Archive of Our Own ^beta

Part I: The Missing Prince

Twenty-four days until Dean’s twenty-first birthday

Dean Winchester was not stupid. He just sometimes made really stupid decisions. Like, volunteering to kill a dragon, for example. That wasn’t so much stupid as it was recklessly brave. And it would have been fine, if his dad had said, you know, Sure, Dean, how brave of you to volunteer! I’ll send you along with ten other men, equipped with Eluo’s finest weapons.

Suffice to say, John Winchester did not say that. What he had said was more along the lines of You are an idiot and you are going nowhere near that dragon, do you hear me?

That would have been the end of it. Except, the next day, Dean decided it would be an awesome idea to sneak out of the palace (which was not nearly as well-guarded as it should have been) early in the morning to slay the dragon by himself. Yep, that’s no plan, no backup, or really anything aside from his horse, Impala, his sword, and his own charm and wit.

Dean knew where it dwelled; the cave was just outside of the kingdom’s boundaries, just by the river that separated their region of the land from the rest of the Heroici Province. He was getting nearer by the second, and was just as quickly coming to realize that this could potentially be the most idiotic idea he’d ever had. His parents had no idea where he was, Sammy had no idea. He was the cranking prince; if he went missing, the whole kingdom would be complete chaos.

But he wouldn’t go missing. Because he was awesome, and he had Impala and his sword.

And, really, how hard could slaying a dragon be?

It couldn’t be too bad. It might breathe fire, which would complicate things, or have freezing ice powers, which would be unpleasant at best. It could really be any number of things because, in reality, not much was known about the dragon.

It only came at night; that much was for certain, since it had never been seen in the daytime. This was part of the reason Dean was going in the early morning, just as the sun was making it’s ascent; he hoped he would catch it sleeping, making it an easy kill. The kingdom would be safe, Dean would be a hero, and minimal harm would be done. (Well, except for the harm to the dragon itself. But. Uh.)

The thing was, the dragon wasn’t actually killing people itself. It was only killing livestock. Still, with dairy being a main export of Eluo, that was a problem. Which meant that someone had to kill the cranking thing, and, hell yeah, Dean was gonna be the one to do it.

His decision was further strengthened by the fact that he was turning twenty-one in just over three weeks, and he had to complete some sort of coming of age task by that time if he ever wanted to be king.

Which, to be honest, he didn’t. But, that was something for another time.

At this time, Dean found himself standing before the dark, gaping mouth of a cave. Yes, the cave. Dean dismounted Impala and tied the reins to a tree. He would have to be quiet, and the clopping of Impala’s hooves, no matter how comforting Dean may have found it, would be far too loud. He shushed her once, stroking down her long black neck.

Looking into the cave, he took a deep breath.

He should have at least told Charlie, he found himself thinking. If he somehow (miraculously) got out of this alive, she would probably kill him herself.

That was when Dean realized that he was standing in front of the cave like a coward and cursed to himself (something along the lines of Crank, Winchester, pull yourself together and go kill yourself a stupid dragon) before stepping into the cave.

He considered lighting a torch for all of thirty seconds before deciding that that, too, could wake the beast (assuming it was actually sleeping). He walked for an even shorter time than that before he started noticing a light coming from deeper in the cave.

Did dragons need light? Or maybe the dragon itself glowed, that would be fucking awesome and—

Dean was ninety percent sure that dragons didn’t hum, but that was what he was hearing—a low humming sound. Not humming as in the humming of a machine. Humming, as in actual human humming, as in a tune. A sort of nice, happy tune.

He drew his sword as silently as he could manage. The light was just ahead of him, around the corner of a damp cave wall.

Dean held his breath as he rounded the corner, and as he did—

He didn't know what he expected. Maybe piles and piles of gold and treasure, closely guarded by a massive scaly beast, red or blue or black and breathing hot fire. Maybe with wings, maybe not. Maybe it would have red eyes and maybe it would attack as soon as it saw Dean. Maybe it would have bright eyes and it would just wearily eye Dean. (Dean wasn’t convinced that the dragon was so bad, if it’s only been harming livestock and not terrorizing the kingdom.) Yeah, Dean wasn't sure what he thought the dragon would be, but he was expecting—well, he was expecting a dragon.

Not… this.

“This” being a young man with dark hair, too blue eyes, a tan cloak, and a tilt to his head. He didn’t… look like a dragon. He just looked confused.

“Uh—” Dean said eloquently. He hadn’t yet lowered his sword. “You’re not a dragon,” he added.

The man looked torn in some painful expression split between wary and amused and Dean might have thought that it was kind of adorable, if he wasn’t living in a cave where the dragon supposedly lived.

The man was sitting on the ground, posture near perfect, staring right ahead. (Dean absently wondered what he was doing. Like, was he just sitting there, staring at a wall?) He started to stand, and Dean lifted his sword higher because what else was he supposed to do? This situation wasn’t exactly in the books.

Dean scoured his mind for any of the lessons he’d been taught that might help.

When you’re in a difficult situation, you have to stop yourself, and look. Get as many details as you can, John’s voice instructed in his mind. Analyze. Find a weak spot. Then strike.

Dean examined the man. He appeared to be around Dean’s own age. He was wearing dark blue garb, the color of the Kingdom of Croats, underneath a tan cloak. Not especially wealthy, if the worn fabric said anything. None of this was useful information.

His left wrist, though. Bound around it was some sort of bulky bracelet, resembling a binding chain more than jewelry. It looked like something was carved into it, but Dean couldn’t see what it said.

Dean’s eyes searched the area. The ground was even, the room spacious and well-lit with torches mounted to the rocky walls. There. On the floor just at the foot of the wall to Dean’s right, was a chain coming out of the floor. There was nothing attached to it, the binding broken off.

This man—barely more than a boy, like himself, if Dean was being truthful—had been chained deep inside a cave. There was no food or water, no sort of entertainment—and no other person outside of Dean.

“Why do you say that?” the man asked once he’d stood. The man’s voice was deep and low and gravelly. He was eyeing Dean’s sword in a way that seemed like he was more irritated than actually scared.

“Say what?” Dean asked. He was a little out of it right now, okay? And he was at least a little justified, right?

“Why did you say, ‘You’re not a dragon’?” His head was tilted again, eyes narrowed and scrutinizing.

Because he wasn’t one, obviously. “This is where the dragon lives. And you—aren’t a dragon?” This conversation was quickly losing Dean.

“I see.”

Then the guy just sat himself back down on the ground and started staring at the wall again.

Dean watched him silently for probably a full minute, his mouth hanging half-open in what-the-fuck-ness, before he got himself together and closed his mouth.

“Dude,” was all Dean said. This was not Dean’s best day.

The guy slightly turned his head to show he was listening, without actually moving his eyes from a fixed point on the wall. Dean briefly followed his line of vision to make sure that, yeah, it was just a wall. Nothing special there. “You’re still here?” The man asked.

“I—uh—yes?” Dean was still holding his sword. He should be holding his sword still, right?

“Why are you here?”

Dean blinked, considering lying but seeing no point in it. “I’m supposed to be slaying the dragon that lives here.”

“Ah. Well, go ahead then, I won’t stop you.”

“Well—where is it?”

The guy just looked at him, eyebrows raised.

Okay, try again. “What’s the thing around your wrist.”

“It’s meant to bind me here.”

“But?”

“But, it’s broken.” The Duh, you idiot was implied.

“Who are you?” And there’s the question of the hour. Clearly, seeing as the man finally gave Dean his full attention, standing up suddenly and stepping forward so that Dean found himself face to face with the guy, mere inches away. He couldn’t make himself step away, back down, break eye contact, even blink.

“My name is Castiel,” he began. “You probably only know me as the dragon.”

Dean just stared and then he’d blurted “No,” in disbelief before he’d even thought through it.

“No?” The man—Castiel—asked, a single eyebrow arched. (He was still standing ridiculously close to Dean.)

“I mean, you’re, I—wait, what?”

“What are you doing here, Dean Winchester?”

Dean was at least ninety-nine percent sure that he hadn’t told Castiel his name.

“How do you know my name?” he asked, like the cliched idiot he is.

“I just do. Are you going to kill me or not?”

“I. Um. Not? Dude, you’re not a dragon.” It occurred to Dean that him saying that he was not going to kill the guy was conflicting with the fact that his sword was still raised and unwavering, not to mention the confusion and uncertainty in his voice.

But Castiel was totally not threatened at all (in a way that Dean should probably find concerning).

“Hm,” was all Castiel said before starting what was probably the longest staring contest Dean had ever taken part in.

Dean broke his gaze first, raising his eyebrows as he said, “You’re telling me that you’re the dragon?”

Because, really, that was stupid. Dean had seen a lot of crazy things in the country of Heroici, but he’d not seen any sort of shape shifter. So odds were, this guy was just crazy. And wearing shackles. In a cave.

That still didn’t explain where the real dragon actually was, but—

“Yes, that is what I said.” Castiel was wearing an expression of complete and utter Suns help these poor humans with their pitiful minds and miniscule mental capacity.

Dean stared at Castiel for a full minute, waiting for him to go on like, Hey, I forgot to mention the reason I say I’m a dragon but look like a normal guy. But he didn’t, and Suns, this was going to get so old, so fast, if Dean had to pry every answer out of him.

“So—” Dean started.

