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“Do I have to?” Castiel asks him. Dean frowns.
“Yes,” Dean says emphatically. He can tell Dean is getting tired of him asking. “It’s the all time greatest movie ever made and you’re going to watch it. This is happening, so deal with it.” He fiddles with the remote, cussing at it, before the VCR finally hums to life.
“Didn’t Sam set up internet?” Castiel asks. Dean dismisses it with a wave of his hand.
“Not the same, Cas,” he says as the grainy picture appears. It warns against copyright infringement. Dean shakes a bag of popcorn at him. “Here,” he says, and Castiel holds it. He’s learned to suppress his grace to a point where he can taste probably. The ‘sum of its parts’ as Sam had put it, rather than the assault of individual molecules he’d suffered before. He likes salt and honey on his popcorn. Dean hates it. He prefers butter. Castiel tries some of the popcorn, and is pleasantly surprised when he tastes a hint of honey. It’s organic. Dean pulls out his own bag of, Castiel presumes, buttered popcorn. I love you, Castiel doesn’t say. Won’t ever say.
The pre-movie advertisements finally finish, and a man with a gruff voice begins to narrate over jittery, black and white footage of men on horses. The narration ends with a man shooting the camera. Castiel frowns. The following juxtaposition of peaceful market-goers and gun weilding newcomers is upsetting. ‘… killed two cowboys,’ a man says, inciting violence. Dean elbows him.
“Pay attention,” he says. “Here comes Kurt Russell.”
“Is he the villain?”
“No, thats Micheal Biehn,” Dean says. “He’s Ringo.”
“The musician?” Castiel asks.
“No. You’re thinking of Ringo Starr,” Dean corrects him. “This is Johnny Ringo. He’s an outlaw.”
“Oh.”
“He’s not even the main guy. That’s Curly,” Dean says, pointing to the man in red.
“A Stoge?”
“Wrong guy, Cas, fuck! And it’s Stooge. Curly Bill.”
“Who is the protagonist?” Castiel asks him.
“Kurt Rusell, he’s Wyatt Earp,” Dean says. ‘…going to Tombstone and nothing short of dyin’s gonn stop me…’ the man on the screen says. “We gotta rewind, now, Cas. Quit talkin’,” Dean says. He presses a button on the remote and the men on the screen move in reverse.
“I’m sorry,” Castiel says. Dean sighs. “I just want to know what’s happening in the movie.”
“It’s fine, man, just pay attention.”
— —
There are suited men playing pool and drinking when a man enters the establishment. ‘I’m busy,’ one man says. ‘We’re all busy.’ Dean’s breath hitches. Castiel frowns, but doesn’t look at him. He’s sure he heard it. The men seem to be uneasy, and when the man leaves, one of the pool players follows. The man with the moustache is tall and rugged. He’s voice is deep and gruff. A group of whooping men rush down the road on their horses, and the moustached pool player pulls a small child out of the way. The woman, presumably his mother, doesn’t thank the man. He lifts his hat and walks away.
“Who is that?” Castiel asks.
“Sam Elliott,” Dean replies.
“Is he the hero?” Castiels wonders.
“There aren’t heroes here, Cas,” Dean says. Castiel frowns. The moustached man had saved that boy. Surely that makes him the hero.
— —
The moustached man, that had saved the boy, rants to his companions. He seems angry. ‘I walk around this town and look these people in the eyes…’ Castiel looks at Dean again. He’s abandoned his half-eaten popcorn. Too invested in the grainy, crackling movie. ‘… If we’re gonna have a future in this town, it’s gotta have some law and order!’ the man says.
— —
And there’s the bad guy again, except he’s stumbling now and slurring his words. Unfortunately, this is a sight Castiel is somewhat familiar with. ‘I want your blood. And I want your souls. And I want them both right now,’ the drunk man says. Johnny Ringo. Kurt Russell tells him to sober up and starts to walk away. ‘Don’t any of you have the guts to fight for blood?’ Johnny Ringo shouts.
‘I’m your huckleberry,’ an onlooker says calmly. He’s standing tall and wearing a red vest. Smiling. ‘That’s just my game.’ He has a gun in a holster, but he’s holding a pistole behind his back. It’s not a kind smile. Not a happy one. Castiel thinks his name is Doc, but he doesn’t want to ask Dean and interrupt.
— —
‘I didn’t think you had it in you,’ Johnny Ringo says. He looks cocky. The dark, silhouetted figure is still approaching.
‘I’m your huckleberry,’ the figure says again as he steps into the light and exhales cigarette smoke. Castiel blinks in shock. He’s sweaty and pale. Still dying. ‘Why Johnny Ringo, you look like somebody just walked over your grave.’ Dean is leaning forward, eyes glued to the screen. Castiel wants him to sit back. Maybe put an arm around the back of the couch. Behind Castiel’s shoulders. Not quite around his shoulders, but close enough. ‘Play for blood, remember?’ Johnny Ringo looks unsettled.
‘I was just fooling about,’ he says. Doc doesn’t stop smiling. It’s not a happy smile, Castiel is sure. Not one of joy, but malice.
