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Prologue
In some versions of the tale, all the prince does is turn away a beggar. He sticks his nose up to her on a cold winter night only to find out that she’s a powerful witch. She makes him into a beast because he has no love in his heart, leaving him with just a rose and a mirror for his troubles. To break his curse he must find someone to love him before the rose wilts, or he’ll be locked away as a hideous monster for all time. It’s all wonderfully poetic.
But, you see, that isn’t how it really happened. No, the truth is that Castiel always had love. Sometimes he had too much. It pushed him into doing horrific things for the sake of all he loved. What history has taught us is that there are times where having your heart in the right place is precisely the problem.
War is always horrific, always ugly and despicable. But the atrocities it can push good people to commit are so much worse.
Castiel wanted an end to the war, an end to the suffering and the conflict that had been wrapped around both his and his father’s crowns. So he found one. His troops marched through every village on the countryside and burned them all to the ground. In the end, Raphael tilted his own chin up for Castiel’s blade. The war was over; they had won.
When the prince returned home, he found that many of his once-loyal subjects had turned their hearts from him. Apparently, there was no love to be earned through large-scale slaughter, no matter the reason behind it. He told them that any who wished to leave could. The gates were wide open for them. That in and of itself was not where the curse was spawned, though. No, that came almost a full year later. All but his most trusted and loving servants had fled the castle, leaving it a harsh, empty place. Bartholomew had remained by his prince’s side the whole while, the most trusted general a future king would ever need. But the general had his own plans, his own revenge to seek.
When Bartholomew had first come to Castiel, it was as a spy. He was one of Raphael’s most trusted, and he turned on his old king for this new prince, finding something about his manor intangibly alluring. It wasn’t until the war was over that he saw the depth of his mistaken judgment. In his haste to end the war, Castiel set fire to many villages, seemingly uncaring of the occupants within. One village in particular was Bartholomew’s home. So the general stayed close to the man who destroyed his family and his life, biding his time until Castiel’s anger calmed. Then he took his personal blade from his waistcoat and attacked.
Maybe he’d have succeeded on any other man, but Castiel was born and raised in war. He’d been deflecting assassination attempts from the age of eleven, and Bartholomew was in no way the best opponent he’d seen. Castiel turned the blade back on his most trusted, the one he thought he could count on. The blood pooled in his hands, dripping from his fingers as the body collapsed. As the last soldier fell dying at his commander’s hands, he sent a prayer to his gods that the prince would suffer for his actions.
That same night was when the witch came. Her eyes were a dead blue and she was beautiful, terrifying in an unnameable way. Castiel did not fall to his knees and weep, nor he did beg. He stood his ground and faced her, listened to every word of condemnation until his body began to twist and break as she reformed it.
She held the dagger Castiel used to kill Bartholomew, only now the blade was made of the darkest red gemstone Castiel had ever seen. The witch held it in front of his face and showed him the cracks in it, ready to shatter like glass. Over time the blade would crumble, and if Castiel had not earned the love and loyalty of a worthy warrior before the last shard of blade fell from the handle, then he and his castle would be stuck in their new forms for all time.
As quickly as she appeared, the witch was gone, leaving Castiel to writhe in pain as the transformation finished. Every other inch of his body was disfigured and maimed to make him into the perfect beast of war that ran in his veins. Claws were placed at the end of every digit on his hands and feet, which had been turned into heavy paws.
When he reached a mirror, the only parts of himself he recognized were his eyes, still as dark blue as the fall sky he’d been born under. Large horns twisted up from his skull like a ram, curling back until the tips tickled the hinges of his jaw. Where once he had the mouth of a man, he now had the same beak as a bird of prey. The tip was razor sharp, perfect to rip open a warm body and let its blood water the furrows of his courtyard garden. Oh yes, he was the true beast of war at last.
Castiel emptied the sand from a large hour glass and put the dagger in the top with the point of the blade facing down so that every shard could trickle and bounce as it broke away and counted down to his final fate. After all, what true warrior could ever find something in him worth loving and following?
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Un Chasseur Digne // A Worthy Hunter
Hunting had been getting harder and harder since Dad died. Dean was left in charge of everyone who stayed behind with them instead of defecting to his Grandpa Campbell across the channel. It probably wouldn’t have been so bad if the remaining men were more willing to work with his brother. Hardly a single one of them trusted Sammy, and Dean was beginning to lose track of the number of times he’d nearly bashed one of their heads in with something nice and heavy.
They just needed more time for things to cool down and not be so raw. The funeral had been weeks ago, but some of them were carrying on like it had only just happened.
Dean waved to Benny as he walked through town. The butcher was hauling a nice big hunk of meat on one shoulder.
A wide smile split his handsome face at the sight of the hunter passing his shop. “Bonjour, frère!”
“Bonjour, Benny. What’s that, lamb?” Dean followed Benny into the boucherie, eyeing a bit of jerky on display by the window.
Benny nodded and set the carcass down on the counter, grabbing a nearby knife. “Gave the skin to Vic for tannin’; you should be seein’ it before long. So what brings you into town, frère?”
Dean grabbed a few cuts of the jerky and laid some silver on the counter as he shoved them into his bag. “Bobby’s got a book for me.”
“Research?” The butcher chatted idly as he worked cuts of meat from the bones of the slaughtered lamb.
“Is it ever anything else?” Dean watched the precision of the cuts and wondered how Benny never seemed to cut himself. “Anyway, I’d stay longer, but—”
“But you gotta job to do. It’s good that we hunt, il y a beaucoup de diables dans la forêt. Plus all those damsels in distress, oui?” Benny smirked at him.
“Les diables, oui. Les filles? Pas de tout.” Dean chuckled and headed for the door. “You see any damsels in distress you point ‘em my way, non?”
Benny laughed raucously, and Dean shook his head, well aware of the answer behind it. For the most part the streets were empty as he walked to the old hunter’s book shop. The only other people around were shopkeepers like Benny and craftsmen like Victor. By the time he left Bobby’s, though, the narrow roads would be filled with provincials buying their daily goods and gossiping to the ends of the kingdom. With any luck, the streets would be packed enough that he wouldn’t have to deal with Lilith and Ruby this early in the morning.
Bobby looked like he was half a step from dead when Dean walked in, which meant he’d only just woken up. Dean smiled and leaned against one of the library tables. “Bonjour, monsieur.”
The retired-hunter-turned-librarian glared at him before uncorking a bottle of brandy wine. “Don’t bonjour me, garçon. I was there when you were born. I know you ain’t got manners. Yes, I have your book.”
“Am I really that predictable?” Dean walked over to Bobby’s desk, took the book in question as it was handed to him, and put it in his pack without even looking at the cover. “What do I owe you?”
“Only your whole life.” Bobby took a long swig from his bottle, offering it to Dean once he was done.
“Oh, is that all?” Dean chuckled and accepted, pulling in a large gulp of the aged liquor. The sound of conversation started to filter in from outside, and Dean tried not to let the dread show on his face.
“Lilith still after you for her husband?” There was no shortage of amusement in the bookkeeper’s voice as he took his bottle back and reclined in his chair.
“You even have to ask?” Dean scuffed his boots against the floor and fidgeted with the leather strap of his bag.
“Only because I like to watch you squirm. Better get goin’ if you’re lookin’ to avoid her. You know how she and Ruby are.” Steps echoed down the stairs from the back room, causing Bobby to sit straighter and flatten his hair out.
“Never seen you so scared of a woman in my whole life.” Not that Dean could blame him; Ellen was not a woman to be crossed.
The bookkeep made a rude gesture that had Dean laughing as he walked out the door and back into the streets. As soon as he felt the cobblestone under his boots, he took off for the house he shared with Sam. Benny waved to him between haggling over a chicken, and he returned it fondly, looking back to the road just in time to avoid tripping over a ewe in the center of the street. Of course the one morning he was making good time and almost guaranteed to avoid Lilith was the morning that Garth would lose control of his flock. The shepherd was too busy trying to keep one of his sheep from eating all the produce off of the Trans’ cart to notice the major blockage the rest were causing around the fountain.
Dean sighed heavily and looked up at the scattered clouds in the pale morning sky. He and Sammy really needed to get the hell out of their tiny provincial town. Soon enough the woods would be clear, and Victor and the others could easily keep them that way. They could go somewhere else where no one knew their story and especially not their father. Maybe Italy? There was still good wine, and it was a warmer climate.
Garth started to get control of his flock, directing it away from the fountain and back toward the fields. Just as soon as relief began creeping in that he’d get out of town in time, a slender hand came to rest on his shoulder.
He took a deep breath and muttered quietly. “Foutre.”
“Bonjour, monsieur.” Despite being bone-chillingly evil, Lilith always managed to sound happy to see him. That actually made it worse, somehow.
“Bon matin, madame.” Dean kept his eyes forward, spotting his humble poele house in the distance, smoke rising up from the chimney.
Lilith turned to face him, a sweet smile on her wide, plump lips. “Now, Dean, we both know I’m a mademoiselle. Unless you’re offering to make me Madame Winchester, finally?”
Dean scoffed and bit his tongue to restrain a sharp retort. Lilith was nobility, which placed her in far better standing than a common hunter, especially one with an English city for a family name. “Désolé, mademoiselle, that wasn’t my intention. I’m just trying to get home.”
Ruby’s steps gave her away even before she rounded his other side, a parasol perched on one shoulder. “Yes, really can’t leave your little Sammy alone for too long, can you?”
“Ruby.” Lilith scolded the other woman with a harsh look, never taking herself away from Dean’s side. “You should be more kind. Dean can’t help his brother’s affliction.”
That was all Dean could stand to hear, jerking his shoulder out of Lilith’s grasp as he stomped off toward his house. Small murmurs began flying around at his back, the same rumors over and over again. They really, really needed out of this Godforsaken town.
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Sam traced over hand-drawn paths on the map, making mental notes about possible hideaways for the hellhound he’d been tracking. While he hadn’t convinced anyone else that was what it was, he knew what he’d seen. So far they were all content to load up with silver and iron and pray for the best. It was too easy to disregard whatever he said unless Dean stepped in. Even then, some of them just didn’t care.
Dean opened the door to the basement and set their newest book down on the table with some dried meat. “Can I just kill Lilith and get it over with?”
“Not in public.” Sam gave a half smile but didn’t take his eyes off of the map.
“Sammy, c’mon, let’s go eat. You’ve been staring at that map all night.” Every time Dean looked at him, it was with some form of concern. Not that Sam could blame him. After their dad died, he’d almost gotten himself killed. That wasn’t even including the things he’d done before.
He backed away from the table and rubbed his eyes, aware of how long he’d been awake, tracing and retracing footpaths, looking for the evidence he needed. When they reached the kitchen, Sam flopped down into his chair and tried not to yawn as Dean put together some porridge.
“Dean, you believe me, right? About the hellhound?” Sam watched his brother nod without hesitation.
“Of course I do, Sammy. You know what you saw.” Dean filled their bowls and sat down at the table across from his younger brother.
They ate in relative silence, peaceful in one another’s company. A guilty part of Sam thought it was an ease they’d never been able to have while their dad was still alive. He finished his meal and didn’t think on the matter further.
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Sam never got much sleep anymore. Maybe four hours a night if he was lucky. Usually it was six every couple of days. Dean didn’t know, and Sam didn’t see a point in worrying him needlessly. This hellhound issue was just the latest thing to draw his attention. He had a decent idea where the one he saw a couple nights ago might be hiding. There was a thick section of forest that was pretty unknown to their group that held ruins which could be seen above the treetops, even from town. No one really knew what they were from anymore, but there were rumors passed around about an old castle. The trees in that area were mostly dead, the ground hard and grey. It was perfect for a hellhound to hide and build a pack.
Sam grabbed his bag and coat, checking that all of his knives were accounted for. He came up out of the basement and saw Dean’s horse grazing in the field behind their house. Their dad named her Impala after some animal he’d seen while travelling, but Dean just called her Baby. Aside from being big enough for Sam to actually ride safely, Baby was as well-trained as a horse could be. When Dean rode her, it was almost like they were one being. A warrior and his horse had a special bond. Sam himself preferred dogs, but he couldn’t very well ride any normal hound into the thick of the woods.
A short whistle had Baby trotting up to him, curious as ever. He quickly brushed her down and got her saddled up to ride. Dean came around to feed the goats and chickens just as they were making their way toward the trail.
“Going tracking?” He dropped seed on the ground and gently nudged one of the hens out of his way.
Baby turned her head toward him, making a soft noise at sight of her master. Dean smiled and patted her cheek.
“Yeah, just wanted to get a good look at a possible den site. I should be back before nightfall.” Sam gripped the reins tight in his hands and set off for the woods.
————
While tracking the beast was simple in principle, it was far more dangerous and difficult in practice. Every echoed noise from the burrows of rabbits and the nests of birds had him twitching. Baby was just as nervous the further they went into the trees, dancing in place and fighting against his instructions. The air felt different here, stale and oppressive. It had to be more than just hellhounds making him feel this way.