“Would I be correct in assuming that you are Dean Winchester, eldest Prince of the Kingdom of Eluo?”

“Um—”

“Then you should know firstly that, yes, I am the one killing the livestock in your new pasture. Secondly, no, I have no intention of stopping. Third, if you are not here to kill me, then I shall kindly ask that you leave.” Then he was back to sitting on the ground, facing forward and steadfastly ignoring Dean.

Dean’s resolve strengthened. Whether the dude was crazy or not, he knew of the missing livestock, of the rumors of a dragon that was behind it. As far as Dean had heard, no one outside of his kingdom knew about the dragon-induced food shortage. This guy, dragon or otherwise, knew something—and he could be responsible for the starving people of his kingdom.

That was enough to make anyone mad—but Dean Winchester had always had quite a temper.

He moved forward and thrust the sword forward so it was just in the barest contact with the flesh of Castiel’s throat. Not enough pressure to draw blood, but close enough to make his warning clear.

“You Croat! My people are going to starve. I will kill you if that’s what I have to do.”

Castiel blinked at the sword in what looked like annoyance, which even further pissed him off. “I don’t understand that reference.”

“What.” It was not so much a question as it was an accusation, hissed through clenched teeth.

“‘Croat.’”

“It’s not a good thing, you—you leech. Those are our new fields and we need those. Dragon or not, I swear to the suns I will—”

“Yes. You’ll kill me. I got that part. You’re trying to be the big hero, slaying the dragon, making your lands safe, right?”

Dean was cut off even before he could open his mouth to speak when Castiel’s eyes flashed angrily. Literally flashed angrily, blue eyes unmistakably turning gold for the briefest moment. And yeah, Dean was pretty sure he had gotten the guy’s attention then, since his eyes were no longer staring straight ahead at the wall. No, he was rising to stand again, stepping right up close to Dean and crank, had he been that tall before?

“Perhaps, if you don’t want me eating your food, then you could consider placement of  your kingsom’s fields in a location that is not within range of a dragon who’s been starving for years, how about that, Your Royal Highness?”

Which brought Dean back to the whole “dragon” part of the situation.

“Are you going to explain the whole dragon thing or not?”

“I hardly think it’s your business, Prince.” Castiel was practically seething, leaving Dean to wonder what had so suddenly set him off.

“It’s my business when you’re hurting my kingdom.”

Their gazes locked once more, glares challenging each other while they silently argued as to who would give in.

It was Castiel who eventually spoke, albeit his voice still icy. “It was a curse, what do you think?”

“What sort of curse?” Dean questioned, eyes narrowing.

“I turn into a dragon.” Again, an implied Idiot was tacked onto the end.

“Who cursed you?”

“I turn into a dragon when the sun goes down. I stay so until it rises again. That’s all you need to know.”

Dean was starting to feel his anger rise again, but he tried his best to keep it down, reminding himself that Castiel was hurting too, if what he said was true and he’d been cursed. But then, empathy was always Sam’s thing. Besides, he had to have done something awful to anger one of the few remaining sorcerers.“When did this start? You’ve never bothered my people before, and all of the sudden—”

“My turn to ask questions. What’s a ‘Croat’?”

Dean blinked, taken aback. “You were serious?”

Castiel just stared, waiting.

“The kingdom northeast of here. The Croatoan Kingdom.” Everyone knew of them—mostly just because the military was powerful, the ruler was cruel, and the lower class was treated like scum. Just about everyone wanted to help the people, but no one could for fear of the Croatoan wrath.

But Castiel didn’t have any look of realization, no Oh yeah, of course, silly me, how could I forget one of the world’s major cranking conflicts? He just tilted his head to the side, scrutinizing, as if Dean was the one mistaken.

“No… Northeast of here is the Kingdom of Caelum.”

“I’m not a genius, but I know basic geography. It’s Croatoan—”

“I think I would know my own home. Caelum is directly northeast of here.”

“Not—not for years. Suns, Cas, not since I was a kid.”

Castiel paused, as if measuring whether Dean was telling the truth or not until finally, “Suns.”

Castiel stepped back, eyes still locked with Dean’s, disbelieving. And Dean could see how that sentence could be a lot to take in. How could he possibly think it was still Caelum, that beautiful haven? It had been paradise; a far throw from what Dean knew Croatoan to be. Not to mention that, now that Dean was realizing it, Dean had called him Cas. Weird. “I knew it had been a while—I knew it had been years, but… What happened?”

“You don’t get out much, do you?” Which was... probably not the most sensitive thing to say at the moment.

“I was bound to this cave for the first few years,” he said, waving the shackled hand in explanation. “It can be substantially difficult to make friends when you’re a dragon half the time. So no; I prefer to keep to myself. But—” he seemed to steel himself. “Please, Dean. What happened to Caelum?”

It was the “please” that told Dean to take it seriously. This random dude, who clearly didn’t take anything from anyone, who seemed sarcastic and detached, was begging for information.

“I—I dunno, I think it was when I was ten or so. I don’t know much about it but, the king, Charles—”

“Chuck,” Castiel said softly. He was looking just to the left of Dean, in some other land.

“Uh, yeah. The king died, and his choice for the heir, before he died, was made king. I think there was some sort of dispute, like one of the princes went missing. But now Lucifer’s the king, and over the years he’s changed the name, made more of an emphasis on military training, and neglected most of the people.”

Castiel looked down, like he was debating again if Dean was telling him the truth. When he looked up again, he looked absolutely shell-shocked. And judging by that, Dean could draw a conclusion.

“Crank. You’re—” was all he could get out.

“Yes.”

“You’re the missing prince—I knew your name sounded familiar, but—you were the heir.”

“Yes.”

“Crank.”

“I don’t know what that means,” Castiel informed him, eyebrows creased.

“Dude, you’re like—historical. I mean, it’s a big deal. You need to, like—”

“I’m also a dragon half the time. I can’t exactly reclaim my kingdom. Don’t you think I would have gone home now, if I could?”

“Wait—is Lucifer the one who cursed you? Suns, I knew he was a sorcerer and just downright cruel, but you’re brothers.” Dean could not imagine any sort of hunger for power strong enough to make him even think about hurting Sammy.

Castiel just looked at him sadly.

Dean watched him for a moment more before he remembered what he was originally here for. “My dad’s going to send a whole group of people tonight—knights. I’m not gonna kill you, Cas, but they will.”

“Why weren’t you with them?”

Dean scratched the back of his neck. “Uhhh…”

“Just for the record, had I been in my dragon form, I would have smote you in a second.”

For a moment Dean was surprised at the vaguely threatening comment, before he realized that it was an attempt at humor. Teasing.

“Please, I could take you,” Dean threw back before sobering. “Can you get out of here for tonight? I—I don’t think my dad would care or believe me, even if I did explain it. And, I mean, it would be really shitty for you to get killed now that I just found you.” He paused. Did that sound weird? Yeah, probably. So he added, “I mean, you’re the lost prince.”

Castiel nodded. “I can. And—thank you.” His eyes were wide and sincere, a far cry from the disinterest from before. “I don’t exactly get visitors in here. It’s nice to have company.”

And if Dean wasn’t a manly badass prince, the tone of Castiel’s voice right there would have broken his heart.

“I’ll try to return again tomorrow,” he found himself announcing. He wasn’t quite sure why he was returning. Dean was a prince—a good one, he liked to think. He was responsible for helping people, regardless of where they were from. And, suns, assuming Castiel was who he said he was, then none of this was his fault. Obviously something would have to be done about Croatoan, and surely there was a way to break the curse. He would figure it out in the morning, with Castiel.

And right there, Castiel’s mouth twitched up into the smallest curve of his lips but the biggest smile, eyes shining. “I shall look forward to it.”

It was still relatively early when Dean returned back to the castle, wondering what the hell he was doing. Sure, this was a magical land, but Dean never thought that he would get involved with anything like this.

He had hoped to be able to sneak back to his room unnoticed, feign sleeping late and no one would know he'd been gone. Dean was never so lucky. Once he'd brought Impala back to the stables, leaving her with a treat and a "thanks", he thought he was in the clear. It was right as he was reaching his room, just about to turn the doorknob, when Sam's voice came from behind him.

"What were you doing out so early?"

Dean did one of those slow-freezy-twists, like if he didn't move too much as he turned, Sam would suddenly be gone. It didn't work (obviously) and all he saw was Sam's raised eyebrow.

"I was just," think, Winchester, think.

"Were you with a girl?" Sam asked suspiciously. For a sixteen year old, the kid could be pretty cranking terrifying.

"Yes," Dean responded, thankful that Sam had given him an out just like that. "Well—um—a boy." There, less of a lie.

"I thought you had just resigned to the idea of the arranged marriage." His eyes were narrowed, and of course Sam would give him an excuse only to invalidate it.

"I, um, had. But there's still time before my twenty-first birthday."

Sam examined him closely, looking him up and down, and seriously, lying to Sam was the worst—partially because he didn't like lying to him, but mostly because Sam could see right through him.

Finally, Sam said, "Where were you really?"

Dean groaned inwardly because he had figured he would have to tell someone at some point, and the only other decent option besides Sam was Dean's best friend, Charlie Bradbury. Unfortunately, Charlie was a vicious gossip.

So, Dean grabbed Sam's arm and pulled him into his room, closing and locking the door behind him.