‘I wasn’t.’ Castiel imagines himself standing there. Doc was there for Kurt Russell, that much was clear. It wasn’t about an unfinished fight or a score to settle. This was about defending his friend. Saving him. Castiel would fight Johnny Ringo for Dean. He’d emerge from the shadows, spurs chiming with every step, and stare him down - just like Doc had. He’d circle around him, face to face, even while struggling to breathe.
‘Say when,’ Doc says again. He shoots him. He’s quicker. Cas would be quick. Johnny Ringo doesn’t die from the shot to the head. Not immediately. He stumbles around while Doc provokes him before finally collapsing against a tree. ‘You’re no daisy!’ Doc keeps saying. Castiel isn’t sure why.
— —
And then the man, Doc, is laying in bed. Barely moving. Emaciated. There’s a priest sitting with him, and Kurt Russell looks upset under his carefully blank face. ‘How are we feeling today, Doc?’
‘I’m dyin’, how are you?’ Doc replies.
‘Pretty much the same,’ he says.
‘So now we can add self-pity to our list of frailties…’
‘Alright, Doc. How many cards do you want?’ Kurt Russell asks.
‘I don’t want to play anymore,’ Doc says.
‘How many?’ his friend asks again. Doc doesn’t move when Kurt Russell plucks some cards out of his hand. Castiel can see himself, again. Imagines himself lying there. Unable to move. Barely breathing.
‘Damn it, you’re the most fallible, stubborn, self-deluded, bullheaded man I’ve ever known in my entire life,’ Doc says. Kurt Russell looks like he hasn’t even heard him. He shows him his hand. Castiel would say those things to Dean.
‘I’ll call,’ he says. He takes Doc’s cards and looks at them. ‘You win.’
‘Yet with all, you’re the only human being in my entire life that ever gave me hope…’ Doc says. Castiel wonders if Dean would ignore his words, or if he would cry silently. Like he is now. Castiel knows that Dean wouldn’t want him to point it out, so he doesn’t. He looks back at the screen.
‘Wyatt, if you were ever my friend, if you ever had even the slightest feeling for me, leave now. Leave now.’ Kurt Russell looks upset, now, as he watches his friend cry. He stands up, and looks back at him.
‘Thanks for always being there, Doc,’ he says. They nod at each other, and Kurt Russell leaves. Dean swipes at his face with his sleeve. Castiel pretends not to notice.
‘I’ll be damned,’ Doc says, staring at his bare feet. ‘This is funny.’ He lets out his dying breath. The camera pans back to the rest of the ward. Castiel frowns.
“Why did he tell Kurt Russell to leave?” Castiel asks. Dean doesn’t look away from the screen, but he sniffles.
“Didn’t want him to see him die,” Dean mumbles.
“Why did-”
“It was his last wish, Cas. He’s not gonna deny him that.”
Castiel ponders this. He leans back on the couch, and imagines lying in that bed. Begging Dean to leave him to die alone. He wonders if Dean would grant him his wish or if he would deny him. Would he tell him he’s being stupid? Tell him he’s not going to die without him? Or would he thank him gratefully, and go out to live his life as promised.
“Does Doc love him?” Castiel asks.
“Course he does,” Dean says. “They’re brothers in arms.”
“Oh.”
Castiel watches Kurt Russell run to meet the actress. Watches him promise unconditional, lifelong love. Laments that he has no money or land to offer her, but instead offers himself. Castiel wants that. Oh, he wants that. But he knows it’ll never happen. He knows that Dean won’t do that for him, and he’s accepted it. The actress smiles at him and they embrace. Dean’s crying again. He hasn’t made a sound.
“Is it sad?” Castiel asks. Dean wipes his face again. Rests his elbows on his knees. Kurt Russell is holding her so gently.
“Suppose,” Dean says. “His friend is gone.”
“But he’s married, now,” Castiel points out.
“Bittersweet,” Dean says. “He might be happy with Josephine, but he’ll never see his friend again.”
“I think Doc loved him,” Castiel whispers, after a quiet moment. Dean leans back and turns his wet eyes to Castiel.
“I think so, too,” Dean says. Castiel searches his face.
“Did Kurt Russell love him?” Castiel asks. Dean thinks for a moment. Chews on his lip. Then he leans all the way back, and puts his arm across the back of the couch. Almost around Castiel’s shoulders, but not quite. Near enough.
“Yeah, I think he did,” Dean says finally. Then he smiles. It’s not of malice. Castiel would fight bad men for him. He’d interject from the sidelines and he’d emerge from shadows and he’d die for him.
“Would…” Castiel starts. “Would you be happy with the actress?” Dean watches him for a moment, then shakes his head. He relaxes further into the couch, then nods towards the free space under his arm. Castiel hesitates for a moment, then moves closer.
“I really like Doc,” Dean says. He lowers his arm so it’s around Castiel’s shoulders. “He’s my favourite character.” Castiel turns his face into Dean’s chest and breaths deeply.