They came to a crossroad, the left leading to safer parts he’d already checked and the right shadowed in darkness and fog. It had to have been the dead woods and old ruins. Sam leaned to the right, pulling Baby’s head the same way. She backed up and made a fuss, once again fighting him.
“C’mon, Baby, we have to check.” He nudged her in the ribs with his heel and once again leaned to the right. She reluctantly did as told, grumbling a bit as they wandered onto the unchecked path. “I know, I know. I’ll get you some apples when we get back home, okay?”
The woods around them seemed frozen in time, washed over with grey and filled with an angry sort of depression that made Sam restless. His veins itched in an unpleasant way, and his mind flashed over and over again with red-tinted memories of blurred faces and dark laughter. He halted Baby in the middle of their path and took a deep breath. He had to get out of this damned forest. It was doing something to him. Maybe another time he could come back with Dean, but doing this on his own was a bad idea.
Sam was too wrapped up in his thoughts and the feelings of withdrawal to notice that he and Baby were slowly being surrounded. A rough bark got his attention, finally making him aware of the dozen or so wolves circling them
“Ah, merde.” He snapped the reins tight, and they went flying down the trail.
The wolves ran after them, snapping at Baby’s legs and lunging for them. Sam didn’t know where he was going but hoped that maybe the path would wrap around and take him back into familiar woods. With every step the snarling got closer, and he couldn’t help feeling like they were herding him to some point. Suddenly the trees opened up, and Sam had only meters to stop before he and Baby reached the edge of a sheer cliff.
The mare backed away nervously and turned them around. Every path back into the woods was blocked by a wolf the size of a small pony. The biggest of them darted out from the trees, spooking Baby and making her rear up and buck Sam right out of the saddle. He landed hard on his back, the breath knocked from his lungs.
He watched her jump over one of the smallest members of the pack and shouted for her, but it was too late; she was already running off without him. A handful of wolves followed her, but the rest were still fixed on him. Sam slowly got to his feet and took one of his knives from his belt, using a backhanded grip as he readied himself to give a defensive blow and run off. Maybe he could find somewhere to hole up and keep himself alive.
The big one, presumably the leader of the hunting party, lunged for him. He side-stepped and narrowly avoided being bitten, running his knife along the length of the beast’s side as he did. It yelped and took small steps back from him, giving him the chance he needed to sprint back into the woods. He thought he was following the same path as Baby, but the horse’s prints were nowhere to be seen.
The trees began to thin out again, and Sam worried for a moment that in his panic he’d run a circle and was heading right back for the cliff. With no other option but to run, he kept on the path until the trees gave way to another clearing that had a large stone wall with an iron gate. With just a look Sam knew that these were the ruins he’d seen so often from the safety of his home. The gate opened with a noise of protest when he pushed and he shut it right on the muzzle of the wolf he’d cut, panting and standing tall in the small victory.
The pack dispersed after a moment, seeming to know they couldn’t get through. Even if everything looked clear, Sam couldn’t go back out. The wolves would wait there for hours if they needed. Without any other options, Sam turned around and started down the worn brick path to the ruins. The walls wrapped around an expansive courtyard that must have been beautiful years ago, when it was lush and healthy. Now it was dead, the grass grey and lifeless like the forest beyond the walls. A broken-down carriage sat off to his right. With how long this place looked to have been abandoned, it was a wonder the wood hadn’t already rotted.
When he got closer he could see that the ruins looked like the remnants of a castle, like all the rumors said. The design was definitely French. High, round towers reached up for the sky, though all the ones he could see were broken and weathered. Few of the windows were intact on the upper floors, but none on the ground level were even cracked. Maybe the walls were to thank for keeping animals like the wolves out.
Sam stopped near the front steps and looked around. The forest only grew on two sides of the castle, at the front and the right. At the left there weren’t any trees at all. If the maps were accurate, the cliff he’d run into probably ran along that side, off to the west. Why anyone would build a castle so dangerously close to sheer cliff was beyond him.
He looked back toward the gate and listened for the moment, hoping to hear Baby galloping back for him. Sam knew that horse, though, and knew that she would have run right back to his brother the first chance she got. So long as the wolves didn’t get her, Dean would climb onto her and come looking for him.
With that last thought Sam continued to the door and pushed it open. The hinges groaned miserably, and it took every bit of strength he had to make space enough to slip inside. Dust was kicked up by the activity, making him sneeze. He buried his nose in the crook of his elbow and continued on inside.
Every surface was coated in a pristine layer of grime, entirely untouched like there hadn’t been a human to set foot in this place in years. Sam slowly inched into the foyer, examining everything closely. A large tapestry hung across one wall, the ends of it slashed like claws or talons tore through it. He reached out and examined the thick fabric. Before all the dust and decay it was probably very lush, colored with deep purples and rich golds. Whoever lived here had been very wealthy, probably of standing.
Low whispers startled Sam out of his thoughts, bringing back the panic that had just begun to settle. “Who’s there?”
His voice boomed and echoed across the walls, fading off into a heavy silence. The whispers grew louder, getting closer to him. A torch by his head lit suddenly, sending him jumping back to the center of the corridor. He squinted at the flames as they began to shift, bright blue sparking up in the middle of them. The colors slowly condensed, forming what could look like a face.
A smooth voice cracked out of the fire after a few seconds. “Bonjour, monsieur.”
Sam pushed the heel of his hands into his eyes and took a deep breath to steady himself. “I hit my head when Baby threw me. That’s gotta be what’s happening. Those wolves are eating me, and I’m being sucked down into Hell.”
Another voice chimed in from behind him. “Not exactly, kiddo.”
Sam shouted and spun around, expecting to find another man standing at his back. All he saw was an oddly shaped desk clock and a three-prong candelabra. The flame on the torch flew through the air and consumed the wicks of the tapers. The tallest flame had the same points of blue making a face, while the two on the sides seemed to separate and make hands.
“What the hell is this?”
The wood of the clock began to change, eyes splintering open along the grain of the wood just a few inches above the timepiece. “Short answer? Magic and karma.”
The flames of the candles crackled a bit like they were chuckling. Sam shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. “Half a year clean, and now I’m losing it. Great.”
“You’re not crazy, monsieur.” Two small spots of blue peered up at him from the center of the candle flame. “My name is Balthazar, and this bundle of kindling beside me is Gabriel.”
The clock turned to the candelabra, arms growing out of its sides like small branches. “Don’t make me douse you, Balthazar.”
Sparks skittered away from the flames as the face inside laughed. “Do you know how well oak burns, ami? You may as well toss me onto a pile of dry hay.”
“I’m watching a clock and a candelabra argue, and the candles are trying to tell me I’m not crazy.” Both objects stopped talking and turned to face him. Sam pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes and took a deep breath. “I’ve gotta get out of here.”
The clock nodded to him, turning back to face the front doors. “That’s a good idea. You should get out before the master comes downstairs and finds you.”
“The master?” Maybe the master was a witch of some sort.
Supposing he wasn’t crazy for a moment (definitely a long shot), he could try and talk to the master. Maybe he’d know where the hellhound Sam had been tracking was hiding. At the very least, Sam could request a map of the area. Witches weren’t generally the most pleasant, but none of them ever really went out of their way to piss off hunters.
The flames swirled around their wicks, the spots of blue sliding back and forth like a shifting gaze. “He’s not overly fond of visitors.”
“Which is why you should get gone before he hears us all yammering and decides to investigate.” The clock seemed nervous, the grain of the wood above his eyes curving like furrowed brows.
Sam weighed his options, but knew that he still couldn’t go back out into the woods yet. If the master had a bad temper, he probably wouldn’t want to help Sam track a hellhound. Not to mention that Sam was ill-equipped to deal with a witch at the present moment. The clock was right. Whether he was even real or just some projection of Sam’s stress, he was right.
“I will as soon as the wolves are gone from around the gate.” He picked the candelabra up and used it to get a better look at his surroundings, spotting an archway a few paces down the hall.
The flames shook a bit. “I’ll never be used to this.”
Sam walked through the archway and into a small parlor, spotting a large chair and a fireplace. The flames leapt through the air again and dove onto the wood. The clock ran in after them, wooden feet clicking on the marble floors. After a moment of hesitation, Sam sat down in the chair, warming his hands on the living fire.
The golden oak eyes of the timepiece narrowed at him, grain bunching further. “Oh, that’s great, just sit yourself right down in Cas’ chair. Quelle bonne idée!”
A small roar came from the fire, almost like an exasperated groan. “Gabriel, do shut up. We haven’t had a proper guest in ages, and this man needs a place to stay. He already said he’ll be leaving soon enough.”
Sam smirked as he watched them, finding it eerie that there really was something almost human about these objects. The squeaking wheels of a trolley approached, carrying a teapot and a small cup. Behind them were finely crafted figurines: one about the size of his forearm of a beautiful woman with brilliant red hair, and the other about two thirds her height of a boy with dirty blond hair. There were small chips all over the statue of the child, paint scraped away to reveal red porcelain beneath, almost like blood and tissue of an actual human. There were even spots that looked like scars where it seemed the porcelain had closed around a crack and sealed itself.
The woman took small steps toward him, smiling up kindly. “My name is Anna, and this is my son, Samandriel. Would you like some tea?”
Sam took a moment, then nodded and watched Anna walk behind the teapot, lifting and tipping it until steaming tea poured into the cup. Once it was filled the boy grabbed a sugar cube and plopped it in. He smiled up at Sam and backed away as the cup was taken. The tea was perfect. Dean had a tendency to let the leaves steep too long, leaving their tea dark and bitter almost to the point of resembling coffee.
As he finished his cup, a cold wind surged in from the archway, nearly extinguishing the friendly flame in the fireplace. Anna rushed toward Samandriel and put an arm around his shoulders. The clock on the floor had a look of dread on his oaken face, and Sam didn’t even have a chance to question what was wrong before a large shadow fell over him. He turned and saw the lethally sharp, dark grey tip of an eagle’s beak sitting level with his head. The cup in his hand fell to the floor as he jumped up out of the chair.
He tripped and found himself on his back for a second time, frantically scrambling away from the monster coming toward him. Large, blue eyes sat center of the monster’s face, barely illuminated as the fire spirit shrank in fear. Claws as big as Sam’s own fingers tapped on the floor, and he was reminded of the tapestry by the entryway. Suddenly he thought he’d have been better off trying his luck with the wolves.
The beak opened and produced a voice as rough as its owner’s appearance. “Who are you? Why are you here?”
The flames looked terrified but spoke anyway. “Cas, he just needed a place to sit. He was chased by wolves—”
“Did I ask you, Balthazar?” The beast turned and opened its beak wider to the flames, dark fur standing on end.
No one answered, and Sam was left to guess that this creature was the master the clock had warned him about. Not a witch, then.
Sam went to hit feet slowly, heart pounding in his chest and blood running cold when he realized this monster stood both taller and wider than he did. It could kill him with one clawed hand. “I was tracking a monster by horseback. A pack of wolves chased us—I was thrown and ran here on foot. I just need a place to stay and wait them out. I promise I’ll leave after.”
A shrill scream tore through the air, and as Sam flinched from it he was snatched up from the floor and held aloft. “I’ll give you a place to wait, trespasser.”
Sam was quickly hauled off into the darkness, vaguely aware than one of the claws had cut his shoulder and he was bleeding. He hoped Baby would get back to his brother soon.
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Dean watched the sky turn and wondered where his brother was. Sam had said he’d be back before nightfall, which was coming on pretty quickly. A knock at his door drew him away from his worrying, forcing him up from the dining table to answer it. As soon the door was open, Lilith was walking in, sauntering past him to stand by the wood burning stove at the center of the room. She gave a lingering glance to the pair of beds at the back wall, then smiled at Dean.
“Where’s your brother, Dean?” The door was still open, letting in a chilled breeze that made Lilith’s skirt flutter.
“Out. What are you doing here, Lilith?” What little patience Dean had for the woman was quickly running out. Two times in one day was twice too many to be dealing with her.
“I didn’t want to say anything this morning; it is rather embarrassing, actually.” She chewed on her lower lip and stepped closer to the warmth of the fire. “If I don’t marry soon, my family is talking of disowning me. I need a husband they’ll approve of, and you’re the strongest man in town, Dean. The fact that you’re noble by birth also helps, even if you’re English.”
Dean sighed deeply and pinched the bridge of his nose. There was no way this woman was serious. “Lilith, get out of my house.”
He threw the door open and took a large step toward her, one which she matched, that put her directly in front of the stove. “Dean, come on, you can’t seriously be turning me down. I’m a woman of status; I can give you wealth and power. Not to mention children! You can lay me out every night and fuck me until I give you as many children as you could ever hope for.”
“Thanks, but I’d rather castrate myself.” The wood in the stove shifted as it burned, sending out sparks through the slats in the door.