"You can't tell anyone—"

"Dean, what in the skies—"

"I'm serious, Sam, just say you won't tell anyone. Not, Mom, not Dad, not Kevin."

"Okay, suns, I won't. I promise."

Dean released his grip on Sam's forearm. "I was going to slay the dragon."

Sam's eyes grew to the size of the moon. "Dean, are you crazy? By yourself?"

"Yes, I know. Uh, 'Sorry' and all that. But that's not the point."

"Yes, it is definitely the point. You could have died—"

"But I didn't."

"Why couldn't you just let the knights take care of it?"

"Because I'm twice as good as any of them in combat and it's stupid that Dad won't trust me."

"It's not about trust, idiot. It's about keeping you safe!"

Dean groaned to himself, mostly because screaming in frustration would not be acceptable at the time. "Just let me talk, Sammy."

Sam glared at him for at least a full minute before shrugging. "Fine. Talk."

"It's not a dragon—"

"Then what is it?"

"Let me finish. He doesn't mean any harm."

"Who?"

"Castiel! The dragon! Well, sort of the dragon. He's not actually a dragon, or he wasn't when I was there, but—"

"Dean, you are not making any sense."

Dean took a deep breath. "Okay. Let me start over. Dad and the knights had it all wrong, I thought. That's why I had to go by myself. They wanted to go at night, but we've all determined that night is when it—he—goes to the fields. So the cave it's in, it must sleep there, and it must sleep in the day. But Dad wouldn't listen."

Sam nodded, understanding the reasoning. "So I went there, and it isn't a dragon. It's just a guy, he's my age, his name is Castiel. He was cursed, Sam."

Sam’s eyebrows shot up. "Did you say Castiel? As in, missing prince of Caelum Castiel?"

"Yes!” Sam was finally with him. “I think Lucifer cursed him so that he would be king."

"How do you know the guy wasn't lying to you?” Sam reasoned, and Dean really hated when he did that. “He could be a sorcerer or something, he could be anyone. You just don't know, Dean."

And there was that stupid logic, logic that couldn't be deterred by explanations like "I just know, Sammy" or "He was so sincere and so sad, you can't fake that."

"He's who he says he is," Dean says, rather pathetically he’ll admit.

"How do you know? You could get hurt!"

"I'm not going to. I want—I think I have to help him. If he is really cursed—"

"Which you don't know—"

"If he is really cursed,” Dean repeated, louder, “then someone needs to help him. He could bring Caelum back, stop the poverty there. Not to mention the poor guy's been in a cave for the past who-knows-how-long."

"Dean," Sam started. He reached out to rest a hand on Dean's arm. "I just don't want you to get hurt."

"I won't. You have to trust me."

"I do trust you,” Sam said, paused, and then added, “I just don't trust your decisions."

"That makes no sense."

"Do you need my help?" Sam asked. Dean sighed at that, grateful that, no matter how insane things got, no matter how idiotic Sam thought he was, he would still have his back and offer to help.

"Just—don't tell Mom and Dad, or anyone. I told him to get out of the cave tonight so that Dad's group of knights won't get him, and that I'd come back in the morning." He paused, considering, before he continued. "Maybe not tomorrow, but soon... I'll need provisions."

"For how long?"

"I don't know. I have to ask him what he needs to break his curse. It just depends."

"So you'll be leaving? What am I supposed to tell Mom and Dad if you just disappear on a quest for a week—for two weeks?"

"I don't know, Sammy. Let me figure this out first. I just—I need to help him. Whether he is who he claims to be or not, the poor guy was so—" He trailed off, not sure of how to describe the sadness in his eyes when he'd said it was nice to have company, as if he didn't expect to get any more for a while, or the way he smiled when Dean said he would return. "I don't know," he finished.

"I won't tell anyone. But you have to keep me updated. You have to tell me at least, so if anything happens—"

"I will. And nothing is going to happen. Everything will be fine."

Later that night, Dean was in bed, staring at the ceiling, when he heard two sets of footsteps which he recognized immediately as his father and mother walking through the hallway. Dean groaned inwardly at the fact that they had to walk so loudly, and that their room was so close to his, and that they were up so late. That was when he remembered that John had been out with the knights.

Trying to kill the dragon.

Not the dragon. Castiel.

“I don’t get it, Mary, everyone was so sure that’s where it was.”

“You’ll just have to keep searching.”

“Of course we will. We can’t let it continue taking our food supply.”

The next words were muffled through the walls.

“Maybe you should take Dean next time. He wanted so badly to be involved in this.”

More words he couldn’t hear, followed by John finishing: “I don’t want him to get hurt.”

“He’s turning twenty-one in just over three weeks, John. He’s going to be married, and he’s going to need to complete some sort of task for his coming-of-age. What better a task to prove himself than slaying a dragon?”

“Mary—”

“He’ll be fine, John. Our boy is brave and strong. He needs this.”

The next words were fading as their footsteps disappeared down the hallway.

“I’ll ask him tomorrow.”

Dean pulled his blanket up to his chin, turned onto his side, and squeezed his eyes shut. This whole situation was getting very complicated.

Twenty-three days until Dean’s twenty-first birthday

Dean went back to the cave the next day, just like he had promised. He had his sword, but this time, it was in its sheath rather than held up, ready to attack. He tied Impala to the same tree as yesterday and headed in.

He crept into the cave. The sound of his footsteps seemed out of place against the former silence. He found himself wondering what Castiel did in here all the time, why he didn’t spend his time as a human outside and return before night fall. It had to be boring, especially seeing as he had been literally staring at a wall when Dean had come yesterday.

When Dean entered this time, Castiel was humming again and facing the wall, wearing the same tan cloak as before. Without meaning to, he blurted out, "Suns, what do you do in here all day?"

Castiel, whose eyes had been closed this time, cracked one open to glance at Dean. A tiny smile flickered briefly across his face before he forced it away. "Meditate, mainly," he explained. "I didn't expect you to return."

Dean tilted his head to the side so that he could look at Castiel with creased eyebrows. "I told you I would."

"People tell me lots of things."

Dean didn't know quite what he was saying there, only that there was a lot more to it than the words, a whole history packed into a sentence.

Castiel turned to Dean. "Sit.”

Dean sat down on the ground, crossing his legs to face Castiel.

"You still have questions," Castiel stated.

"Yeah."

"Go ahead then."

"Why did your brother curse you?"

Castiel closed his eyes for much longer than a blink before beginning. "Your kingdom—assuming it has not changed in the time I have been... out of contact with most of the world—crowns the eldest son to be king. My kingdom—or what used to be my kingdom—crowns the most worthy, in the eyes of the current king. I was only fifteen when I was chosen, and I was to be king. Lucifer was angry, of course, because he was the oldest and he thought it was his right."

"So he cursed you?" Dean said, disbelieving.

Castiel said with a curt no, "So he cursed me,."

"And I thought my brother could be a Croat sometimes." Probably not the most sensitive thing to say, but Dean had never been good with words. Castiel’s eyebrows scrunched up in confusion and Dea added, "Er, uh, he could be mean?" This whole hanging-out-in-a-cave-for-the-better-part-of-probably-ten-years thing was going to make conversation difficult. So. No slang then. But that brings him to his next question.

"Why didn't you just leave here though? You could have told someone, at least."

"I couldn't. I was physically bound for the first few years, like I said, even when in my… other form.” He lifts his wrist. “This shackle was enchanted to expand and contract with my form, but even so, it was not invincible. I was able to break it after… I’d say the first five years.”

“But you still didn’t leave?”

“One might find it surprising how turning into a dragon at night can dispel any hope of living peacefully in society.”

“Right.” Dean thought for a moment, his mind swirling with a dozen questions. “So, you were fifteen—suns, fifteen years old—how old are you now?”

Castiel grimaced, like it was a particularly difficult question. “Physically, I’d say about twenty. I stopped aging about there—”

“You cranking what?”

“Yes. I stopped physically aging. Now would probably be a good time to tell you that I’m immortal except for in combat.”

“What.” It wasn’t a question.

“I can’t die from old age because I stopped aging, probably five years ago. I don’t get ill.”

“But you need food and stuff?” Dean asked, reminded of his reason for being here originally. That seemed like ages ago, stupidly.

Castiel didn’t actually roll his eyes, but he seemed about a second away from doing so. “Still on about the cows? Would it help if I apologized, Your Highness?”

Dean winced. “Just call me Dean, seriously.” Then scratched his neck as he mumbled, “Kinda makes me uncomfortable.”

“Then I shall make sure to call you nothing else, my prince.”

Dean nearly choked on air.

But he didn’t actually. Because he was not a dorky twelve year old with a crush, because that would be stupid, ‘cause this guy could be a loon, could be lying to Dean, could be a million different things.

“Seriously though, Cas,” Dean said, reminding Castiel of the question in hopes that he didn’t notice the blush that may or may not have been crawling up his cheeks.

This time Castiel actually did roll his eyes. “I don’t need to eat, per se—”

“Then why—”

“Your Highness, I kindly request that you do not interrupt me.”

“You’re an ass.”

“You’re not letting me answer the question.”

“Then talk!”

Castiel glared at him (although something about it seemed good natured) and then spoke. “I don’t need to in that I’ll die if I don’t. But when I don’t eat a sufficient amount, my—this form becomes weakened, I suppose. I change to my other form earlier, don’t change back until later.”

“Is it that bad? Your other form?” Dean thought that being a dragon would be sort of badass.

