On the fourth day they were ready to go as soon as there was enough light to see colors without problems, correctly identifying vegetation was crucial if they didn't want to end up with the runs, or worse, and before it was too hot to do much else than to lie down to bake and wish for the sun to go away.

They were set to do some foraging, determined to find something to eat today, Dean trusting their combined research enough to feel confident there would be something in his stomach today. He even took his bow and arrows along, just in case.

They hadn't ventured too far yesterday, mostly just doing water runs and gathering firewood for the night, in an effort to conserve their energy for today. Knowing how to pace yourself was essential in a survival situation, so even if nothing actually kept him here except his determination to see this to the end, Dean took that rule seriously.

They passed their pond and headed further into the woodlands, their spears doubling as hiking staffs.

Eventually, they came to a tree that was clearly bearing fruit, but they were too high to reach. So they focused on the ground, and in moments Cas showed Dean an odd looking, spiky, yellow fruit.

Dean did recognize it as edible, but couldn't for the life of him remember the name.

“Horny cucumber,” Cas offered, slipping it into his satchel.

Dean just stared in amused disbelief. If it was a Freudian slip, or if that was actually what the fruit was called, but Dean was pretty sure ‘horny’ wasn’t it. He had to get a grip before he tackled Cas and kissed him stupid, the production crew be damned.

All in all, they found seven of the fruit, the last which Dean sliced in half. Handing Cas his, Dean sniffed at the fruit. It smelled very... Fruity. But it looked a lot like passion fruit, though green, so he gave it a try. It was deliriously delicious. Like bananas and limes mixed together, heaven on his tongue after going without anything substantial for a while. The juice gods’ nectar, and the first bite made his stomach growl.

Dean wasn't sure if it was the hunger he was feeling, or if it really tasted that good, but he planted his face into the flesh and swallowed almost without chewing.

Cas seemed to enjoy it in equal measure, judging by the way his face was covered in juices and the ‘ mmm ’s and the lip licking which distracted Dean even from the divine taste. 

Some carbs were just what they needed. And there would be more where the horned cucumbers came from. Horned, Dean’s memory supplied helpfully. Not horny. Dean snickered to himself and disguised it in a cough, like he’d just inhaled some of the juices . At least Cas wasn’t as infallible as he seemed. At least they wouldn’t starve. Well, at least not nutritionally. 

 

Arriving at the camp, laden with their hoard of fruit, some leaves for tea and firewood, complete with a few fruits from a Baobab tree, made Dean sigh in relief. There wasn't any rush to get water now that they had the juicy food, and Dean was going to take full advantage of that.

He'd grown up in Kansas, so he wasn't a stranger to heat, but this climate was so dry it seemed to wring out every last drop of him. He seriously needed a break.

Cas, on the other hand, seemed fresh as a daisy, his tan already darkened evenly during the past couple days all the way to his disturbingly nice feet, and was obviously planning something.

“Don't you think we could spruce up the place a little?” Cas tilted a questioning brow to Dean.

“Yes, a real bed would be an improvement, know where to find one of those?” Dean hadn't meant to sound so grumpy, but Cas took it in stride.

“Something like that. Like all that grass could be useful, or would you rather just lie on the ground?”

Cas had a point. If nothing else, it would at least offer insulation from the ground  against the cold nights.

Dean watched Cas traipse off, annoyingly light on his feet on the unforgiving terrain, and rose with a groan. That man would be the death of him. And he missed his boots.

The task of bundling up the tall grass and bringing it back to the camp wasn't that bad, really. Cas did all the chopping and distracted Dean from his bad mood with the muscles in his back dancing when he hacked away, making Dean wonder how they might feel under his hands in a different scenario.

What was strange was how easily Dean had slipped into the touchy-feely way Cas acted around him. Even while foraging, the man had, instead of leaning against the tree right there, just planted his hand on Dean's upper back for balance to remove a splinter from his foot. It must’ve been Dean’s imagination, but it sort of felt like it had lingered there a moment longer than was strictly necessary.

And if Dean thought about it, Cas always sat next to Dean so that their thighs touched if either one of them moved.

Or how, while Dean had blushed at the weird intimacy, it had been completely natural for Cas to poke around in Dean's armpits to look for ticks. He'd checked his genitalia on his own, though, thank you very much.

It did help that while inspecting Dean's scalp, Cas had given him an awesome head massage each time. The closeness, when Dean sat between Cas's legs and turned into putty, had been so natural Dean hadn't had time to really question it. Maybe it was just Cas's way of being around people, talking without a filter and absolutely ignorant of the concept of personal space.

Dean didn't dare hope. Probably just wishful thinking.

They'd laid the grass thickly on the cleared space they had set for themselves, close to the fire, and padded their log seat the best they could without tying the grass blades together. It wasn't the Ritz, but it'd do.

