm fine. Just a bit tired, 's all. I'll get over it.”

“As you wish, your highness,” Cas did a cheeky little salute and went on his way. Dean brushed a hand across his face, leaning his head to the tree with an eye roll. He wasn't sure if three weeks was going to be a long time, or not long enough.

When Cas returned, they decided not to rest on their laurels while they still had some juice left in them. They needed firewood if they wanted to last through the night.

Dean took Cas's offered hand and let himself be yanked up, grimacing at the sand in weird places. He'd better get used to it.

 

Half an hour into their trek, the grass under their feet was green and pliable, and they appeared to have arrived to a virtual paradise.

A small pond glimmered in the sunlight, obviously used by the wildlife, judging from the wide track leading to the edge. It was all Dean could do not to rush and dunk his head in to drink his fill. He did have some common sense, contrary to popular belief, and understood full well the water had to be boiled first. This wasn't a clear, merrily running creek, and probably had antelope shit in it.

That did nothing to diminish his joy, and by the looks of it, Cas was right there with him. With Cas carrying the metal pot, Dean settled for a victorious fist-bump and a couple pats on Cas's back. He was so close to being re-hydrated he could practically taste it.

They'd boiled the water then and there, Cas using his flint steel striker with practiced ease. Dean was no slouch in the fire starting department himself, but he had to admire how it was like lighting a match for Cas. It was beginning to look like the man sure knew what he was doing out here.

After the delicious, albeit hot water, they'd set about actualizing their camp with renewed vigour.

Their arms were pinpricked by the brambles they'd gathered around the clearing. Those thorns and the fire should keep big, hungry cats away, at least long enough for them to grab their pointy sticks Dean liked to call spears.

It had been a bitch to drag the prickly branches around, but at least they felt safer than just staying out in the open.

With their water source and the luxury of fire, Dean was good to call this home for the next three weeks.

”I'll be back in half an hour,” Cas announced, picking up the machete and accepting a GoPro- a small camera that the film crew strapped to his head. Cas gave a jaunty wave and headed to the direction of the watering hole, leaving Dean to twiddle his thumbs. He tried to ignore the light press of the wireless microphone fashioned into a necklace at the base of his throat. With these accessories, Dean had never felt so utterly naked in his life.

 

Cas came back as promised, with a few, deep green, pointy leaves Dean had recognized as aloe earlier. He took the leaves Cas gave him with a raised brow. ”Aren't there studies showing this stuff don't do shit?”

At Cas's frown, he changed his tone, ”I know there are others that say it does, but...”

”Would you rather suffer an infection than try this?” Cas was smearing the gel from the leaves on his arms, lifting his chin towards Dean expectantly. “It won't hurt, I promise,” he grinned, clearly amused by Dean's reluctance.

Shrugging, Dean caught some of the gel on his fingers, conceding the point.

“And you're sunburnt.”

Dean rolled his shoulders and hissed sharply. It felt like his skin was two sizes too small. Son of a bitch!

“We can't all tan so perfectly,” Dean grunted, affronted and begrudging the way Cas's skin seemed to glow with its glorious shade. “Some of us have to turn pink and sprout seven thousand freckles.”

“I love your freckles,” Cas said matter-of-factly and snatched the machete up from the ground. He cut some of the aloe into smaller pieces. “Move over,” he ordered, pushing Dean to scoot to give Cas space behind his back.

Dean tried to keep his noises to himself, but a groan escaped when Cas spread the gel across a particularly sensitive spot. The cooling effect was immediate. “Thank you,” he murmured, closing his eyes when he felt a hand snake up to his hair, rubbing his scalp.

“We should check for ticks,” Cas said quietly, not stopping his ministrations.

“Later. I don't want to move.”

There was a silence that lasted a touch too long.

“You don't have to.”

 

They'd found a sturdy log, dried and light enough for the two of them to carry, so they'd hauled it back to camp for a seat so they didn't have to be digging dirt from their ass cracks every time they sat down. Cas had found it comfortable enough to use as a makeshift pillow, and laid down, apparently content as the cat that got the canary. Crossing his ankles and shutting his eyes, Cas relaxed while Dean remained seated and whittled away with his machete, just shaving off splinters, as his eyes were glued to Cas's peaceful face. Dean's heart thudded faster, and though Castiel couldn't see him, Dean's thoughts alone made him flush even redder than the sunburn.

He stopped splintering the stick and chanced a look at the rest of Cas's fine form, finally allowing himself to actually absorb what he was seeing. The guy was hot as hell with a face which put any angel to shame. Miles of tan skin over lean muscles made Dean want to ask if by any chance Cas enjoyed nudity outside Discovery Channel shows, and he stared at his thick runner's thighs for longer than was entirely appropriate when there were a two person crew filming his every move. Shit.

Said crew of two just hovered around them, keeping their distance and not talking to them, and, impossibly, Dean had forgotten about them until his brain had taken a swift turn to the inappropriate. At least he wasn't staring straight at Cas's dick.

He stole a quick glance. Damn. Gorgeous, even limp.