Castiel smiled sadly.  “I would like to keep as much of my humanity as I have left.”

And, crank, if that wasn’t stupidly heartbreaking. Dean almost wanted to reach out and—and something, offer some sort of comfort. But he didn’t.

“Tell you what—I’ll bring you food tomorrow,” he offered, before he could think better of it and remind himself that he could get caught, people would ask questions, how could Dean even know for sure Castiel was legit—

But Castiel broke out into a small smile just like yesterday, looking surprised but pleased, and if that was not enough to make Dean think screw it all, I’m gonna bring this stupid dragon guy a freaking sandwhich, then, certainly, his next words did. “You would do that?” As if the offer to bring the guy some lunch was the equivalent of laying down his life.

Dean felt sheepish, mainly because Castiel had to go and react like that. So he just grumbled, “Yeah, well if not you’re gonna go all dragon and eat a whole cow, just figured a steak or something would be easier.”

Castiel’s smile was radiant, and Dean wondered if the butterflies he was getting was a side effect of befriending a dragon or if it was something uniquely Cas.

Desperate to change the subject, Dean spoke: “Crank, Cas, I forgot to tell you; my dad’s suspicious. I heard him, he was wondering why you weren’t here last night. He’s planning on searching more. I just thought—you should be more careful.”

“I will, Dean, thank you,” Castiel said, so freaking sincerely with those stupidly wide blue eyes.

“Yeah.”

They sat for a moment in silence and, somehow, it wasn’t awkward.

Finally Dean said, “I should probably go. I need to get back before people notice.”

Castiel nodded. “Of course. Thank you for returning.”

Dean grinned before pushing off the ground to stand. “Anytime.”

Castiel stood up and started to follow Dean out of the cave.

“Walking me out, Cas?”

“Of course, Your Highness,” he teased. Dean rolled his eyes. After a moment, Castiel continued. “It’s been a while since I’ve spent much time outside when not in my… my other form.”

“Must get boring in there.”

“Yes…” was all he replied. But he looked like he wanted to say more, glancing at Dean carefully.

“What?” Dean asked.

“What what?”

“You want to say something, say it.”

Castiel sighed. “You’re right, it is ridiculously boring. One can only meditate for so many decades before it becomes repetitive, you know?”

“I… guess?”

“What I’m trying to get to is—” he made a sound of defeat. “Do you… do you think that you could possibly bring me some books?”

Dean would have laughed if not for the fact that it seemed that Castiel was beating himself up over making that request.

“Figures you would like books and stuff,” he teased instead. “What do you like to read?”

Castiel’s eyes lit up. “Anything.”

Dean gave him a you’re-not-giving-me-much-to-go-on look before giving up. “Yeah, Cas, sure.”

Dean mounted his horse and turned to give Castiel a nod goodbye, but his eyes were closed as he stood with his head tilted up toward the sun.

Weirdo, Dean thought fondly.

Dean went about his day normally, which is to say, he spent some time training with his sword, maintaining Impala’s stall in the stables, and talking to Charlie.

Charlie, who, of course, knew something was up. Suns know how, but there was a strange silent language that they’d developed that could be a gift just as much as a curse.

“What aren’t you telling me?” she demanded, about three seconds into a conversation when they crossed paths on Dean’s way back to the castle after feeding Impala.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, something’s up with you today.”

“Dude, nothing’s ‘up with me’. I’m just… hungry. We should get some food.”

Charlie stopped them walking, grabbing Dean’s arm and pulling him to face her. “Stop trying to distract me. What aren’t you telling me? Are you seeing someone?”

Dean bit his lip. He loved Charlie, he really did, but he knew that if he told the girl anything, the whole palace would know about it by supper time, and the whole kingdom by tomorrow.

So he did what any person would do. He lied his ass off.

Okay, so he wasn’t lying, because he was telling the truth. Just. Part of the truth.

He sighed (for dramatic effect). “No… It’s just, the whole dragon thing.”

“What happened? Your dad hasn’t announced anything.”

Dean glanced around, because now he was really playing it up. “Don’t tell anyone, I don’t know if he wants people to know.”

Charlie nodded dutifully and Dean half wanted to snort because he could see it in her eyes—she was totally going to tell everyone as soon as the words passed Dean’s lips. God, he loved her, and yes, she was his best (only) friend, but the girl couldn’t keep a secret if her life depended on it.

Which was why he didn’t really feel ashamed when he leaned in close and whispered. “The dragon wasn’t there when they looked. I think they’re keeping it on the down-low, but they have to keep searching. The good news is that the cows in the pastures were untouched yesterday.”

“So they have no idea where the dragon is?”

“None at all,” Dean confirmed, and yeah, maybe he felt a little bad for lying.

(Technically he wasn’t lying, right?)

Charlie scrutinized Dean for what seemed like an eternity before nodding. “Yeah, all that princely stuff has gotta be stressful,” she teased.

Dean laughed and thanked the suns that he was a half-decent liar.

Mary Winchester believed in family dinners.

She believed that just because they were royalty didn’t mean that they needed servants to cook them dinners, or a grand dining hall, or anything especially fancy. She made a point to force John, Sam, and Dean to join her in a modest dinner, cooked by herself, at least three times a week, regardless of how busy John was with the whole running a kingdom thing, or how much Dean and Sam groaned about it. Sure, they had a kitchen staff to cook things for breakfast and lunch and days when Mary didn’t cook, but these days were nice.

As much as Dean groaned about it, he actually really liked it. Days could go by without him seeing his father since he was always so busy, so it was nice for them all to just relax, even for just an hour.

Today, though, Dean was not in the mood.

Mainly because, as soon as he sat down, John mentioned the Dragon Thing. It was officially a Capital Lettered Thing, too.

And as soon as he’d mentioned it with a casual, “Dean, I’ve been thinking about how you’d volunteered to join in on the dragon hunt,” two things happened. The first was that Dean stiffened, and the second was that Sam kicked him from across the table, in the shins, hard.

“Yeah?” Dean tried to ask casually. It came out too high pitched.

“Well… You’re nearly twenty-one, and I know you need to complete your coming-of-age-task before you can be officially be next in line for the throne.”

Dean shoved a forkful of mashed potatoes in his mouth, avoiding eye contact with anyone, especially Sam, who seemed to be moving his hands in some sort of complex sign language that Dean was apparently supposed to understand.

“So I think that you should come with us when we next go searching for it.”

Dean carefully did not  choke on his potatoes before swallowing, and quickly trying to determine the best way to get himself out of this situation.

Dean laughed, albeit nervously. “Thanks Dad, really. I just… I agree with what you said before. I’m not prepared.”

Sam kicked him again under the table, trying to communicate something with him via soulful stare.

John sighed. “Dean, I’m sorry I said that. But you are ready for this, and I really think it would be good for you, especially if you are going to be running this place once I can’t.”

Dean cursed every star that had ever aligned in order to put Dean in this cranking awful situation, and then said, “Right. Just tell me when.”

Sam kicked him again. Dean kicked him back, and thanked the suns that Mary directed the conversation topic to the food she’d cooked and I was trying out a new recipe and I wasn’t sure if it would be good, but I actually sort of like it, don’t you, I think I should make it again soon, wow this is really nice, I do love our family dinners, don’t you…

Before Dean went to bed, he knocked on Sam’s door. As expected, he was lying on his bed on his stomach, leaning over a book.

Sam looked up. Seeing it was Dean, he closed his book and sat up.

“What’s up, Dean?”

“Can I borrow a few books?”

Sam gave him a look that was so skeptical it was downright offensive. “Why do you need to borrow a book?”

“Hey, I read all the time!”

Sam raised his eyebrows.

“Okay, very occasionally.”

Sam raised his eyebrows impossibly further before sighing. “Okay, what book?”

“Anything you have to recommend.”

Sam stood up and padded over to his shelf on which dozens of books were packed tightly. “You’re not giving me much to go on.”

“I know, just—anything, seriously.”

Sam narrowed his eyes at Dean once more, studying him, before he turned and picked out three books. They were thick and heavy looking, leather bound.

“One is fantasy, the other is…” he examined the cover. “About yoga. Is that okay?”

“Sure,” Dean said with a shrug, reaching to take the books, but before he could, Sam pulled them away.

“But you have to tell me what they’re for first.”

“They’re for me!” Dean defended.

Sam just continued to raise his eyebrows, unrelenting.

“Sam,” he groaned.

Sam studied him closely for another minute before saying, “Are these for Castiel?”

“No!” Dean sighed. “Well, yes. Yeah.”

“Dean, you’re getting yourself into a huge mess.”

I’m already in a huge mess.

“I’ve got it under control, Sammy,” he said, not sure if he was lying.

“So, what, you’re just going to keep visiting your dragon friend while simultaneously helping dad hunt the dragon?”

Which, when you put it like that—

“Please, just come on, he’s sitting in a cranking cave all day. Meditating.”

And Sam returned to staring at him, as if he could look at Dean long enough to be able to read his mind.

Then he sighed again and handed over the books. “Please tell me you know what you’re doing. Like, actually know what you’re doing and not just saying you do.”

“It’s just books, I think I can handle it.”

“You know what I mean.”

Dean glared at Sam. “I’ll figure it out.” And he took the books and left the room because if he spent too long with Sam’s skepticism, he might start doubting himself too.