Lilith’s skirt must have been heavily laced with perfume, because it caught better than any kindling Dean had ever managed to find, even in a drought. She screamed and almost ran into the dining table before Dean caught her and ripped the burning fabric off of her. He stomped it out on floor and looked back at Lilith right in time to be slapped across the face.
“Look at what you did to my dress! Do you have any idea how much this cost?” Her pretty pale skin was flushed red with anger, and any other time Dean would have found it hilarious.
“Are you crazy? It was on fucking fire, Lilith! Did you want me to just let you burn in it?” Dean took her forearm in a rough grip and dragged her to the door, fighting to shove her through.
“Dean, s’il te plaît!” She dug her expensive shoes into his rug and fought every step of the way with more strength than Dean could’ve guessed she had.
“S’il vous plaît, Lilith. We’re not friends.” He overpowered her and tossed her through, slamming the door at her fluttering petticoat.
The rest of the charred fabric went into the stove, turning the flames an odd color as they fell to ash.
————
It took every ounce of Lilith’s self control not to scream and call the whole thing off. Not even revenge was worth this sort of hassle and continued embarrassment. Ruby’s brown eyes were wide and amused when she approached the bridge, and Lilith backhanded the look off her face. The other woman held her reddening cheek and glared.
“Connasse! I don’t know why you don’t just put a spell on him if you really want to marry him that badly.” Ruby gently soothed her stinging skin and followed Lilith back to town.
“Because, poufiasse, I don’t have access to that kind of magic. I’d have to be a kind, gentle witch to make Dean love me.” One of the drunkards by the inn whistled at Lilith as she passed without her overskirt, and in response, the angry blonde flicked her wrist and snapped his neck. She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “Time for plan B.”
————
Dean fastened the last piece of his studded leather armor as the sun went down. Sammy hadn’t come back yet, and Dean had a pit in his stomach telling him that something was wrong. He secured his shortsword to his hip and went out the door. Strong winds blew the leaves in the trees and pushed against him as he crossed the field toward the forest. Baby ran out of the woods, shrieking and rearing as she stopped in front of him.
“Hey, whoa girl, calm down, calm down.” Dean put his hands on her neck, rubbing and soothing her. Sam was nowhere to be seen, and Dean tried not to focus on the internal voice of his father telling him his brother was likely dead.
He stepped in front of his horse and drew her head down so he could kiss her nose, still calming her as he spoke steadily. “Baby, I need you to take me in there to find Sammy.”
The large mare grunted and shook her head, but Dean wasn’t having it. He went around and hopped into the saddle to take the reins and led her back into the forest as the last bit of sunlight left the sky.
Baby took him down a path in the woods he’d never followed, running swiftly until they were stopped at a large iron gate set into a stone wall. Dean jumped down and pushed the gate open, letting Baby off to wander around within the walls. He followed a worn stone path to two large doors, one of which was ajar just enough that Sam could have easily fit through.
The ruins he knew about, though he’d never actually visited them. No one seemed to know what they used to be, and no books or maps had them marked. Until now, he’d thought nothing of it. This place looked like a castle. How did a castle just disappear from memory like that?
————
The hinges of the front door creaked for the second time that day, and Gabriel resisted the urge to groan with it. He was still sitting in the parlor with Balthazar, not having moved much since their guest was dragged away by the prince. It was no wonder the spell Naomi put on them had yet to be broken. Any time Castiel saw a human, he reacted terribly. They had hope in the beginning, when warriors came with frightening regularity. Then they noticed that all the warriors who showed up seemed to want to kill the Beast in the old castle. Hope was very hard to come by after that. Gaining the loyalty and love of someone bent on killing you and making your head into a mounted trophy wasn’t really anyone’s idea of a good time, least of all Castiel.
Gabriel used to blame their prince, but now he just felt sorry. None of what happened was really Castiel’s fault. They’d all spent the better part of two centuries unaging, locked in these odd forms while that blade slowly crumbled away in the hourglass up in the West Wing.
When the new intruder finally came into view, Gabriel nearly gasped. He was clad in thick studded leather armor, a blade secured to his hip. For the first time in almost one hundred years, a warrior was walking through their halls. Balthazar was a step ahead of him, lighting a torch at the far end of the foyer, right by the stairs leading to the dungeons.
The warrior’s head snapped to look at the light, movements quiet and graceful as he chased Balthazar down the corridor.
————
Dean didn’t know who was in this dingy, dusty ruin, but they were leading him somewhere. Every time he turned a corner and expected to see his guide with torch in hand, he was met with an empty hall and the glow of fire in the distance. He followed it down a set of stone steps and into a block of cells. A single torch was lit, flames casting light onto smears of drying blood. A cough from inside the cell had Dean scrambling at the handle.
The door was heavy and locked securely; it wouldn’t budge. Dean looked around for the person who’d led him here, but he was alone.
“Dean?” Sam’s voice was quiet, more frightened than Dean thought he’d ever heard.
“Sammy, hey, you okay?” He fell to his knees in front of the door and looked in through a rusty grate at the bottom.
There was a deep gash in Sam’s shoulder when he leaned against the door, but it didn’t seem to be bleeding. “Dean, listen, you need to get out of here.”
“What? No. Not without you.” Dean reached up for the handle again, trying to push the door open.
“Dean, I’m serious—you need to leave. There’s something here, and it’s huge. Definitely not human.” Sam groaned and pushed himself to sit up straighter.
“Is it the thing that shredded your shoulder?” Dean stood back up and was about to throw himself into the door when he heard something like an owl coo behind him.
He turned and saw a bulky form moving in the shadows. It stopped in front of the stairwell. “More trespassers in my home.”
The voice fit the huge mass of the creature, rough like sanding stone and deep as the roaring of a large fire. Dean stood with a stiff back and straight shoulders, trying to use a rigid frame to hide the cold fear shooting through him.
He swallowed roughly and spoke, voice surprisingly steady. “I need to get my brother out of here. That cut on his shoulder needs to be treated before it turns and makes him sick.” The creature was silent. “Do you hear me? An infection can kill. I need to take him back to the town!”
“He came in uninvited. He’s my prisoner here. Unless you have similar wishes, I suggest you leave.” The beast moved out of the way of the stairs, further into the shadows.
“Dean, do what it says. Leave.” Sam reached through the grate at the bottom of the cell door and shoved at his legs.
“Sam, ta gueule!” Dean ran a hand over his face and gathered his thoughts. He turned toward the shadowy form of the creature and made up his mind. “Take me instead.”
“Dean, no!” Behind the door, Dean could hear Sam scrambling.
The shadows themselves seemed to stir, rustling and moving as though they were alive. “What did you say?”
“You let my brother go, and I’ll stay in his place.” Dean ignored Sam’s protests. There was no other way.
“You wouldn’t make that offer if you could see my face, warrior.” The beast was still in shadow, but slowly moving closer.
“Then show me. It’s not gonna change anything.” Dean took the torch off the wall and held it up, waiting for the shadows to come away from monster Sam was warning him about.
The first thing Dean saw was a pair of large, dark blue eyes. Below them was a deadly sharp beak made to pick meat from bones, and at either side were thick horns curling back. The overall shape of its body was like some twisted mixture of bear, wolf, and man. Dark fur covered every inch of the monster’s skin, nothing left naked that would ever betray him as being a man underneath.
Dean exhaled sharply and tightened his grip on the torch. “Fils de pute.”
The dark blue eyes narrowed slightly as the beak opened. “You can still run if you so choose.”
Dean shook his head, determined in this. “No. I’m still staying if it means you’ll let him go.”
The beast’s eyes widened in shock, head tilting curiously. “You would still choose to stay with me?”
“If you promise you’ll let Sam go.” Dean didn’t hear any more fighting from Sam; his little brother knew better than anyone how stubborn he was. His mind was made up, even now that he’d looked ugly in the face.
After a moment, one of the monster’s large, clawed hands produced a key and unlocked Sam’s cell door. “Je suis d’accord. Say goodbye to your brother. You won’t be seeing him again.”
Sam stumbled out of the cell with tears welling in his eyes. Dean replaced the torch and grabbed Sam to take a good look at his shoulder. The gash went deep, but it had stopped bleeding, probably more from the cold than from his brother’s ability to heal. “Sammy, go to Bobby and Ellen, have them treat this. Okay?”
“Dean–”
“Don’t argue, okay?” Dean pulled his brother into a hug and ignored the sick smell of blood that had soaked through most of Sam’s clothes. “I don’t care what big nasty says. I’ll see you again soon, you hear?”
Sam was pulled away from him roughly, one of the beast’s hands gripping Sam’s uninjured shoulder roughly. “Time to go.”
“Goddammit! Be careful, you already sliced him once!” Dean watched as his brother was carried off, uncertain when they’d see one another again.
————
Sam felt ill as he was tossed roughly into the broken-down carriage he’d seen earlier. The deep voice of the monster gave a muffled command to take him back into town. He didn’t have a chance to ask what would happen to Dean before the carriage began to move on its own, bounding off into the woods like a dog.
He knew that once his shoulder was healed, he needed to gather the hunters and whoever else he could and rescue Dean. Before the beast killed him.
————
Dean sat on the ground by the open cell, staring at the blood Sam had shed there. The tapping of claws alerted him to the return of the creature he’d willingly given himself over to. He didn’t move as it approached, taking the torch from the wall. For a moment nothing happened, but Dean could’ve sworn he heard whispers and then a soft noise of assent from the beast.
“Follow me. I’ll show you to your room.” It began walking away without looking back to see if Dean was following.
He quickly got onto his feet, hesitant to move from his spot. “Wait, I thought…”
The monster turned and faced him, eyes narrowing as he opened his beak. “Would you prefer to stay in the dungeon?” Dean looked back to the cell and shook his head. “Then come.”
They went back into the foyer, then up a grand staircase that led to the rest of the castle. It didn’t look bad for ruins, mostly dusty. The real issue was that they went through more hallways than Dean could count, and he got more lost with every turn they took. He felt like he was hearing a whispered conversation and thought that maybe this creature was ugly and insane. Not like it would have been that far of a leap. The way Dean saw it, there had to be a price for all that ugly.
Eventually they stopped in front of a room where the beast faced him again. “The castle is your home now. You can stay in this room or any other in the East Wing. You have free reign over the grounds, save for the West Wing.”
Dean perked up at the mention of a figurative no trespassing sign. “What’s in the West Wing?”
“It is none of your concern. Just stay out.” The creature paused for a moment and pushed one of the doors to the room open. “My name is Castiel.”
“Dean.” He peered into the room, most of it hidden by shadows and the darkness of the night outside. Small streams of moonlight came in through moth-eaten curtains.
“What are you, Dean?” Castiel didn’t follow him into the room as he stepped inside, opting instead to stand at the threshold like a sentry.
“I was about to ask you the same thing, Castiel.” The second half of the name felt ill-fitted and heavy. He’d likely shorten it by dinnertime.
“I meant to ask what you hold as a profession. Are you a smith?” Castiel’s tone was casual and inquisitive, and Dean wondered how long it had been since there’d been non-hostile company within the walls of the castle.
“No, I’m a Winchester. A hunter.” He watched the edges of his shadow flicker within the torch light, debating whether he wanted to risk the inevitable sneezing fit that opening the curtains would give him. “My family and I protect the village from monsters.”
“You’re a warrior?” Maybe it was the stress of new surroundings, or the rumblings of escape plans in the back of his mind, but Castiel’s tone almost sounded hopeful when Dean heard it.
“You could say that.” He turned back around and regarded his captor. Half of his face was bathed in golden light, the other half in shadow. Despite it, both of his eyes seemed to glow. “So what’re you?”
Castiel tilted his head and opened his beak without speaking, closing it again as his shoulders dropped minutely. “I’m nothing.”
Dean made to ask what that meant, but Castiel was already turning away from his door. He walked to the doorway and watched Castiel’s form glide down the hall. “You can’t be nothing, Castiel. Everyone’s something.”
As he closed the door to his new room, Dean wondered to himself why he’d even spoken, and what the words were actually supposed to mean in reference to the creature he now shared a glorified prison with. It had just seemed right to say.
He opened the curtains and looked at the moon, swelling more than half full in the sky. Werewolves would be back out soon. If he really had to stay that long, maybe Castiel could at least help him hunt. Dean may have volunteered for this, but it didn’t mean he was going to quit his calling. No, he was a warrior, just like Castiel said.
————————————————
Sam hissed as Ellen tied the final stitch into the skin of his shoulder, closing the once-gaping wound. She poured a healthy shot of brandy over it to keep infection away. Their whole crew was packed into the bookshop, staring at him and probably wondering who would speak up first.
Like always, it was Bobby. “Now, run this by me again, son. What happened?”
“I took Baby into the woods to track down that hellhound I saw, and we ended up off the map, in that area where all the trees are dead.” Sam ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “I started feeling weird, and I couldn’t concentrate, and before I knew it, we were surrounded by a pack of wolves.”