The rest of the day went uneventfully, just the menial tasks of getting water and firewood in their not-so-busy schedule. But this was all part of the challenge they had come here to conquer - how to handle the boredom.

They'd agreed that it wasn't necessary for them to stay up to watch the fire since they both woke up several times during the night anyway, and if the fire went out, it wasn't much of an effort to stoke it back to life again.

In guaranteed Cas fashion, as Dean had learned, he'd promptly suggested they sleep close to each other to share their body heat.

 

So here they were, laying on their new bedding, facing one another, under the striking sight of the Milky Way practically competing with the moon in brightness.

Dean wished he could see the aquamarine of Cas's eyes, instead of the dark gray the night turned everything into.

“What do you do when you're not surviving naked with strangers?” Cas's tone was low, as if to preserve some semblance of privacy.

“I'm a mechanic,” Dean replied, equally quiet. “Fixing my Baby was my first real assignment after Bobby took us under his wing.”

“Baby?”

Dean grinned proudly. “Yeah. A 1967 Chevy Impala. Almost as black as this night.”

“You must be very good with your hands,” Cas said huskily, bumping Dean's knee with his own.

Dean barked a laugh, pushing Cas lightly by the shoulder. “I aim to please.”

“Bobby taught you?”

Dean sobered, looking away for a moment. “I knew some stuff before, but he's the one who gave me the overalls and told me to start moving with the drip pan. Worked my way up from there.” Dean paused, gathering his thoughts. How much of this sharing thing was he going to do?

The way Cas didn't seem to expect anything from him made the decision easy. “I worked there until he died two years ago. I mean, I still work at the garage, but it wasn't that easy. It almost all went to shit, since Sam and I were the benefactors and had a bunch of bills to deal with we knew nothing about. Had to sell the business to get everything covered.”

Dean cleared his throat and continued; “The buyer hired me and the rest of the gang. I don't know what I would've done if he didn't. Dick Roman.” The look on Cas's face told that he knew all about Dick.

“A real smarmy jackass I'd love to punch in the face, but it pays the bills,” Dean shrugged. He'd made his peace with it. At least he loved his job, which was more than most people could say.

Dean shifted, straightening his arm over Cas's head, his fingers brushing the softness of his hair. He hoped Cas didn't notice his involuntary flinch. Then he decided to push his luck and started playing with a strand. “What about you?”

Cas had closed his eyes, and now blinked at Dean. “I go surviving with strangers. Appropriately dressed, though.”

“What, you're professional at this?”

“Doesn't it show?”

“It does.” Dean nodded sincerely. “You're so sure with everything you do, like you'd already been here for weeks.”

Cas squinted, and seemed to approve what he was seeing. “I make a living doing what I know and have grown to love. I can think of worse things to be doing.” The next words were almost inaudible and Dean had to strain to hear. “Or better.”

They fell silent, the night a blanket around them, and Dean's heart started beating faster. His fingers tingled.

Cas raised his hand and touched a finger to Dean's nose, drawing a line down to his lips. “Would you mind very much if I kissed you?” Cas's eyes were so dark when he spoke softly, carefully, that disconcerting earnest look on his face again.

Dean swallowed hard, and managed a whisper; “ Please do .”

Cas pushed at Dean's shoulder gently, following the movement and leaning closer until his lips pressed on Dean's.

In slow movements, their mouths slotted together perfectly, and Dean sacrificed half of a thought for the distinctly sour taste in his mouth, speaking volumes of teeth crudely cleaned with finely ground charcoal and his finger. The thought vanished by way of Cas touching his tongue to the seam of his lips, and Dean opened his mouth easily.

His hands wandered up to the back of Cas's head, fingers burying into the mess of his hair.

The film crew could go get bent for all he cared. Even better if this was on film. At least he'd have some evidence it had happened, just in case this wasn't just a very realistic dream of Dean’s attraction addled mind.

They broke apart and Dean stared at Cas with wide eyes, fascinated by the way Cas's lips glistened in the light of the campfire.

“I want to do that again,” Dean breathed, and Cas chuckled softly; “I'd like that very much.”

Maybe it was just Dean whom Cas acted so freely around.

Dean sat up, annoyed. The camera people had eight hour shifts. The Range Rover shuttling them and their equipment around had come and gone in the wee hours of the night, this time bringing back the woman and the man who'd been here sixteen hours ago, making a godawful racket while doing so. How Cas could sleep through this was beyond him.

They weren't allowed to interact other than in an emergency, their rifles were a testament to that, but Dean thought it would be rude not to acknowledge them. He lifted his chin curtly with a jerk of his hand that passed for a wave, and the pair waved back.

Settling back down, Dean tucked a hand under his head with a huff, his other hand curved on Cas's hip where he slept soundly in front of him. It really was warmer this way. And if Dean wanted to be close to the man, then it was nobody's business but his own.

Now, if anyone didn't mind, he'd like to get some goddamn sleep.