Twenty-two days until Dean’s twenty-first birthday

He left early again the next morning, stopping by the kitchen to steal—well, it wasn’t stealing since it was sort of his kingdom—to grab some food. Namely, some steaming hot sandwiches, fresh bread and beef. (He wasn’t sure how conscious the decision of beef was mostly joking about that yesterday, but he thought it was sort of funny.) He hoped that they would stay warm until he got to Castiel. He packed them up with the two books Sam had given him, and then he was off on Impala toward the cave again.

It was fortunate that the cave was so close, just less than an hour when he rode at a steady gallop. The kingdom of Eluo itself was not too large. There was the palace, where Dean spent the majority of his time. Just outside of the palace gates were the homes of commoners, and outside that was the fields, pastures, and barns. Their kingdom had an odd mix of weapons, dairy, and crops that made up their major exports. Eluo exported more produce than anyone else in the Heroici province, and had the most talented craftsman as well. The stables were located just near the only other gates in the walls surrounding the palace outside of the main ones. They were not heavily guarded, and Garth, the guard who was typically charged with watching those gates, loved Dean for whatever reason and swore up and down that no one would hear about his “morning escapades, not from me, Your Highness, no way.” And with the little smile Garth gave him every day, Dean could tell that he thought Dean was sneaking out to meet some sort of love interest. Dean decided against correcting him.

So he got out of the palace easy enough, and the only boundary surrounding the entire kingdom was the fields, in which it wasn’t strange to see a lone figure on horseback.

Dean gave Impala an extra treat in apology for having to leave her outside again before entering the dark cave.

It was no longer scary or ominous, that darkness, knowing that there was a wide and spacious room—more than big enough, Dean imagined, for a dragon—filled with light and a lost prince.

Castiel was meditating again—and suns, there had to be something else to do here—but this time without any low hum.

“Heya, Cas,” Dean said, since Castiel hadn’t seemed to have heard his heavy footsteps. Castiel’s eyes didn’t even start to open before a smile came across his lips, settling there. He stood up, blue eyes looking stupidly happy.

“Your Highness,” he said. Dean rolled his eyes at the formality, but the way Castiel said it was different. The way he said it should not mean anything, but it did. Then his eyes widened as he took in the leather bag Dean had slung over a shoulder. “Did you—”

“Yeah, I brought your books, you nerd.” Dean settled himself down on the floor with Castiel following closely behind, surprised at how comfortable he’d already made himself here, in a cave, with this man whom he barely knew.

He didn’t, really, and that thought startled him. He knew Castiel’s past, his history like a story in a book, the evil sorcerer casting a curse on the beautiful prince. But he didn’t know Castiel, not really. He didn’t know what sort of food he liked (since he didn’t think the whole cows he ate as a dragon counted) or the books he read or what made him laugh so hard he snorted juice out of his nose or whether he preferred tea over coffee.

One of those questions was settled when Dean pulled out two large and still warm sandwiches and tossed one to Castiel, and Castiel smiled and said, “These used to be my favorite.”

Another was answered when, along with the food, Dean drew from the bag the stack of books and dropped them down in front of Castiel. He examined the cover and looked at Dean with eyes that were absolutely elated, filled with excitement and happiness that seemed too much for just a few borrowed books. “I enjoy fantasy,” he said simply, and his words didn’t seem to match the excitement lighting up his face.

Dean just nodded because he didn’t know what else to say, unwrapping his food from the tinfoil it had been wrapped in.

Castiel unwrapped the sandwich like it was something precious, examining it thoroughly before taking a bite. All the while, Dean was watching him.

Which he probably shouldn’t have, because as soon as Castiel bit down on the tiniest bite, he let out a moan. And not a soft one either, a long, low one that for some reason had Dean blushing. A lot.

When Castiel’s eyes opened—because they had actually closed in ecstasy over a cranking sandwich—they did that thing again. The thing where they flashed gold, for just the briefest moment, before returning to the same endless blue. Before Dean could say anything, though, Castiel reached across the (admittedly small) gap between them to lay his hand over Dean’s.

“I am forever indebted to you,” he said, eyes wide and earnest.

Dean coughed. “Don’t mention it.”

Because he was really smooth.

They ate in a companionable silence for a few moments before Dean asked, “Do you realize that your eyes do that—” he gestured vaguely to his face, “thing?”

Castiel tilted his head, looking like some sort of lost puppy and no it wasn’t adorable, thank you very much. “What ‘thing’?”

“They flash, like, gold. They did it just now, and they did it before when you were angry.”

Castiel shrugged, not bothered. “No, I had not realized.”

Dean stared at him for at least a full thirty seconds before raising his eyebrows in a well-okay-then manner.

“What is your kingdom like, Prince? Eluo?”

Then Dean was talking about the kingdom and the beautiful palace made of light stone, the endless fields, the smell of it; about their biggest trading partner, the Harvelle’s territory; about Sam and Mary and John; Charlie, and Gilda who Charlie was definitely in love with; Garth who let him leave and get space when he needed it; Benny in the kitchen who made up greasy food for him when everyone else was eating fancy glorified rabbit food, Lisa at the bakery who always insisted that he take a slice of pie on the house.

“Is Lisa a girlfriend?” Castiel asked at this point.

And with that Dean had to explain the stupid relationships thing with being the eldest prince, how he was expected to find someone to marry and make his queen or king by the time he turned of age, twenty-one—for him, in just three weeks—and how he would be forced into an arranged marriage if he didn’t. How he could marry anyone, man or woman, rich or poor, so long as he found them before his twenty-first birthday; how he had already resigned to the idea of marrying the princess of Attero, who would unite the two kingdoms as trading partners and more; how the girl, Jess, was kind and beautiful but not for him.

Castiel asked what other traditions there were for eldest princes. Dean explained the whole coming-of-age task that he needed to complete. That’s when a look of realization crossed Castiel’s features and he said, sounding so so sad, “You were going to slay the dragon.”

“What?”

Castiel watched him closely, his eyes showing something that Dean couldn’t identify. “You were planning on slaying me. The first day, I said that you wanted to be the big hero. I was right, in a way. You needed to slay me.”

“Whoa whoa, Cas, it’s fine. I was—I mean, yeah, originally, but it’s not like anything awful happens if I don’t. I just have to complete it before I can be king. And my dad’s not going anywhere any time soon, and he’s far from retiring. So it doesn’t really matter.”

Castiel sighed and studied Dean again, locking him in that gaze. After a while, he said, “Tell me about my kingdom—what it has become.”

“Cas—”

The pleading look Castiel gave him stopped him short.

Dean explained again, in better detail, the fast descent into dystopia that his kingdom of Caelum endured after his disappearance. He told Castiel how Lucifer ruled with an iron fist, how the number of homeless people living in poverty increased by a tenfold. The kingdom became full of beggars, starving and beaten when there was even the slightest murmur of rebellion. The final straw was when he announced that the name of the kingdom was Croatoan from that point onward. Anyone who had considered fighting him was scared off by the military he had been pouring all of the kingdom’s wealth into.

Castiel only looked dazed afterward.

“You okay, Cas?”

“It doesn’t seem real,” Castiel whispered, not looking at Dean. “It doesn’t feel like it actually happened, it feels like a story.” He squeezed his eyes shut and tilted his head down, and suns, please say he was not going to cry, Dean didn’t ever know how to handle crying people, just wanted to wrap them up and make their pains go away but knew he couldn’t.

But Castiel just looked up, eyes shining not with tears but determination and said, “I’m going to take my kingdom back. Someday.”

And crank if Dean didn’t want that too, somehow, for whatever reason. Which brought him to the question that had been in the back of his mind for the few days he’d known about Castiel:

“Do you know what you have to do to break the curse?” Because the most basic rule of magic was that nothing was impossible to reverse, that every spell, curse, charm or hex had its counter—be it a simple incantation, a condition that had to be met, or a complex spell.

Castiel nodded, his expression grave. “Yes, but if I was able to break it, don’t you think I would have done so by now?”

Dean half wanted to say something like, Well now you’ve got help, you’re not alone anymore. He decided that, first of all, too soon, second of all, no.

“Cas,” he sighed instead, because he did want to help him, but he couldn’t do that without knowing how.

“It’s a spell,” he said. Which was kind of a relief, because he was half expecting a freaking true love’s kiss and that was too cliche for Dean to deal with.

When Cas didn’t continue, “Care to elaborate on that?”

“It needs things that are… difficult to obtain, to say the least.”

“And Lucifer just told you what you would need like it was nothing?”

“He said it would make the game ‘fun’. Just like he said that making me immortal with the ‘simple side effect’ of being a dragon half of the time was ‘doing me a favor.’” He pulled his fingers up to make air quotations, which would have been funny or at least slightly adorable, had the statements accompanying it not been so sad.

“A stone from the bottom of the deepest lake in the Heroici Province—”

“But the only lake in Heroici is—”

“Virtually unexplored, I know. Or at least, it wasn’t when I was still… out and about.”

“It still hasn’t been ventured into. Any stone then?”

“I suppose.”

“What else?”

“An item belonging to the one who cursed me. So, anything of Lucifer’s. And finally, the blood of a loved one.”

“Do you have any of those yet?”

“None so far. I haven’t… tried as much as I likely should have.”

“Why not? You have a chance at becoming human again, full time!”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Sure it is! You already know exactly where the first one is, and then anything of Lucifer’s shouldn’t be hard.”