“Lucky thing you and Dean’s horse ain’t dead.” Benny worked a whetstone over the edge of his favorite blade.
Out of the everyone in the crew, Benny probably hated him the least, if hate was even part of it at all. When Dean rode three days into the south of France to pick him up and drag him back home, Benny had been there, seen him at his worst. The butcher looked up to his brother and trusted him. All his life Sam didn’t think he’d seen Dean count on another person like he did Benny. What was even more remarkable was that their dad didn’t even like the butcher that much when he was alive.
Benny was probably the only friend Dean had made entirely for himself, and that had actually given Sam a large measure of respect for him. That was even before the discretion he’d exercised in the days following Sam’s final relapse.
“Yeah.” Sam glanced over at Bobby and plowed through the rest of the story, conveniently leaving out the talking clock and small statues in favor of more important details.
Victor had his arms crossed through the whole tale, looking less than impressed. If Benny hated him the least, Vic probably hated him the most. “C’est quoi ce bordel?”
Sam scoffed but said nothing. He hadn’t expected anyone to believe him.
“No, really, how do we know you haven’t been shooting up again?” The room went silent around them, tension in the air winding tighter every second. “Demon blood always made you see crazy shit. How many times did you drag Dean off for a hunt because you swore something was out there?”
Ellen came between them, shoulders set. “Victor, maybe you should leave for a little while and cool off.”
“You can’t tell me you really believe this.” When no one answered Vic turned to Benny. “What about you, Benny? You buyin’ this?”
The butcher looked at Sam for a long minute, then turned back to Victor. “I believe him.”
“You’re joking. He’s a junkie, man–”
“Barre-toi!” Bobby stood quickly and pointed at the door. “Don’t you start that back up. Sam’s been clean for months! We said we believe him. If you have a problem with that, you can get the hell out of my house.”
Victor looked between them all and shook his head, slamming the door as he left. Sam stared at the table, more angry at himself than he was at Victor. He had no right to ask anyone to believe him, and he wasn’t really all that surprised that Vic didn’t. It wasn’t too long ago that they used to be friends.
Sam put his head in his hands and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, guys.”
Bobby fell back into his seat and sighed. “You got nothing to be sorry about, boy.”
Benny changed tables and sat across from him, pulling a map out and spreading it across the table. “Think you can show us about where your brother might be?”
Sam nodded and smiled gratefully. “Kinda surprised you don’t agree with Vic. About me being high, I mean.”
“I’ve seen you when you’re high, Sam.” Benny handed over a pencil so Sam could start marking his path. “Besides, Dean ain’t dumb, and he told me you could be trusted a couple months back once he was sure you weren’t gonna start using again.”
The line Sam was drawing went a little crooked as his hands faltered. His eyes burned, and he ground his jaw until his teeth hurt to keep tears from welling up. Ellen and Bobby pulled up chairs at either end of the table, watching the progression of the path as Sam marked it down. Once he reached the cliff, he paused, not entirely sure where he had run after avoiding the wolf that lunged for him. He gripped the pencil so hard the wood started to splinter, almost ready to snap.
Ellen grabbed his hand and pulled the writing utensil from between his fingers. “We’ll find him, Sam.”
Sam nodded and went over the memories again, determined to find his way back to the castle and his brother.
————————————————
Dean made it all of an hour in his new bedroom before feeling too restless to stay put. There just wasn’t much to see in a closet, a wardrobe, and some ratty curtains. Besides, if he was going to be stuck here indefinitely, it would benefit him to learn the lay of the land.
He was surprised when he could easily push the doors open. Despite whatever Castiel said, Dean had expected to be locked in. The hallway outside his room was almost pitch black. It was clear to him that no one else lived here other than Cas. Obviously near-total darkness wasn’t much of an issue for him.
But then again, if he lived alone, then who had led Dean down into the basement to find Sam? Dean stood directly in the center of the hall and waited, wondering if whoever held the torch then would be here now, waiting for him to need light again. He could talk to them, find out what the hell Castiel was and if he was a threat to the humans of the village.
As Dean’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could see suits of armor lining the walls and the dull colors of faded murals behind them. It wasn’t long before a gentle glow appeared at the far end of the hall. For a moment Dean thought he was imagining it, but then the flame came around the corner for just a second and retreated.
Dean took two steps and paused. Maybe this torch bearer was a lure. Someone who worked with the beast to draw in unwitting victims. He touched his hip and felt the hilt of a hidden blade tucked away. If that were true, then he was officially on a hunt.
He ran down the hall after the light, determined to catch his guide and get some answers. When he reached the side hall, the flame was still there, this time as a candelabra on a small table. But the hall itself was empty. There was no one.
“What the hell?” Dean pulled his knife free of its sheath and took slow steps forward. “Who’s there?”
His voice was too loud in the silence of the ruined castle, and the longer he walked through the halls, the more he felt like he was being watched. The flames on the candles at his side grew larger, bathing his surroundings in more light.
“There’s no need for the knife—not like you could stab me to death.”
Dean jumped and backed himself up against the wall opposite the candelabra. “Who said that?”
“I’m right in front of you.”
He squinted and gripped his blade tighter. “You a ghost?”
The flames of the candles flickered as someone chuckled. “Not quite. The only ghosts you’ll find here are still quite alive, I assure you.”
After a moment Dean looked down at the candles, the flames distorted and holding a shape. “What the hell?”
“Ah, there we are. You know, your brother didn’t take nearly so long to figure it out.” Shades of blue formed a face with eyes and mouth inside the tallest candle while the other two seemed to gesture like hands.
“C’est une blague.” Dean took a step toward the candles and bent over to look at them closer.
He’d seen fire spirits before when he was a kid on a hunt with his dad, but he’d never seen anything quite like this. Whatever witch had this kind of power, Dean wasn’t really too keen on meeting them.
He put his blade back in its sheath and stood straight again. “So, what’s your name? Lumière?”
“Very funny. It’s Balthazar, actually. You keep up that attitude, and I won’t invite you to dinner like I’d planned.”
“How the hell are you gonna serve me dinner? You don’t even have hands.” The side flames grew and fanned out like someone spreading all their fingers. Dean snorted and picked the candles up by their holder.
“Do you really think Cas and I are the only ones living here?” As Balthazar spoke, a torch lit in the hall leading back to Dean’s room.
He walked back out and followed the new flame as it jumped along the wall, leading him to the stairs. “This is how you helped me find Sammy.”
“Yes.” The voice was doubled when it spoke, and when Dean looked closer at the flame on one of the torches, he could see a larger version of the same face that was in the tall candle.
“Honestly, I didn’t know who or what lived here. Cas didn’t really take time to introduce me to the whole gang.” They crossed main hallway, the floor wet in some places. It must have just been cleaned of Sam’s blood.
“He knows that’s my job.” Balthazar led him through a heavy door, then jumped onto a stove. He had mentioned dinner, after all.
Half-burned candles littered every counter, all of their wicks black and used. Dean set the candelabra down and gave himself a quick tour. It was like his kitchen back home, just a hell of a lot bigger. The decay that afflicted the rest of the castle hadn’t seemed to reach this room to the same extent. Some cracked tiles here and there, a few gouges in the wood, but it was clean overall.
The flames spun a bit, then settled. “So, what would you like?”
Dean took a deep breath and scratched his head. “Um… une tarte?”
If fire could look unimpressed, then Dean was seeing it. “How about some actual food, then I’ll give you a slice of the best pie you’ll ever eat.”
Dean chuckled and leaned against one counter. “Deal.”
He could wait until morning to get a full lay of the place. At least then he wouldn’t need to rely on living fire that could snitch on him to the Master of the castle.
————
For a ruined, abandoned castle, the bed in his room wasn’t the worst he’d had. While the comfort helped, he still missed his own home. This room was too quiet, the bed too big. He couldn’t turn over and see his little brother just an arm’s space away.
Dean pushed the worry from his mind and opened the closet. There was no way he could stay in his armor all the time, and he hadn’t exactly thought to pack a change of clothes. Most of the clothing he could find was moth-eaten and ratty, or not big enough for him. The selection in his own room was limited to the point that he was less than a minute from trying a dress just to have something to wear. Maybe other rooms had more to offer. Castiel did say he had free reign.
He had to go down the hall half-naked, but he did manage to find something suitable. It was a solid black shirt made from a soft material, but clearly tailored for someone a bit shorter than him. Dean looked at himself in a mirror and decided to stick with his own trousers. The shirt was tight around his shoulders and chest, and if he raised his arms above his head a sliver of skin below his belly button was exposed, but he could live with that.
Even in the daylight, the castle was creepy. He went down to the first floor and stopped in front of a large, gold frame. The painting inside was shredded, the stone wall behind it gouged by huge claws. Dean lifted the strips of canvas and held them together. Too many pieces were missing for him to complete the picture, but he could see someone’s mouth. The lips were pressed in a firm line, authoritative. Above them he could also see hard blue eyes. Whoever had been in the picture, Dean could guess at what kind of tragedy put that look on their face. He and Sammy both grew up in one.
A small crash from behind him caught his attention. He dropped the strips of canvas and walked toward the sound of hushed voices coming from a foyer beside the kitchen. While he knew not to expect people, he wasn’t quite sure what to do with the sight that greeted him. Two small statues scurried across the floor, the smaller of the two picking up a small teacup.
“Samandriel, you must be more careful!” The taller one was female with red hair and wore a pretty white dress.
The boy she addressed, Samandriel, was wearing trousers with suspenders and a shirt, one of his shoes missing. “Je suis désolé, Maman. It’s just a chip, though.”
He held up the cup, which was almost a third his height, and shrugged. Dean couldn’t help chuckling. They turned to him, Samandriel nearly dropping the cup all over again. The lip of it was chipped, but definitely still usable.
Dean held up his hands and stepped into the room slowly. He took the cup from Samandriel and set it on a large cart the woman was standing by. “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt. Name’s Dean.”
She smiled to him as he offered a finger to be shaken. “My name is Anna, and this is my son, Samandriel.”
Dean nodded, then looked around the room. There was a chair not far from them, but what caught his eye was the rug beside it. There was still blood on it. A chill ran through his body as he remembered his little brother sitting in that old, musty cell.
“This is where Cas found him.”
It wasn’t a question, but Anna confirmed with a nod anyway.
Samandriel shifted on his porcelain feet. “We gave him some tea.”
Dean smirked and looked away from the stain. “Glad someone showed him some kindness.”
Anna wrung her hands, small bits of dust falling as the stone wore against itself. “Cas didn’t mean to hurt him, Dean. We don’t normally get visitors.”
Dean scoffed and shook his head. “Can’t imagine why not.”
“No, I mean that when people used to come, it was to try and kill Cas. They didn’t even know who he was, why we were made like this. They wanted his head for a trophy.”
“That wasn’t why Sammy came here.”
Anna looked at him sadly. “Cas couldn’t have known that, Dean.”
Dean paced two quick steps, grinding his teeth as he spoke. “Maybe he should’ve fucking asked.”
The porcelain woman nodded timidly and looked at the skirt of her dress. Samandriel was so still Dean could almost believe he wasn’t alive. It wasn’t their fault, not really. Dean let out a weary sigh and glanced around the rest of the room. It was comfortable, a place that should’ve had guests.
“Sorry, I just… I’m gonna go look around some more.”
Dean walked back out of the room and took the nearest stairwell he hadn’t already climbed. Halfway up, he stopped and looked across the main hall and one floor above. Cas was standing there, perched against the railing. He didn’t move, just watched as Dean kept climbing the stairs to the second floor. Dean stood directly across from him and stared back. They said nothing, just looked at each other for one still moment. Then Cas looked away and walked off.
What the hell had Dean stumbled into?
————————————————
Sam squinted at the book he was holding. He turned to Benny, speaking quietly. “Hey, is this French or Latin?”
Benny leaned over and scanned the page Sam was on. After a moment he exhaled sharply, an amused grin quickly lifting his features. “Sam, that’s German. Why don’t you go home and sleep for a bit? You’ve been here for two days.”
Sam shook his head and set his book down, reaching for another one on the other side of the table. A hand quickly shot out and grabbed his wrist, and he looked over to see Ellen giving him the most unimpressed glare he’d seen since before Jo had left for Italy.
“Benny’s right, Sam, you need some sleep. In an actual bed.” She closed the books that were in front of him, then gathered them up in her arms and carried them to another table entirely.
“No, I don’t need sleep, I need Dean.” He knew he probably sounded like a petulant child at best, but Dean was all he had left. How the hell was he supposed to sleep?
Bobby sighed from behind him, wood creaking as he got out of his seat and came around to sit across from Sam. “Son, we all want to find Dean, but not even you can go two days without sleep. Get some rest and come back when you wake up. We’ll still be here.”