“So what you’re saying is I should just hop up and leave to go on an impossible quest?”

“It’s not impossible. And that’s not what I’m saying—I’m saying we should.”

Castiel raised his eyebrow, looking skeptical. Which was, let’s face it, a little insulting. “You want to just up and leave? Have you forgotten something, Your Highness?”

“My dad still wants me to hunt you,” Dean found himself blurting out. “And I don’t want to do that. I think—I want—I mean, I just want—”

“Dean,” Castiel said, and Dean knew he was sincere when he said his real name, and like that.

“I want to help you,” was all he could think to say, and he just hoped he didn’t sound stupid, like he was trying to be the hero, like he was doubting that Castiel could help himself. “I mean, it’s just not fair. You were a cranking kid. You didn’t deserve that.”

“Thank you. But you should remain here, with your kingdom. I’m content here. Especially now.” Now that Dean had been visiting him, now that he had books to read, now that he had someone to talk to he did not say.

“Come on, seriously? Cas,” and screw it, Dean decided, putting a hand over Castiel’s own, a little thrill running through him at what he was about to say. “I’m gonna help you break that curse.”

Dean left shortly after, when he’d realized that it was getting late and people would notice his absence. Castiel thanked him again for the books and looked like he wanted to hug Dean but didn’t quite know how to initiate that, which made it a strange sort of relief when he didn’t.

And he did that stupid smile when he left again, the one that made it look like he thought Dean hung the moon in the sky himself. It melted Dean’s heart a little, which he would never admit. Ever.

But the time had gotten away from him, eating and talking with Castiel. By the time he got back, it was late enough in the afternoon for him to, after returning Impala to the stables and attempting to sneak into his own room to drop off his bag, run into Mary on his way. Which meant that she looked at him, slightly surprised, and asked, “Dean! We were all wondering where you went. Not too worried, of course, you’re always disappearing. So where were you?”

“Just taking a walk,” Dean replied, because usually that was enough for Mary to leave it alone, but of course, he was not so lucky.

“And what’s that bag for?” Her eyebrow was raised, more in playful curiosity than any sort of suspicion.

Crank, uh. “Stuff for Impala. It’s in her stables now,” he explained. The bag was empty now, so it made sense.

Mary turned to fully face him, having been half turned in a passing conversation on her way to something or another. She narrowed her eyes a bit. “Dean, you know I can tell when you’re lying to me.”

Which was, as Dean knew, the biggest lie that parents tell. “I’m not lying!” Suns, he was a liar.

“Are you seeing someone?”

“Why does everyone think I’m seeing someone?” Dean asked, remembering both Charlie and Sam’s immediate assumptions.

“You’ve been smiling more,” Mary said in explanation, sounding accusing.

“Wow, alert the rest of the kingdom, this could be dangerous.” Dean rolled his eyes, trying to play it off as the sarcastic young adult he typically was.

“Dean.” She sounded serious that time. “Put your old mother at ease? Where were you?”

Dean thought through his options as quickly as possible, knowing he really couldn’t lie to his mom at this point. But he couldn’t very well tell her! Sure, she would be more understanding than John, but even if she was somehow completely okay with the whole Castiel situation, she would slaughter him at the thought that he’d gone out to that old cave by himself with intentions of slaying the dragon. By himself. Which, yeah, wasn’t his brightest idea, but that didn’t mean he wanted to face his mother’s wrath.

Screw it, Dean decided. “Yes, suns, I was seeing someone.”

Mary (the queen, his mother, a cranking adult) looked about two seconds away from squealing, her face breaking out into a grin and her green eyes sparkling. “Really? Who is it? Boy or girl?”

“A boy,” Dean answered. So far so good, no lying required.

“What’s his name?”

Dean thought for a moment, remembering how Sam had immediately recognized the rather irregular name. “It’s, uh, Cas.”

“How’d you meet?”

“Mom, please, can we not play twenty questions about a cranking crush like I’m a freaking teenage girl?”

Mary did that mom face, the sour one that was meant as you know I love you and I’m just trying to get involved in your life, but sure, for your sake I will stop embarrassing you. “Alright, alright. I just—I’m happy for you.” She paused, watching him carefully. “You know that we can make exceptions to the rules. We can extend the date past your twenty-first birthday, if you think that you and Cas are going to be anything serious.”

“Oh my suns, Mom, we met, like, three days ago. It’s not—I mean,” suns he was blushing. “It’s not like that, I don’t think. It’s… fine.”

Mary looked at him like she saw right through his lies, although the lies she was seeing were likely different from the actual ones he was telling. Then she hugged him, which was weird but not unwelcome, and told him that “you can talk to me about anything, you know that, right?” before continuing off to… Hm. He hadn’t asked where she was off to. Whatever. He was just relieved she had left it at that.

But that wasn’t it. Of course that wasn’t it. Because even though the dragon (which Dean was finding difficult to see as synonymous with Castiel) hadn’t bothered anyone in the past three days or nights, it was still out there.

Or at least, so was the reasoning of his father.

“Dragons are extremely intelligent,” John was explaining to him. He hated when he talked like this, at him instead of to him, ranting about whatever before concluding with an order, one that left no room for arguments, only a “Yes Sir.” And it was always ‘sir’ when it was like this. “I am not just your father, Dean. I’m also the king,” John used to remind him.

“Disappearing for a few days to throw us off, it could be plotting something. Regardless, it’s out there, and we need to find it and slay it before it can do us any more harm.” John put a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “I know I said I didn’t want you to be involved at first, but I stand by what I said yesterday. It would be good for you. I want you to come help us hunt the dragon. We leave tomorrow in the night.”

“Yes Sir,” Dean responded, like he knew he was supposed to. Internally of course, it was more along the lines of shit shit shit what do I do?

John nodded curtly and walked away.

“Sam, I’m leaving tomorrow.”

Sam did a double take. Probably justified, since Dean had just burst into his room without knocking, making proclamations without preamble.

“You’re—what? Is this about Castiel?”

“Yes, of course it’s about Castiel.”

“Mom and Dad said you could help him?”

Dean’s silence spoke for itself.

“Dean!”

“What am I supposed to say? ‘Hey Dad, my friend, who also happens to be the prince who’s been missing for ten years and is the true heir of our enemy kingdom, needs help breaking a curse. By the way he’s sort of a dragon. But, you know, not all the time!’ Sammy, I can’t.” For some reason he wasn’t grasping that. “It sounds insane.”

“The reason it sounds insane is because it is insane. You can’t really think you can just—”

“I have to try. You haven’t seen him, he’s… Suns, Sam, I’ll kill you if you ever tell anyone I said something this girly, but he’s so freaking alone, and it isn’t fair.”

Sam’s eyes went soft as if he realized something, and Dean guesses he did by the way he said, “You like him.”

Dean, as Dean often did, avoided the obvious meaning. “I guess, sure. I mean, of course I do.”

“No, you really like him.” Sam was examining him carefully in a way that Dean did not like at all.

“I’ve known him three days.”

“Yeah, and when you turn twenty-one you’re going to marry someone that you’ve talked to maybe once, ever.”

Dean groaned. How many times would he have to say that he was fine with the cranking arranged marriage for the sake of bringing the kingdoms together? “Look—all I’m asking is for you to cover for me. Just make sure they know that I’m fine, they know not to look for me. Mom and Dad and Charlie. I’ll be back in time for my birthday.”

“Three weeks?”

“Maximum.”

“Mom would understand, if you told her.”

“But she would tell Dad, and he wouldn’t. He would argue that he’s still hurting our people but he—he stopped now, and Dad doesn’t care. I need to do this, Sammy. Help me out. Please.”

Sam stared at him for a long minute. Then he smacked Dean in the arm, and hard. “Of course I’ll help you, you jerk.”

Twenty-one days until Dean’s twenty-first birthday

When Dean got to Castiel the next day, he was doing yoga.

Or, at least he appeared to be. He was bent oddly and breathing deeply, usual tan cloak lying crumpled in a corner. When he heard Dean enter, he tilted his head (which was currently upside down) to face Dean without moving from his position, smiling. His body was folded in half to make a triangle in what Dean was pretty sure was the “downward facing dog,” if what he remembered from Sam was correct.

Dean just stood there awkwardly with his eyebrow raised, wondering if giving him a book about yoga was very wise. He lifted a hand slightly in a semi-wave as Castiel began to untangle himself, standing up straight.

“Your Highness,” he greeted. That was when he saw the bag Dean was holding—significantly larger than the one he’d used to carry the books yesterday, and packed full. “Did you bring more books? I finished the other three. Did you know that ‘namaste’ means ‘the best of my abilities salute the best of your abilities’? It’s very interesting. And the fantasy novel was incredible, although I must question the logic of some of the things.”

Dean almost (almost) didn’t have the heart to break it to him, when he was looking as spirited as he was about the books. He took a deep breath. “Cas, my dad wants me to hunt you. They’re searching tonight with every intention of killing you.”

The content smile falls from Castiel’s face. “Are you—?”

“No, of course not. I mean, I could go with them and lead them in the wrong direction, but that would only work for so long.”

Castiel swallowed visibly. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I have provisions, two horses, and three weeks, and we’re going to break your curse.”

“Now?” Castiel looked down at his pile of books, the broken chain lying on the ground, and it somehow seemed like a fucked up version of home, and he hated having to ask this, even for his own protection.

“Yes. Now or never, Cas.”

“You don’t have to do this, Dean. I would never ask this of you. Just you being here is enough—”

“I know you didn’t ask me. I want to.”

It was silent for another long moment, Castiel looking at the ground and Dean looking at him.

Finally, Dean broke the silence with a question and a grin:

“What do you say, Cas? You wanna go on an adventure?”

Part II: The Lake

Twenty-one days until Dean’s twenty-first birthday

Castiel said he had ridden on a horse many times, and, as far as skill went, that was clear. Still, he looked ridiculous amounts of uncomfortable sitting on the one Dean had secured for him, still wearing that awkward cloak and looking ridiculous amounts of freaked out.

Every time Dean turned to ask if he was okay (rightly so, Dean would add, since Castiel was looking downright terrified), Castiel would roll his eyes and say something along the lines of “Not dead yet, Your Highness,” until Dean realized it was just annoying the both of them and screw it he wasn’t about to spend three days on horseback bored, so he started a conversation.

They talked about everything and anything as they rode almost leisurely. The sun was warm and there was the slightest cool breeze, green trees and grass and blue skies passing them by while they traveled. They followed the path of the  river that was near the cave, which, according to the map Dean had brought and assumptions made by cartographers, despite the area being mostly unknown, went all the way from Croatoan to the lake. It would take a day to get to the Kingdom of Attero, and after that they would be in unexplored areas. He estimated three days to the lake after that, if they rested through the nights..

Dean asked Castiel to describe what Caelum was like when Castiel lived there, which led to Castiel gushing about the gardens and the people. That led to him talking about his family, about Anna who was to marry the girl from the Harvelle Territory (Dean confirming that the marriage had taken place and as far as he knew they were happy), about Michael and Lucifer, about his father and mother and their kindness, about the lovely people outside the palace. His face grew distant but happy as he went on and Dean was content to just watch the warmth on his face as he remembered these things. Eventually Castiel’s face darkened and his voice stopped for a moment before returning softly, “But I guess it’s not anymore.”

And even if Dean wanted to do something, he couldn’t very well hug the guy on horseback. So he stayed silent as they continued to ride south, the sky darkening behind them.

After a while, Castiel stopped, signaling for Dean to do the same. He dismounted his horse, looking relieved yet unsteady to be back on his feet.

“The sun will drop below the horizon soon.” He didn’t have to say what was meant by that because, well, Dean knew.

“Right. We can just stop and rest for the night then, get moving when you’re back on two legs?”

Castiel nodded, looking self-conscious and downright awkward before saying. “I must ask you to look away, when I tell you to. Will you?”

Dean shrugged, not sure what the big deal was. Dean dismounted from Impala, unloading his heavy bags off of her and onto the ground of the slight clearing they’d stopped at, surrounded by just a few trees. Both of the horses were given food and tied so that they wouldn’t wander off. With nothing left for Dean to do, they both silently watched the sun lowering behind the horizon until Castiel moved further away from Dean. When Dean looked up, Castiel’s eyes were that deep gold again. Not a flash this time—his eyes were completely solid gold.

Castiel’s face was grim when he said, “Please look away now.”

Dean closed his eyes and turned his head over his shoulder, but even so did not miss a blinding light growing brighter from behind his closed lids, and then dying down again. After a long moment, Dean turned again.

And yeah, crank, that was a freaking dragon.

The dragon—Castiel, Dean reminded himself—had impossibly black scales that seemed to reflect the faint glow of the moon, all the way across it’s—his—body. His eyes were that same shade of gold, two white horns on his head and a long tail spread out behind him. Four legs, two broad wings spreading out from the bottom of his back, enormous and freaking majestic. Each leg ended in deadly looking talons. That same shackle that Dean had gotten used to seeing had expanded around a huge leg.

And he was huge. Ridiculously huge.

It was difficult to equate this fearsome creature with the gentle Castiel he knew, the one who had been tangled up in downward-facing dog with a goofy smile just hours earlier, but Dean knew it was. That was made clearer when he saw the look of pride in the dragon’s eyes, defiant and practically daring Dean to run away scared and prove to Castiel what he obviously still believed—that he couldn’t be accepted being cursed as he was. So Dean forced his eyes not to be so wide, relaxed his shoulders, took a few steps forward until he was standing close enough to see each individual shining scale on his body.

“Still you?” Dean asked, because he had never asked (although it seemed pretty obvious) whether Castiel was completely in control when he was a dragon.

The dragon—suns, Castiel, this was going to take some getting used to—dipped his head just slightly and Dean just smiled because of all things, awkward should not be what he was feeling right now. Scared, maybe, but this was just. Weird.

“Can you breathe fire?” Dean found himself asking, mostly because he was an idiot and partially because he was an insensitive asshole. Dean guessed that dragons couldn’t roll their eyes but Dean could sense the exasperation and could perfectly envision Castiel—human Castiel—rolling his eyes and glaring at Dean. So he just lifted his his hands in surrender and laughed. “Right, sorry, I’m just gonna sleep now.” He didn’t know if dragons slept, or if they needed blankets or anything, so he just settled down himself, grateful for the warm weather, and closed his eyes.

Castiel sat himself down, curling up in a way that looked more like a puppy than a ferocious dragon, and stared at Dean.

It didn’t feel quite as intrusive or uncomfortable as it probably should have, so Dean just squeezed his eyes shut, trying to pretend like this wasn’t totally fucking weird, and waited for sleep to take him.

Twenty days until Dean’s twenty-first birthday

When Dean woke up, the sun was low in the sky and Castiel was very much human, and fully clothed. Dean should ask about that too, at some point.

He blinked blearily, rubbing at his eyes as he forced himself up into a sitting position. Castiel was awake, and full-on staring at Dean.

“Dude, were you watching me sleep?”

Castiel tilted his head and didn’t answer the question. After a moment in which Dean yawned and squinted at the rising sun, wishing he’d slept less so that they could have gotten moving earlier, Castiel said, “I don’t breathe fire, by the way.”

“Oh.” Dean raised his eyebrows. Sort of a relief, but also significantly less badass. Without that, Castiel in his dragon form was just like a giant puppy.

“I breathe frost,” Castiel said simply, and when Dean looked over, there was that playful glint in his eye, and Dean just laughed.

“Right, of course. So you can freeze people?”

“Yes. I could also just send an icy breeze, if I wanted. I have quite a range,” Castiel said almost teasingly.

Dean cracked a grin and tied his boots back on, standing and walking to his bag. He ruffled through it and doled out the bird food that would have to serve as meals for a little while to Castiel before biting into one himself, grimacing.

“God I hate these. I’m gonna have to hunt at some point or something, suns.”

After that they were back on horseback and on their way.

About an hour into it, Dean got bored and challenged Castiel to a race. Castiel seemed extremely opposed until a bit of egging on and teasing from Dean had him pushing his horse into a gallop. Dean laughed as he pushed Impala forward, almost immediately coming neck and neck beside Castiel.

Just because they were on a serious quest to restore Castiel’s humanity didn’t mean they couldn’t have fun.

(Dean won, and no matter what Castiel may have claimed, he did not cheat.)

They reached Attero by midday but found that they didn’t have much reason to stay when they couldn’t exactly spend the night what with Cas being, you know, a dragon. They took the chance to buy extra food for the road, as well as an actual warm meal for lunch (which Dean appreciated almost as much as Castiel, who did that freaking moan again, and that should absolutely not be allowed), and to wash up a little bit.

Dean was grateful that no one recognized him as Dean Winchester, that he’d only had to identify himself at the gates that encircled the entire kingdom. He’d told the guard who he was, showed his papers and simply called Castiel his “companion.”

To which the guard had said with narrowed eyes, “I thought the prince of Eluo was to be in an arranged marriage?” Which, he was. With the princess of this kingdom, no less. So Dean didn’t understand why the woman would assume otherwise. Or at least, he didn’t, for maybe .2 seconds before he choked a little and said, “Yeah—I mean, no—we’re just. I mean, he’s just a friend.”

And the guard just smiled like she knew something he didn’t, which pissed Dean off to no end, and waved them through.

On the plus side, that had gotten them through the gates without questioning about Castiel. And that would have been fine, would’ve just been something to laugh over and then move on, except that when Dean ordered their lunch, the waiter said that he would have the food out to him and his date as soon as he could, walking away before Dean could get out more than, “We’re not—”

Castiel, because he was an asshole, just watched him with amusement, decidedly not bothered by it all.

In the midst of talking and joking and laughter over their food, Castiel suddenly stopped laughing and looked about a million miles away.

“Cas?”

“This is the kingdom with the princess, Jessica, the one you are meant to marry.”

Dean wasn’t quite sure what that had to do with anything. “Yeah.”

“Should you make a point to stop and see her, while you are here?”

Dean felt a little shitty having not even thought of that, but then again—”We’re kind of here secretly, remember?” he explained. “Anyway, I don’t really know her. The whole marriage is just for the sake of the kingdom.”

Castiel looked strangely satisfied after that, so Dean just continued with his story about Sam, which had had Castiel laughing heartily and Dean grinning because of it.

Soon enough Dean and Castiel were making their way out of the kingdom, unnoticed and unquestioned (thank the suns), and they were back on their horses for another few hours of travel before the sun set. They kept walking until the well-worn path became less well-worn and then wasn’t there at all, their only guidance the gentle rush of the river.