“Je suis crevé, ouais, but I have to find my brother.” Sam stared angrily at Bobby for a moment, then gave in to a yawn that made his ears and jaw pop.
Benny laughed softly, and Bobby gave him a sad, sympathetic look. Sam sighed and resigned himself to losing the argument. He gathered the few things he’d brought with him and went to the door. The sun was just starting to set.
He turned back to his friends and trusted that they’d keep looking for the monster that had Dean. “I’ll only be a couple hours.”
Ellen gave him a stern look but didn’t say anything as he exited the shop. Dean couldn’t afford for him to take more than a couple hours. They were nearing three days since the incident in the dungeon. If they were lucky, Dean was still sitting in that dungeon, alive and unharmed.
As Sam walked home, he looked up at the moon sitting low in the sky. It was full. Would the beast throw Dean into the woods when they were crawling with hordes of werewolves? Hell, maybe Victor was out there right now. Maybe he’d find Dean in the middle of hunting.
Sam was so tired he only realized he was home right as he was opening the door. He fell into bed without undressing and was mindful of the deep gashes in his shoulder. As he succumbed to sleep he couldn’t help wondering if Dean had avoided the same claws that had almost made Sam bleed out in those old ruins.
————————————————
Finding half a minute where Balthazar would leave him the hell alone took a lot of patience, but Dean was willing to wait. Maybe if he’d had more common sense, he’d have left well enough alone. Maybe if he were anyone else, he could’ve. But Cas didn’t want him in the West Wing, and his hunter’s curiosity wasn’t going to just let that go.
After four days, he finally had his chance. Balthazar was in the kitchen, whipping up some dinner with Anna and Samandriel’s help. Dean thought he could even hear Gabriel ticking away angrily. The whole scene was probably hilarious, but Dean had other things on his mind.
He climbed the stairs as quietly as possible, watching out for Cas the whole time. Without Bal jumping around, the only light came from the full moon streaming in through the huge windows. Most of them on the upper levels didn’t have glass anymore, and they let cold wind pour into the castle. The only howling he could hear was from those winds, but he knew better than to think it meant that the werewolves weren’t out in full force.
When he reached the second floor, he stopped and looked around, making sure nothing was following him. For all he knew, there could be a dog in disguise as a footstool. But there was nothing. No more living objects hopping around to torment him. Just the silence of the second floor and the West Wing beyond. He tightened his belt around his waist and pressed onward.
The west end of the castle was the mirror opposite of the east, right up until Dean found a set of crumbling stairs. In his wing of the castle he’d be at the end of the hall where his bedroom was, but this was different. He climbed up the stairway quietly, cautious of stepping on broken glass or anything that would make noise. Whatever it was Cas didn’t want him to see, it had to be at the top of the stairs.
His boots made little noise as he made his way. This set was different than every other, no tapestries or carpets to decorate it. Layers of gouges from Cas’ claws were clearly visible, some of the steps halfway gone because of them. Just how long had these people been like this?
At the top of the stairs was a large bedroom, everything in it broken or shredded. A large bed sat in ruin at the back wall, wind blowing in and stirring the scraps of what looked like a canopy, or the remains of one at the least. To the right of the bed, there was a pile of paintings, their frames broken down and their canvasses in ribbons. Dean walked toward it, curious about what sort of images Cas saw fit to destroy so entirely.
A sound off to his left caught his attention, his head snapping toward a balcony, the doors long gone. Just in front of it was a large hour glass at least the length of his arm. Rather than sand, there was a dagger sitting in the top half. The blade was made of something clear and red, glass or a gemstone, maybe. He realized the noise had been a piece of the blade falling into the bottom of the hour glass. There were chips all throughout, giving it a delicate appearance, like it would crumble if the wind so much as blew on it.
A large shadow fell over the dagger, startling Dean. He looked up and saw Cas looming over him. The first thought in his mind was that he was looking up at the Cas Sammy saw down in that parlor.
“What are you doing here? I told you not to come here!” Cas went around the dagger, beak snapping viciously as he spoke. “Get out!”
Dean nearly tripped over his own feet as he ran for the stairs, jumping down them two at a time until he stumbled back onto the second floor. He took the stairs to the ground level even faster, running right by Balthazar and Gabriel on his way out. Promises be damned, he was getting the hell out the castle.
Baby perked up when he came running out the front doors, coming over to him quickly from where she’d been grazing at dry grass in the courtyard. Riding her bareback wasn’t exactly his favorite, but he wasn’t going to take time to saddle her. All he needed to do was get back to town.
She made a startled noise when he climbed onto her, and he spared a second to pat her neck. “Je sais, désolé. Allons-y, nous partons.”
Baby took off so quickly Dean nearly lost his balance. On second thought, maybe he should’ve saddled her. The gate opened for them, letting them pass without issue. Dean held onto Baby’s mane, concentrating on the path as it twisted through the trees.
Dean could barely see in the scattered moonlight, and he didn’t realize they weren’t heading toward town until he saw a cliff directly ahead. He leaned and managed to get Baby to turn, but they weren’t able to reach the right path fast enough. She stopped dead in between a fork in the path they originally took when she brought him to Sam. If they could follow it to the left, they’d be on their way home. But, as was typical of his life, there was one major complication. Several pairs of brightly glowing eyes had surrounded them, the air being filled with the sound of growling. Werewolves. At least ten.
“Oh, putain.” Dean kicked Baby in the sides and got her running again, he didn’t know to where, just away from the demon wolves.
They darted between the trees, dodging the swipe of claws and the snapping of jaws. There was a bend in the road where it ran beside a large lake. They were going too fast for Dean to guide her properly and Baby reared back, throwing him off onto the dirt. The air was knocked out of his lungs as he landed hard on his side. He shouted, pain shooting through his side, his shoulder cracking worryingly when he tried moving it.
Baby screamed and Dean watched as she bucked and kicked at a circle of monsters surrounding her. One of them lunged for her and Dean could just see it, the wolf tearing her open, the sound of her dying in these woods. They’d come for him next, they’d—
The wolf yelped as it was thrown to the side, giving Baby the chance to escape. Dean took a second to feel the relief before paying attention to what the hell was happening. A wolf went down right at his feet, huge claws tearing its chest open with sickening cracks and the wet ripping of flesh. Another wolf pounced, but had its throat torn out by a sharp beak.
“Cas?” Dean tried to move but could only manage to scoot back a couple paces.
Most of the pack was running, seeming to realize that they’d pissed off a bigger predator. Still, a few were sticking around, swiping and lunging at Cas. He slammed his head into one, using a horn to break open its skull as it launched into an attack. It was dead before it hit the ground, and Cas followed up by swiftly killing two more before one of the others came up from behind and tore into his shoulder. He shrieked like an eagle, the sound shrill and deafening, ripping through the forest. A call like that was bound to travel farther than even the howling of the werewolf pack.
Cas reached around and picked the wolf on his shoulder up by the neck, snapping its spine in one fluid motion, then slamming it into the ground to finish the job. The last of them took the chance to latch onto his forearm and Cas screamed again, then crushed the wolf’s skull in his other hand.
Dean finally hauled himself up to standing, moving his arm to make sure it wasn’t broken. The whole thing would probably be a giant bruise, but from what he could tell it was fine otherwise. Baby trotted up to him from behind, breathing heavily and dancing around until Dean hugged her with his uninjured arm.
“It’s alright, we’re alright. Calm down, girl.” He clucked his tongue at her, gently patting her and rubbing her face.
When he looked back, Cas was still there, blood soaking his fur and dripping from his beak. Dean couldn’t even tell how much belonged to the wolves and how much was Cas’ own. He glanced back at the lake beside them. The woods on the other side were close to the shepherd’s fields. If he left for it, he would be home by first light.
Cas coughed, stumbling over where he stood. No matter how big and fearsome Cas was, if they didn’t get those wounds treated, there was a very real chance of him dying. Dean sighed and shook his head. Stupid bastard had risked his life, after all, and Dean knew how to clean the bites. That and he did need to make sure the bites weren’t going to just turn Cas instead of killing him.
Dean walked up to the beast, frowning when he got a better look at the bites. He looked Cas in the eyes as he spoke. “This? This is life paying you back for slicing my brother’s shoulder open.”
Cas visibly shrank, eyes downcast and shoulders hunched. “I understand.”
Dean gently pushed at Cas’ good shoulder with his good arm. “And now we’re gonna go back to your stupid castle, and I’m gonna pay you back for saving me and Baby’s lives.”
Something passed through Cas’ eyes, a light that made him lift his head and look at Dean. “You’re going to help me?”
“Yeah. Now come on, before I grow some common sense.” Dean clucked his tongue again, calling Baby to follow. “I hope you know the way back, because I don’t.”
Cas nodded, wobbling a bit as he walked. “Follow me.”
————
There had to have been rabid dogs that would have made better patients. Everyone was gathered in the foyer, watching as Dean did his best to treat the master of the castle. He used a rag and hot water to rinse the bites, then poured the strongest alcohol Anna could find over them. Cas shrieked again and again, but Dean was quickly becoming used to the sound. He gritted his teeth and debated whether he should even attempt to bandage the wounds, if this was how Cas was going to act.
He gingerly poured some of the hot water over the bite in Cas’ shoulder. “Am I going to have to worry about you turning?”
“No. I’ve been bitten before. I appear to be immune in this form.” Cas ran his claws along the floor, dried blood flaking off of them as he did. “This is your fault, anyway.”
Everyone around them flinched, and Dean took a moment to grind his teeth before dumping the bowl of water over Cas’ head and moving to stand in front of him. “Buddy, if you hadn’t chased me out of the damn castle to start with, we wouldn’t be here right now!”
“If you hadn’t run off—”
“You told me to get out, wha—”
“I meant for you to get out of the West Wing and especially my room. I didn’t mean for—”
“Well your fucking communication skills suck! You just screamed at me to get out—”
“I explicitly told you not to enter the West Wing. I am within my rights to demand that you leave when you trespass!” Cas’ shoulders were squared, his form puffed up in a display of intimidation, but Dean was too mad to care.
“Va niquer ta mère, connard!” Dean ran a hand through his hair, almost pulling a fistful out. “I didn’t have to bring you back here, and I sure as hell didn’t have to clean your damn mess of bites! I could have left you out there to bleed, but I didn’t. How about a fucking merci?”
Cas said nothing for a moment, just held Dean’s gaze before looking off at Balthazar in the fireplace. He visibly deflated after a moment, sighing and looking at the freshly cleaned bite on his arm. “Tu as raison. Merci, Dean, et je suis désolé. It wasn’t my intention to frighten you as I did.”
Dean breathed out a heavy sigh, his entire right side radiating pain. His arm throbbed in time with his pulse, an angry reminder of just how alive he was and just how quickly he almost wasn’t. “De rien, ne t’inquiète pas. Like you said: I was where you told me not to be. In my defense, I’m a hunter, and telling me not to go somewhere is basically a guarantee that I’ll sneak in.”
Cas’ shoulders shook with a soft chuckle. “Noted.” He paused for a moment, glancing back at Dean. “Will you leave now?”
The tone of his voice held the implication that he would let Dean, if he wished. But the woods were still full of werewolves. Wolves that would now be pissed off because of a handful of dead pack members.
Dean sighed and shook his head. “I can’t leave when the wolves are still out. Ask me in the morning.”
Cas said nothing as he walked away and headed up the stairs. He found his way back to his room in the dark, groaning in pain as he peeled himself out of his armor and collapsed into bed. At least the mattress wasn’t going to make his injuries any worse.
Dean thought he heard the sound of claws clicking across the floor as he was falling asleep. He pictured Cas doing the rounds and snorted to himself. The beast would show concern once the danger had already passed, wouldn’t he?
————
Something was off. The world was tilted a little to the side, but it looked just the same. Dean took a bite of baguette and tried to shake the feeling. A hand on his left shoulder caught his attention. He looked at his companion, whose blue eyes were wide with concern.
“Are you alright, Dean?” His voice sounded familiar, but there was something…
Dean could hear his own voice say his friend’s name, but it was distorted, an underwater echo. “Yeah… I’m fine.”
His friend smiled, crinkles appearing at the corners of his eyes. Dean smiled back and tore off a chunk of bread, offering it with a crooked grin. It was taken easily, their fingers slipping against one another.
They sat in silence for a moment, watching the sunset off in the distance. Dean couldn’t look anywhere else, couldn’t see where they were. Though, still, the whole place felt familiar.
“Will you stay, Dean?” The hand on his shoulder moved to his thigh, an intimate touch that his body welcomed.
Dean shrugged. He wanted to, he knew that. There was something about his friend, something that was tilted the same way the rest of the world was. But he seemed to be going the opposite way, almost like a counterbalance. Designed just to be the only thing that made sense.
“I’ve gotta get back to Sammy.” Dean put his hand over the one on his lap, putting as much conviction in his voice as he could. “But I’ll come back.”
His friend smiled and nodded, the whole world turning around with it.
Dean dodged a jab to his midsection. They were somewhere else. A large room, almost like a banquet hall. It was a place built by and for royalty. Instead of being filled with tables, it was filled with racks of weapons.
His friend laughed and lunged again, but Dean blocked, locking their arms together and bringing his friend close. Dean could tell something was different. This didn’t feel like they were just friends.
Once again he said the man’s name, but he still couldn’t hear himself well enough to decipher it. “You gotta move faster if you want to get me… I’m too good to fall for what you’re pulling.”
A spark ran through his friend’s eyes, the blue of them bright even as the pupils expanded. Dean braced himself, a shiver running up his spine that made his stomach flip. That was the instant when he knew it was true: they weren’t just friends.
The sheets on the bed were too soft to be Dean’s own. He used wool, mostly. It was softened by hand washings and age, but it was still wool. These sheets, though, they were silken, satiny. Dean liked them so much better.
What he liked most was the feeling of two strong hands on his shoulders. He was naked, his skin damp with sweat. Fuck, he was inside someone. He looked up and saw familiar bright blue eyes staring down, the lids fluttering. They were better than friends. So much better than friends.
The hands on his shoulders slipped, moving to the sheets below. Dean pulled his partner down, drawing him into a slow kiss. Their bodies moved together with ease, his hips rolling up into every downward slide. How many times had they done this? Why was Dean only now showing up for it? He moaned into the kiss, his partner’s garbled by their lips moving and by whatever it was that had the world spinning backward here.
The response came to his ears clearly. “Dean.”
He moaned again, saying nothing. All he could do was wrap his arms around the warm, soft body above his own. Their hips sped up, pushing them both closer and closer to finishing. When they sparred, he knew how to dodge, how to block and parry perfectly. Here too he knew what to do. How to suck on the tongue in his mouth and bite at the lips surrounded in a day-old beard.
“Will you stay?” The tinge of desperation in the words was coupled by their skin smacking together, hips moving harder, their rhythm stilted.
Dean’s breathing was ragged, his skin covered in sweat. His legs trembled as he pushed up into every thrust. Fuck, he was so close. “I’ll come back.”
A whimper from above did him in, the heat in his belly exploding as he released. The smile it earned him was unlike any other he’d seen.
————
Dean woke up to sunlight and the sound of knocking against his closed door. The pain in his shoulder wasn’t as sharp, just a dull, hot ache that was still throbbing. He sighed and winced as he made his way out of bed and to the door. Opening it was another challenge, but nothing he couldn’t manage.
Cas was standing on the other side, his bites already looking better from what Dean could see of them. That lucky bastard. He looked Dean over, eyebrows furrowing. If Cas had lips, Dean imagined he’d be frowning.
“I was hoping to invite you to breakfast. Balthazar and Gabriel set the table. We have fruit and fromage blanc, eggs with ham, croissants and beurre doux.” Cas sounded much smaller than he had the night before, though he didn’t avoid eye contact this time around. “I also wanted to apologize again for last night. If you’ll let me, I’ll make it up to you.”
Dean rubbed his forehead, a sickness settling in his stomach that he knew was nothing more than his own hunger. He definitely needed to eat, and eggs and ham sounded delicious.
“Yeah, why not?” He smirked and let the door fall open. “Eggs and ham sound great, Cas. And I can try the fromage blanc, but I’m not making any promises.”
Cas nodded, his entire body shifting as tension drained from him.
Dean grinned despite himself. “Just let me get some pants on.”
Cas made a noise of assent and sat outside the room, waiting for Dean to get dressed. Just as Dean had thought, a huge, sick bruise was already starting to form on his arm, darkest at the shoulder. He was damn lucky not to be hurt worse.
If Cas hadn’t shown up when he did, Dean probably wouldn’t have been awake to see any bruising. Baby definitely wouldn’t be alive to be wherever she was roaming during midmorning. Dean pulled a pair of trousers on and admitted to himself that Cas had earned at least a little respect from him after last night. Maybe he wasn’t all beast sitting in that skin. If Dean looked far enough, maybe he could find something human to try and fix whatever mess Cas had gotten himself and the rest of the castle into.
Dean followed Cas down the stairs and realized he’d accidentally stumbled onto a whole new case.
————————————————
Sam squinted against the sunlight pouring in through his window. He shifted on his bed, the bandages wet against his skin with his blood. Ellen would need to change them again. What time was it? He’d only meant to sleep a few hours before going back.
There was a sound from behind him, like someone bumping into one of the tables. Sam froze where he lay, sliding his hand under his pillow for the knife he kept. It wasn’t there.
“Looking for this, boy?”
He knew that voice.
Sam rolled over, ready to fight, but didn’t even make it to his feet before a rag was shoved against his mouth and nose. He could see Alastair’s face, a smug smile lifting his lips from his rotting teeth as he twirled Sam’s knife between his fingers. Then the world went black.
————
Lilith watched three men haul Sam into the back of Alastair’s wagon, all of them complaining about how much he weighed. Maybe if Sam had been the eldest son instead of Dean, this whole thing would have turned out differently. Ruby eyed Sam’s unconscious form, biting her lower lip.
“What?”
Ruby shrugged. “Just thinking, he’s gotta be big all over.”
Lilith chuckled. “Well, when Dean comes home and finds his precious baby brother missing, I can probably work out a deal for you, too.”
A vicious smile curled Ruby’s lips. “So, what will you tell Dean?”
“That someone told the doctors Sam was using again, and that they thought it would be in everyone’s best interest if he were committed. For his own safety, of course. If Dean wants his little brother back, I have connections that can make that happen. But only if he agrees to marry me.” Lilith waved to Alastair as he climbed up with the driver of the coach. “He won’t be happy, but he never is.”
Ruby made a noise of agreement. “Where is he, anyway? He’s been gone for four days, hasn’t he?”
“He’s probably out hunting with Victor. The full moon did just pass us by, and those boys never stop.” Lilith heard the howling of werewolves and the shrieks of an eagle from inside her own house.
If Dean and Victor were trying to clear out an entire pack they’d need to return soon. She’d be Madame Winchester soon enough, and then she could finally avenge her brother’s death at the hands of John Winchester. Azazel wouldn’t have died for nothing; she’d see to that.
————————————————
Dean was noble by birth, sure, but he’d never seen anything like this. Cas stood off to the side, eyes flicking around the room rapidly. This place was fucking incredible. It was maybe half the size of a ballroom, all open floor space and huge windows. Every wall was lined with racks of weapons and armor. Even as a hunter, there were swords here that Dean had never seen in his life.
He ran his thumb across the blade of one, flinching when it cut him with just the barest pressure. “Cas, where’d you get all this stuff?”
Cas took small steps toward him, his movements stilted and hesitant. “My grandfather and uncles acquired most of the weapons here, but my father and I did both contribute. The armory was left to me when my father died.”
Dean nodded and picked up a small, curved dagger. “My dad left me all his weapons, too.”
“Your father was a hunter, as well?” Cas moved closer, standing almost directly beside Dean.
Cas’ shadow covered everything, looming across the blades and armor in a way that contrasted his demeanor. It was becoming easier to believe that hurting Sammy had been an accident. Anna said everyone that came around before was coming to kill Cas, to turn him into a trophy. Being hunted like that, the fear could make anyone uneasy and unsteady. Dean still needed to check on his brother and make sure the cuts were alright. While he trusted Bobby and Ellen, this was Sammy.
The more Dean learned about Cas, the more he began thinking maybe he could just ask to go back to the village for a day. Hell, Cas had implied it last night after they fought when Dean was cleaning him up. Dean was a man of his word; he would come back. He could even leave Baby as proof, if it came to it. As soon as he knew Sam was really okay, he’d be back, and they could figure out how to fix Cas and everyone else in the castle.
“Dean?” Cas’ arm twitched like he wanted to reach out and touch Dean.
“What? Sorry, guess I got stuck in my head. What’d you say?” He set the curved dagger back down and glanced back at the open floor.
“I asked if your father was also a hunter.” Cas followed his line of sight.
Dean nodded. “Yeah, he got into it because of my mom. Raised me and Sammy into it after she…” Dean hesitated. “After he moved us out of England.”
A heavy touch on his shoulder made him jump, but not enough to dislodge it. He turned and looked at Cas, his breath catching in his throat. The blue of Cas’s eyes looked like it was glowing in the sunlight, and Dean had an odd flash in his mind, déjà vu of some sort. He knew those eyes from somewhere other than the beast in front of him, but he couldn’t place where.
Cas took his huge paw away before speaking. “My mother died in childbirth.”
Dean let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “A witch murdered mine. Almost burned our entire house down. After that my dad started hunting, ended up tracking the witch to the village where we live. Dad killed him about two months ago. Died right after. Gut wound.”
Cas nodded his understanding, then looked back to the weapons. “I brought you here because I have no more use for these weapons. They’re yours if you’d like them.”
The change in subject, while drastic, was welcomed. Dean turned around and took in the room as a whole, eyes jumping from rack to rack. “The whole place?”
“Yes.” It was then that Dean noticed the way Cas stood.
He almost looked like he was perching, all four limbs drawn to one space on the ground. Dean could almost picture wings the same color as Cas’ fur wrapped around his giant frame. How had anyone ever thought they could make a trophy out of something like him?
Cas held his gaze, seemingly unbothered by prolonged staring. Some people couldn’t stand it, and it surprised Dean that Cas wasn’t one of them. Men with lives like theirs didn’t usually bare all like that. Then again, men with lives like theirs didn’t usually meet each other outside of trying to kill each other. Part of Dean was glad he hadn’t been foolish enough to try and kill Cas the moment they met. Though, he wasn’t really sure which one of them would actually win.
Dean grinned, causing Cas to tilt his head. “Spar with me.”
Cas’ eyes widened, his back and shoulders straightening. “What?”
“C’mon, spar with me.” Dean ran forward and grabbed a short sword with a wide blade and a wheeled pommel.
It had a good weight in his hand, heavy without being unwieldy, the handle was quite comfortable as his fingers wrapped around it. Dean could tell the weapon was well loved and often used at one time. A family weapon, maybe.
Cas shifted his weight between his feet. “What about your arm?”
Dean shrugged, hiding his wince. “Let me worry about my arm.”
“Dean—”
“Cas, c’mon, quit drowning in your glass of holy water and fight me.” Even using his off-hand, he felt confident.
Cas scoffed and took measured steps until he was standing a few paces away from Dean, looking him in the eye. There was a certain hardness in his eyes, different than plain determination. He looked like a hunter, a warrior. Dean was sure he probably had the same look.
Dean winked and held his blade up. “Don’t get huffy just ‘cause I called you awkward.”
Cas rolled his eyes, then lunged at Dean. The speed was shocking, barely giving Dean enough time to dodge the massive form coming at him. For such a large thing, Cas was quick, turning and moving with Dean as he ducked and weaved to avoid each attack. They were almost in sync, moving together across the floor in a way that seemed more like dancing than fighting.
Dean laughed loudly, backing out of the way of a wide sweep from Cas’ claws. “Gotta move faster if you want to get me, Cas, I’m too good to fall for what you’re pulling.”
The words felt too familiar, slick on his tongue as they fell from his lips. All of it felt that way. Like they’d been here before. The more he indulged in the feeling, the lighter the air felt around them. For a moment, Dean could even forget the pain in his arm. Well, until he fell backward and landed on his bruised shoulder blade.
Not even a full second after he fell Cas was looming over him, eyes bright and excited. Dean smiled, panting, and glanced at his blade intently. Cas tilted his head, then looked where Dean indicated. If he were to lower himself even another inch the blade would start sinking into his flesh.
Dean grinned, cocksure and confident. “Gotcha right in the heart, Cas.”
Cas’ throat puffed up, a soft, curious chirp filling the air. He nodded, the fur at the corners of his eyes began bunching in what could’ve been a grin on someone else. “It seems you have indeed.”
The blade was discarded easily, sliding across the floor with a clatter as Dean tossed it to the side. Neither of them moved, stuck in the growing feeling of familiarity. A sense of déjà fait was sweeping over Dean, more intense than when he’d looked into Cas’ eyes earlier and felt like he’d already seen the color somewhere. This felt like something he’d done so many times that it was just as normal as sitting in the kitchen across from Sammy. His hand drifted up, fingers sliding along the smooth curve of Cas’ beak, then on into the fur around it. His knuckles brushed against the ends of Cas’ horns, the bone rough against his skin.
A shaky smile lifted his lips, a gentle exhale coming out almost as a sigh. “Didn’t expect you to be so soft.”
Cas’ eyes fluttered a bit, his throat shaking with something like a purr. Dean knew the sound; it was some type of owl noise, but he’d never heard it made like this.
“Are you purring, Cas?” He ran his fingers along the point of Cas’ beak, knowing it wouldn’t take much pressure to slice his skin open. Cas had proven that much with the werewolves.
It seemed like Cas came back to himself after a moment, landing softly in reality from wherever he’d been floating. He backed off suddenly, looking anywhere but at Dean. “There are other places I can show you in the castle, if you’d like.”
Dean sat up slowly, hissing at the fresh pain in his shoulder and back. “Alright, sure. What about that dagger, though, the one in your room? What’s the deal with it?”
The gentle openness in Cas’ eyes disappeared, the tone of his voice decisive and sharp as he spoke. “There is no deal.”
Whatever it was Cas was hiding, Dean knew better than to keep prying where he wasn’t welcome. It wasn’t like he couldn’t just ask someone else. Balthazar was chatty enough.
Dean nodded and got back onto his feet. “Okay, no deal. What else you got around here, then?”
Cas relaxed marginally, shifting on his feet again as he looked out the windows. “We could go outside, and I can show you the pond. Wild game uses a gap in the wall to come drink. We might see a fawn, if we’re lucky.”
“Yeah, sounds good.” Dean grinned and followed Cas out of the room.
It didn’t matter how, but he needed to know the story on that dagger. Maybe there was a library somewhere. Research wouldn’t really be the same without Sam, but Dean could probably find something if he looked.
————————————————
The scrape of the lock turning made Sam tense where he sat inside his cell. It had been four days since he was taken from his bed and tossed into the sanitarium. Actually, it could have been longer, he didn’t know how much time had passed after the second day. Alastair said it was for the good of the town, locking up an addict like him. That was a cover, a game. Getting Devil’s Blood was easier behind bars than it was outside. Even the air smelled like it. Sam didn’t know how much longer he was going to be able to hold out.
When the door opened Sam fully expected one of the guards to lumber on in, but it looked like God was finally showing some mercy. Vic walked in with a smile and helped Sam to his feet. Benny was standing in the doorway, looking both ways down the hall.
Vic clapped him on his good shoulder. “A man as tall as you shouldn’t be so damn hard to find.”
Sam laughed under his breath, surprised with how ragged his own voice was. “God, shut up and get me out of here.”
Benny led the way out, guiding them through the halls and out the back door under the noses of the guards and Alastair. The way Benny moved reminded Sam of Dean. There were horses waiting in the woods beyond the asylum, one for each of them.
When they were a little ways down the road Sam turned to Vic. “What the hell happened?”
“Lilith. We think she had you locked up as a way of getting Dean to agree to marry her. Don’t know how that was supposed to work out, but I’m sure she had something in mind. She probably didn’t know he was missing then, but she definitely does now. You’ve been gone a week, and Dean still hasn’t turned up.” Vic licked his lips and swallowed roughly. “Sam, I uh, I’m sorry about what happened at Bobby’s. I know you weren’t high. Things have just been rough since your dad died.”
Sam shrugged. “Tell me about it. All me and dad did was fight, but I still miss him. Look, man, don’t worry about it. I wouldn’t have believed me either.”
Vic held his reins a little tighter. “I saw the beast you were talking about during the last full moon. I was tracking that pack of werewolves in the forest, and saw Dean and Impala being chased. The beast saved them. Dean went back with it. I tried to follow them, but the pack was pissed and chased me back into town.”
“Wait, what do you mean it saved Dean?” Sam jerked toward Vic, his hands snapping on the reins and irritating his horse.
Benny shushed them from where he rode just ahead. “We can talk about it when we’re home, but we gotta get there first.”
Sam and Vic traded a nod, and all three of them kicked their horses into a gallop.
————————————————
Dean almost didn’t want to know where the ingredients for their dinner came from. The small game he knew came from the traps by the pond, but where the hell did they get the vegetables? In the week he’d remained since the full moon he’d yet to see a garden anywhere in the dead soil.
Did Gabriel scamper out into the woods and steal from Linda and Kevin’s fields? Mostly, he just didn’t get how the meal itself was cooked. Yeah, Balthazar was probably the heat under the pans, but was the stove alive? Did their pans walk? If so, why hadn’t anyone offered a show to go with dinner? The table they were eating at wasn’t huge, or in the best shape, but surely Balthazar could muster up some flatware to dance for them.
Cas tried to be subtle about watching Dean eat, but that was far easier said than done. At least he wasn’t scowling anymore.
After another bite of mystery meat stew, Dean smiled. “You know, Cas, you’re not half bad when you relax.”
The fur around Cas’ eyes bunched a bit in his usual grin, and Dean got a flash in his mind. Tan skin, blue eyes just like Cas’, and a wide smile curling a pair of beautiful lips. He’d dreamt about it, he thought. Dean shoved the thought away and continued eating.
Cas cleared his throat a moment later, the digits of his paws fidgeting. “I’ve been thinking.”
Dean looked up, but Cas wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Que penses-tu?”
“I’ve been unfair to you, Dean.” At that, Cas did look up and meet his eyes. “You may leave any time you wish.”
The excitement and joy he’d thought he would feel at those words wasn’t really there. His first thought was that he was glad to be able to go home to Sammy, but his second was that there was no way he could stay gone. When he didn’t speak right away, Cas looked down at his own food.
Dean nodded, looking at Balthazar on top of the torches and candles. He didn’t know them well, but he knew the people living here enough to know they needed bodies. They deserved actual lives. If Dean had to drag the entire crew out here to help them, he would.
He looked over at Cas, leaning a bit to catch his avoidant gaze and bring it back. “I’ll come back, Cas.”
“You don’t have to, Dean.” Cas sounded distant.
Dean frowned and set his spoon down, then reached out and touched Cas’ arm. His fingers felt like they should move, stroke through the fur. He tamped the urge down and settled for gripping Cas a little tighter.
“I don’t have to, but I will. We need to find a way to make you human again.” Dean put every ounce of his conviction into his tone, hoping Cas knew he was serious.
Cas’ eyes widened and he swallowed roughly before nodding. “If it’s what you want.”
Dean chuckled. “Hey, man, it’s your body. Pretty sure it’s gotta be what you want.”
They stared at each other for a minute, an easy smile pulling at Dean’s lips. With his dad, hunting had been about revenge. It was a way of finding the witch that killed his mom, a way of ridding the world of a little more evil with each trip. But that wasn’t how it had always been. His dad had been so broken after their mom died, he couldn’t remember what she’d told them hunting was really about. Saving people, hunting things. It was a family business.
Cas needed his help. Everyone here needed his family’s help.
Dean pulled his hand away and picked his spoon back up. “Besides, I want you and Sammy to meet with less claw this time. I think you two would get along.”
Cas made a soft noise, almost like a fluttery chirp. It was a happy noise, Dean knew. “I do still owe him an apology.”
It made Dean’s smile widen, and suddenly he was a little more eager to finish his meal. Even if it was just so he could hurry up and get back here.
————
Castiel knew Balthazar was curious from the way his flames twisted and shuddered. But it was his eyes that betrayed the concern underneath that. They were a darker blue than normal, a little larger than they should have been.
“Whatever it is you want to ask me, Balthazar, just ask it.” He watched Dean saddle and mount his horse and heard another piece of the dagger’s blade fall into the bottom of the hour glass. It was so close to the hilt now.
Balthazar sighed, sparks flying up into the air from his head. “Why are you letting him go?”
The gates opened as Dean rode off, stopping only momentarily to glance back at the castle before riding off into the trees.
“A true warrior is earned, not imprisoned.” Castiel exhaled slowly, unable to let himself hope that Dean really would come back. “Leave me.”
Balthazar hesitated, then jumped across the sconces until he was gone.
————————————————
Benny and Victor took him straight to the bookshop, filling him in on their progress once they were close enough to town for Benny to think it safe. Ellen had found a locator spell buried in the back of one of their oldest books that they could definitely use to find Dean. When they realized Sam was missing, they nearly used it to try and find him, but they needed blood to do that, and the rags had already been washed. Instead, they had to track him down the old fashioned way. That was why it had taken an entire week to get him back.
As soon as he was through the doorway, Ellen was on him, pulling him to sit down so she could get at his shoulder. The bandages stuck to his skin and smelled of sickness. Sam covered his nose and thought about asking for some brandy wine.
Luckily, his cuts weren’t looking too bad, despite the bandages not being changed. Ellen instructed Benny to finish up with cleaning Sam’s wounds and applying new bandages. She gave a strip of the old ones to Bobby, who cut off a length and put it into a bowl of spell ingredients.
Sam hissed as Benny cleaned him up. “How long have you had this spell ready?”
Bobby grabbed the map they were drawing on days ago and spread it out on the table. “About as long as you’ve been missing.”
Victor kept an eye on the town, switching between looking out the windows and through the door. Sam got the sense that something wasn’t quite right. Bobby chanted and poured the mixture in the bowl onto the map, eyes fixed on the paper. He kept chanting, some combination of Latin and another language Sam didn’t know. The herbs started moving, sliding around the map like a wind was shaping them. Once they were settled in their tracks they burst into flames that were gone in an instant, leaving nothing but the burn marks of where they’d been.
Bobby stopped chanting and nodded at the paths of the spell’s contents. “Got it. C’mon, let’s go get your brother.”
Benny tied off the last of the new bandages and Sam patted him on the shoulder as thanks. He stood, moving his arm around with less pain than before. They were nearly done packing their gear when voices from outside caught their attention. Victor ran to the window and looked outside.
“Ah, merde.” He came away from the window. “Half the town’s out there, and it looks like Lilith’s at the head of it. We might want to get moving.”
Bobby passed a crossbow to Benny. “You three go. We’ll stay in town, try and keep the peace.”
Sam nodded, barely paying attention to anyone as he stalked out the door and went right for Lilith. For her part, she did try to cover her surprise. There was talk of a monster, some beast out on the other side of the forest. Maybe they weren’t the only ones who’d thought about locator spells. Dean had always thought Lilith was a witch, anyway. It wouldn’t have surprised Sam if she was a literal one.
She smiled when he walked up to her. “Sam! Just the man I’m looking for. I’m rousing the town for a hunt, you and yours want in?”
Sam grit his teeth and narrowly kept himself from killing her in the middle of the street. “Cut the crap, Lilith, I know it was you.”
Lilith tilted her head and put a hand to her chest. “Sam, what are you talking about?”
“Appelez un chat un chat, Lilith. You had Alastair kidnap me.” Sam could hear Benny and Victor getting the horses. They had to move fast.
A smug smile curled Lilith’s lips, just a hint of teeth peeking out. “My, my, Sammy, you just know everything, don’t you?”
Ruby called out for Lilith, who walked away without another word. Sam cursed under his breath and ran back behind the shop, climbing into the saddle of his horse quickly. Benny met his eyes, and he nodded. All other personal issues would have to wait until they found Dean.
They took a narrow side path into the forest to avoid the rest of the town, then moved to the main road once they had a good enough lead. When they got to the dead part of the woods the horses started fighting, and Sam took the front, glancing down at the map to figure out his next move. The trail it showed them wasn’t one any of them knew. It was hidden by dense shrubbery and unnatural shadows. There were faded tracks in the mud, only one set of them human. Sam wondered if the beast walked through here with Dean, or if it was something else.
It wasn’t long before the gate was in sight, just as large and imposing as Sam remembered. As they approached, it opened, the three of them stopping abruptly. For a moment nothing happened, and the three of them traded wary glances. Then Dean came out on Baby’s back, riding at a relaxed pace. He smiled when he saw them, kicking Baby into a trot.
The smile on his face only got wider as he approached and jumped out of his saddle. “How’d you guys find me?”
Sam got off of his horse and hugged Dean tightly, ignoring the pain in his own shoulder. “Locator spell.”
Dean returned the hug, laughing quietly. “God it’s good to see you, little brother.”
Sam closed his eyes and breathed out a heavy sigh of relief. “How’d you get away?”
Dean squeezed him tightly, then pulled back. “Cas let me go.”
Victor made a noise behind them. “Cas?”
“Yeah, he owns the place.” Dean looked between the three of them, his brow furrowed. “You didn’t come here to kill him, did you?”
Sam shook his head. “Not unless you tell us to. What’s the deal with you and the beast, anyway? Vic said he saw it save you from werewolves?”
Benny cleared his throat loudly. “We can figure out Dean’s new friend later, Lilith’s still comin’.”
Dean’s eyes widened. “Lilith? What the hell does she want?”
Sam sighed. “What doesn’t she want? She’s got half the town rallied and marching through the woods. They’re coming for Cas, probably just so she can get you.”
“Putain, we gotta go warn Cas.” Dean hopped back onto Baby, turning back toward the gate.
“Dean, we should get out of here. Maybe we can lead them away.” Sam climbed back into his saddle.
“No, I promised Cas I’d come back. I’ll explain everything when there’s not a mob on the way, allons-y.” Dean rode back for the gate without looking to make sure they were following.
Benny came up beside Sam and shook his head. “Your brother sure does know how to make friends.”
Victor laughed. “Gets that from your dad.”
Sam sighed and followed his brother back into the walls of the ruined castle.
————
Dean stood in front of Cas, his friends and brother behind him. He didn’t know who was more shocked to see whom. Benny and Vic both looked like they were seeing the face of God, and Sam just stood off to the side and tried to pretend his shoulder didn’t still hurt. Cas eyed them all like they might shoot him through the chest with a crossbow bolt at any second.
“Cas, are you getting any of this? We need to get ready to fight. Lilith is one scary bitch, and she’s got half our town coming for your head.” This was Dean’s third time explaining the whole thing to Cas, this time without Benny or Sam correcting any details. “Cas, c’mon. We have to fight.”
Cas shook his head and backed away from Dean. “I’ve had enough fighting, Dean.”
Dean pinched the bridge of his nose and started walking away. “Fine, then I’m taking these three to the armory. You just sit here and wait for things to calm down.”
The four of them left Cas in his room, Dean leading the way down the stairs at a near sprint. Luckily the path to the armory was fairly direct, or they might not have had time to prepare. None of the other residents of the castle had shown themselves yet, not directly, which Dean thought was probably for the better. If Benny or Vic saw talking fire they might have just left, and Dean wouldn’t really be able to blame them.
Sam came up to him as he grabbed the blade he used to spar with Cas. “He’s not what I remember. Kinda shocked that he doesn’t want to fight.”
Dean shrugged. “He’s not really Mister Social, but he ain’t that bad once you give him a chance. Don’t know what’s gotten into him tonight, il est plus comme un bébé qu’une bête.”
A loud crashing noise from the front doors made them all freeze. There were a couple seconds of quiet, then another crash. Where the fuck had their neighbors gotten a battering ram? The three of them grabbed their weapons and ran for the foyer right as the doors burst open, Lilith standing in front with a brash smile.
Dean braced himself, ready to fight and defend Cas and everyone else in the castle. As soon as the first few screaming villagers ran through the doors, every torch and sconce on the walls lit.
He looked to the nearest flame and saw Balthazar’s face staring back at him. “Just don’t kill anyone.”
Balthazar rolled his eyes and shot through the air, creating walls of fire to keep the townspeople contained.
Dean pulled Sam aside from the fighting for a moment. “I’ll get Lilith. You help Benny and Vic run everyone out of here.”
Sam clapped him on the shoulder and nodded. “Be careful.”
“You know me, Sammy.” Dean looked around, but didn’t see Lilith anywhere.
“That’s what worries me!” Sam shouted over his shoulder before heading for the mob and relaying Dean’s orders to Vic and Benny.
Dean caught the tail end of blonde hair fluttering, his stomach dropping when he realized where Lilith was headed.
————————————————
Castiel paced across the broken tile floor of his bedroom, the sounds of fighting and struggling clear to his ears. He could feel his heartbeat quickening, the temperature of his blood rising. It was a battle. The old song of war still played inside him, beckoning him to leap down the stairs and show them all what a real fight was—to give them actual fear.
He looked back at the dagger, another chip of it falling down to the bottom of the hourglass. It was breaking apart faster than it used to. Castiel sighed, that wasn’t who he was, not anymore. Everything the war had made him do still haunted him. What he did wasn’t who he was, and he was going to prove that. No matter the cost to his appearance or wellbeing, he would prove that.
Light footsteps came from the hall. Whoever it was probably thought they were being silent. Maybe to a human they were, but Castiel was a Beast. Hiding from a creature like him would take far more than walking on tip toes.
The steps got closer until a regal woman with blonde hair stepped into the room. She wore a white dress, one made of fine fabrics, she was probably a noble woman. Castiel tilted his head, wondering for a moment if she wasn’t just trying to escape the fight. The idea was quickly dispelled when a bright light started to split the skin of her hand, and he knew exactly what she was.
Castiel fled to the balcony, then climbed onto the roof. A witch. Of course she was a witch. She followed him swiftly, making it to the roof with little issue. More light poured out of her hand, and Castiel had little time to dodge as she shot it at him like a spear. Every step he took was matched, the distance between them closing too quickly for his comfort. It wasn’t worth it to ask why she was here, why she was attacking him. He had learned long ago that everyone who came for his head all had the same answer.
The witch was skilled with her powers, blasting holes in the roof that sent pieces of tile and stone flying through the air. He narrowly avoided falling through as more and more ground was stolen from beneath his feet. If he could keep avoiding her attacks long enough for Dean or one of the others to arrive, he’d be fine.
A large crash came from the other side of the castle, probably near the front door. Castiel turned toward the noise, distracted just long enough for the next blast to tear into his side. He shrieked and dug his claws into the roof, beak snapping shut. The witch had good enough sense to show some fear before he leapt after her.
She was fast, but her dress was impractical attire for a battle. Castiel grabbed her by one leg and tossed her across the roof. Her body bounced across the broken tiles, blood and dirt sullying the once pristine fabric. Another crash from the front of the castle caught his attention, drawing him to the top of the roof. Hordes of people were fleeing, some of them with patches of their clothing on fire.
Castiel held his head higher. “Your forces are retreating, witch. You should follow their lead.”
He took quick steps away from the roof’s apex, then turned back to where he’d thrown her. The flash of light seemed almost like lightning. It was so bright. Pure, blinding white. She smiled, and that was when he felt the pain, like thunder radiating out from his chest to consume his entire body. Blood was soaking his fur. There was too much, why was he losing so much?
Castiel looked down at where the blast hit, eyes widening when he realized his chest was blown open. Chunks of muscle and bone were sticking to him. He collapsed and rolled down the roof until he finally landed on the balcony. The witch was standing over him, smiling, ready to sink another blow into him.
His vision was turning hazy, but he recognized the flash of red from that damnable dagger. What would happen to his friends? If he died, would they be human again? Would they be free? Someone was calling his name… Dean! Castiel struggled to breathe. He still needed to apologize.
————————————————
Dean kicked the dagger off the balcony, letting it fall down the cliff with Lilith’s body. He’d cut her throat open and shoved her off. Even a witch couldn’t survive that.
Cas choked as he tried to breathe, blood coating his tongue and dripping out of his beak. His eyes were unfocused, the lids drooping. Dean knelt down and looked him over. She’d gotten him right in the heart; his whole chest was torn open. God, there was so much blood. The last time Dean had seen a wound like that, Cas had been fighting half a pack of werewolves in the forest. How was he going to heal from this? He was bleeding so much.
Dean could hear his friends and brother coming up the steps, shouting for him. The people from their village must have left. Cas coughed roughly, then looked him in the eye.
“Cas?” Dean ran his fingers through the fur beside Cas’ horns, his fingers trembling almost as much as his voice.
Cas took a breath, fresh blood pouring out of his wound as he did. “Dean…”
More blood filled Cas’ mouth, the sick smell of it clogging the air. Dean waited for Cas to continue, to take another breath, but nothing happened. His head got heavier as his muscles fell slack, and his eyes went dull.
Dean hauled Cas’ head into his lap and looked down at the gaping hole in Cas’ chest. His heart wasn’t beating.
“Cas?” The torches in Cas’ room lit, Balthazar illuminating the forms of his friends as they watched on silently. “Cas! C’mon, you can’t do this. We were gonna find a way to fix you, remember? Get you back to bein’ human. You and everyone else. Can’t do that if you’re dead.”
Dean ground his teeth, tears filling his eyes. A hollow darkness he’d been trying to bury was coming back. The same as when Dad died. The same as when Sam ran off to get high. The same as always. He wasn’t fast enough, wasn’t strong enough. They left. They always left.
Now Cas was leaving, too.
He looked at Cas’ eyes, the bright blue of them. Maybe all of this was a bad dream, and he could wake up with the sun coming in through the window. He could talk to Cas over breakfast and forget the nightmare of his friend dying right in front of him.
They were going to have to build a pyre for Cas in the morning.
Dean closed his eyes, tears dripping down his face and onto Cas’ below. He spoke in a whisper. “Don’t make me lose you, too, Cas. Je te supplie.”
After a moment soft ringing started filling the air, and Dean opened his eyes to see a bright light pouring out of Cas’ wound. Then Cas’ entire, hulking body began floating up out of his reach. Dean quickly stood, catching his brother’s eyes. Sam shrugged, fighting to tear his eyes away from Cas’ form as the light wrapped itself around every inch of him. The ringing grew louder as the light expanded, wind whipping across the balcony.
Benny looked at Dean, his mouth moving, but Dean couldn’t hear a damn thing over the noise that light was making. He watched as Cas’ body changed, the fur and horns falling away, then the beak. The looming, beastly form shrank into something more like a man. Dean’s breath was locked in his chest, his head pounding painfully. The form seemed so familiar somehow.
The light faded quickly, dropping the body back down to the balcony. Dean rushed forward and fell to his knees. He knew the face, the body beside him. This was the man from his dreams, the one he’d seen and spoken to every night. Was this Cas as a human?
Cas opened his eyes and coughed roughly around a labored breath. He sat up slowly, looking down at himself, his body mostly naked inside the tattered ribbons of his old clothing.
His brows were drawn tight in confusion. Then his gaze lifted to Dean, the blue of his eyes just the same as when he was a beast. “Dean?”
Dean smiled and pulled Cas into a tight hug. “Yeah, I got you, buddy.”
Cas hugged him back after a moment, his grip just as tight and desperate as Dean’s own. They separated just enough for Cas to look at his own hands, fingers wiggling and bending. He swallowed roughly, a surprised laugh shaking his shoulders.
He looked back up at Dean, a smile starting to lift his lips. “Je suis un homme.”
Dean nodded, grinning back at Cas in kind. “Told you we’d make you human again.”
Cas’ smile widened a bit. “Yes, I suppose you did.”
————————————————
Après Trois Mois // Three Months Later
The village was quieter than Dean remembered it being since they’d first arrived. He’d half expected the townspeople to run them all out, but no two of them could remember the events of that night clearly. Whatever Lilith did when she conscripted them to march on Cas’ castle, it left them confused. That was probably for the best. After all, it gave them enough peace for slow mornings.
Sam was hardly home since Jo came back from Italy almost two months ago, so privacy wasn’t an issue. Everyone else in the castle had been turned back to their original forms. As it happened, Cas had a horse, too. A golden stallion named Jeudi, and when he didn’t look like a broken-down carriage, he was almost as gorgeous as Baby.
Samandriel and Anna were staying with Victor, helping him around his shop. Balthazar went with Benny. Apparently he’d been a butcher and a cook before the curse had been put on them. Gabriel hovered around wherever, mostly with Ellen and Bobby, and was helping fill in blank spots in some of their older texts.
All that had left was Cas, who gratefully accepted Dean’s invitation to stay with him and Sam. They danced around the bed situation for all of two weeks before they both broke down and started sharing.
Just as Dean had thought, when there weren’t claws involved, Sam and Cas got on great. The crew still hunted, of course, and Cas was a natural. It didn’t hurt that they raided the armory on their way out of the castle, so now they had enough weapons that they could probably supply every hunter in France.
Cas drew him out of his thoughts by stretching and burying his face further into Dean’s chest. He groaned miserably, definitely not a morning person. Dean pulled him closer and yawned. The morning was more than half over, if he was seeing the sun’s position correctly.
“We should probably get up, Cas.” Dean ran his hand down Cas’ side, his touch soft and slow as it moved across warm skin.
Cas hummed contently, relaxing into Dean’s body. “What do we have to do today?”
Dean shrugged. “Whatever we want, I guess. Why? You have an idea?”
Cas was quiet for a moment, then pushed himself up to his elbows, still half-laying on Dean. His hair was a wreck and his beard was growing back quicker than Dean’s even thought about. The golden glow of midmorning sun made his eyes a bit bluer. Dean licked his lips as he stared, still surprised that he was able to wake up to this every morning now.
A knowing smile curled Cas’ lips. He ran his fingers down Dean’s chest from his sternum to his bellybutton, then back up. “We could go somewhere.”
Dean grabbed Cas’ hand and brought it to his mouth, kissing the each knuckle before letting it go. “Where would we go?”
Cas tilted his head, his fingers tracing nonsense patterns and words on Dean’s stomach. “Greece, maybe? It’s not like we don’t have the time, or the money.”
A soft smirk lifted one end of Dean’s mouth. “Well, I’ve always wanted to see a lamia.”
Cas squinted at him. “A what?”
“It’s a monster that only lives in Greece.” Dean ran his fingers through Cas’ hair, then pulled him in for a quick kiss. “We could go through Italy, take the horses with us.”
Cas smiled and nodded before kissing Dean again. The curse was broken, Lilith was gone, and life was finally calming down for everyone. Dean smiled against Cas’ mouth, a deep warmth well on its way to filling up the void he’d carried with him for years. He had his brother, he had Cas, and he didn’t even have to die to get either of them. Now all they had was time. Decades of the stuff.
If there was a happily ever after waiting for him, Dean knew that this was it.
Fin // End