They stopped for a while before the sun set, both of them aching in unfortunate places (Dean less so than Castiel, having been more used to riding horses for long periods of time). Dean set traps and managed to get a few rabbits, lighting a fire to cook them. Castiel looked sad watching them roast. “Don’t be going vegetarian on me now, Cas.”

Castiel rolled his eyes and then said, “I don’t actually need to sleep. If I flew, we could get there before it’s light.”

“And what about me?”

Castiel gave him a look like he was a complete idiot. “You would ride me.”

Dean choked on a bite of rabbit’s leg (which was, decidedly, not terrible). Fuck. His mind was going to… unsavory places. He forced himself to stop blushing and to get his mind out of the gutter, saying instead of a million innuendos, “Hell no.”

“Are you uncomfortable with… my condition?” Castiel narrowed his eyes.

Dean didn’t especially want to admit this, but he didn’t want Castiel to think that. “I don’t fly. Not gonna happen.” In all honesty, it was a pretty badass idea, him flying into battle on the back of a dragon. The only problem was that—

“You’re afraid of heights.” The way he said it made it seem like it wasn’t a question.

Dean carefully avoided making eye contact, mumbling something along the lines of, “I’m not afraid of anything.”

Castiel laughed outright, and Dean would have been offended if he wasn't pretty sure that that was the first time he’d actually heard Cas laugh like that. Of course he would be laughing at him. But, well, it was still a nice sound.

“Okay, no flying then, Your Highness,” he said, sounding far too amused.

“Yeah yeah, go turn into a dragon, you asshole,” he grumbled in response.

Castiel laughed again, and yeah, Dean definitely liked that sound.

Nineteen days until Dean’s twenty-first birthday

The next day went much as the previous one had (excluding the stop at Attero), although they spent much more time just walking their horses rather than riding them, both of them tired and sore and not having any desire to get riding any time soon. That was something that Sam’s adventure novels didn’t include—how freaking awful traveling is, with the horses and the shitty food and nothing to do but talk to each other. That part, Dean didn't mind so much. He felt like he could talk to Castiel forever and never get bored.

Castiel, as much as he insisted he did not need to sleep, looked like he could use a nap. Dean felt about the same and couldn’t wait for them to get to the stupid lake so they could rest a little, because his feet were aching from walking almost as much as his legs were from horseback riding.

There wasn’t as much conversation this day, not so much for lack of things to say as they were tired. The short detour in Attero had been nice, but moving for three days was exhausting, no matter what any fictional stories might say.

So they kept on, in an exhausted yet companionable silence that neither of them felt the need to fill.

Everything was normal that day (or at least as normal as a day could be when you were traveling on a journey to gather ingredients for a spell to make your dragon friend a human, while accompanied by previously mentioned dragon friend), until the sun set.

Just as it disappeared behind the horizon, Castiel’s eyes went gold again. He signaled for Dean to look away, and he complied, as he had been for the few previous nights.

It was once he was in his dragon form that it happened. Dean was settling down to sleep, throwing out a “Good night, Cas” (and it was still weird, talking to this giant intimidating creature like the friend Dean knew he was).

And Dean heard a reply, “’Night, Your Highness.”

Which, if Dean had been just a little more tired, would have slipped his mind. But, well, he wasn’t quite that tired yet, which was why he sat straight up and stared at Castiel.

Who was… yep. Still a dragon.

“Did you just—?” Dean started, because he was not hearing things, but there was no way that Castiel had—

“Did I what?”

The dragon that was Castiel didn’t open its mouth at all with the words, and was just watching him through weary golden eyes. When Dean thought about it, he wasn’t hearing it, that was certain. It was in his head, definitely, and he wasn’t sure if that eased the freakiness of it all.

“Do that again.”

“Do what again?” Castiel’s reply came, sounding just as (adorably) irritated as usual, the same deep voice that Dean associated with his human form.

“Dude, I can hear you.”

“What do you mean?” Castiel asked, and even as a dragon, his head tilted sideways in confusion.

“I mean that you’re in my head and it’s weird. You can—suns, I’m not even phased by this anymore. Okay. You are a dragon. A dragon with apparent powers of telepathy that are only just now surfacing. What the fuck ever.” So he rolled over and tried to go to sleep, but suns forbid the cranking dragon let him be.

“I don’t understand. This has never happened before.”

“Probably because you haven’t interacted with anyone in years?” Dean grumbled. “Wait, can you read my mind?” This was easily least shocking thing he’d discovered in the past week, but he was definitely feeling a little violated if Castiel could just dive right in.

“I’m not sure,” Castiel thought/said/telepathy-powered to him, frowning (as much as a dragon could.) “I don’t believe so… Ah,” as if what he’d said explained everything. “Perhaps sharing a bond such as ours can also form a mental bond.”

“’A bond such as ours’?” Dean asked. He was eternally grateful for the darkness because he was actually cranking blushing.

“You’ve surely noticed we share a more profound bond.”

Dean groaned rather exaggeratedly and said loudly, “Goodnight Castiel!”

Dean suspected that Castiel sensed his strange mix of embarrassment, annoyance, and sheer I-don’t-wanna-talk-about-it but couldn’t quite figure out why. His suspicion was confirmed when Castiel said, “I wasn’t going to mention it,” in an (adorably) confused and defensive voice.

Dean huffed out a laugh. “Stop talking.”

“Technically I’m not talking—”

Dean rolled over with another chuckle and went to sleep, somehow not as totally weirded out by the new development as he maybe should have been. They would figure it out tomorrow.

Eighteen days until Dean’s twenty-first birthday

They finally arrived the next day.

They’d left as soon as Castiel was back on two legs, eager to get to their destination and be on their way again. They were a bit less tired today, so they were able to make idle conversation, mostly about random things, likes and dislikes. (Dean learned that Castiel was passionate about some weird things. Who knew a guy could have such a love for bees?) The “profound bond” apparently did not extend to when Castiel was human, and neither of them mentioned it in too much depth. They just walked and talked, and not too much later, they saw it. A huge clearing of trees up ahead, and there, the ground giving way to soil giving way to rocks and pebbles giving way to water. The lake was vast and clear, reflecting sunlight off the surface, the faint hum of all sorts of bugs in the background.

“Suns,” Castiel breathed, and Dean could not blame him. The image created, the golden sunlight combined with the lush green trees and the water was stunning.

“You said a stone from ‘the bottom of the lake,’” Dean started, dreading the answer. “You don’t mean…”

“Yes. The very very bottom,” Castiel explained, eyes still fixed on the lake’s beauty. “It shouldn’t be too hard. Just wait for night time when I’m in my other form, I can go down then. It won’t be as deep when I’m that large.”

Dean shrugged at the logic. Then he was stripping down to his underwear and wading into the water just as Castiel choked out an incredulous, “What are you doing?”

He just cast a grin over his shoulder. “What does it look like I’m doing? It’s freaking hot, and I’m bored, and we have a perfectly accessible lake right here.” He was far enough out that he was waist deep and that he had to shout for Castiel to hear him.

“This lake is unexplored. Anything could be in there!” Castiel warned.

“Live a little, Cas!”

“What about the horses?”

“Let ‘em graze or something, they need rest too!”

Castiel watched Dean splashing around by himself, his expression split between amused and a fond You are an idiot and there is no way I’m getting in the water with you.

Dean was determined. This stupid idiot spent the past few years of his life literally in a cave and he wouldn’t even have a little fun.

“What, you can’t swim?”

Dean could see Castiel narrowing his eyes even from far away. “Of course I can swim.”

“Well are you just gonna stand out there until night time? Alone? With nothing to do?”

Dean sensed more than saw the responding eye roll and sigh. “You are going to be the death of me, Your Highness.” But he was getting up, pulling his shirt over his head and wading into the water toward Dean, stepping slowly and cautiously on the smooth stones.

Once he was close enough to talk to without shouting, Dean said, “How much would I have to pay you to stop calling me that?”

“I’ll continue to do so for as long as it annoys you.”

Dean glared at him for a minute.

Then he splashed him, because, yeah, his twenty-first birthday was in less than three weeks, but he was still secretly a four year old.

Most of the day was spent like that, Dean persistently pestering Castiel until he obliged in childish games in the water and gave in to having actual real fun. They got out of the water eventually, drying off and lounging on the grass just away from the lake as the sun began its descent from the sky. Dean broke out some day old bread he’d bought in Attero and split the loaf with Castiel as they sat in the sun, relaxing, waiting for the sun to disappear.

When the sun was finally hidden behind the horizon, the sky grown dark, Castiel once again winged, it was time to start.

“You gonna be okay?”

Castiel let out a little huff which, even as a dragon, Dean could tell translated roughly to, Of course I’m going to be okay, idiot.

“I will just be going in, diving down, getting the stone, and getting out, yes? There’s no need for worrying.” Castiel said, his voice a heavy presence in Dean’s mind. And yeah, maybe now that Dean was actually rested and alert, the whole telepathy thing was a bit more freaky.

But it was a little late to discuss it now.

Dean stepped forward to the edge of the lake, his shoes off, the stones under his feet cold and smooth. “Do you think the water looks weird now that it’s dark?”

It did. The water was no longer clear and beautiful, it was dark, inky, murky, ominous. And, unless Dean’s eyes were playing tricks on him, glowing faintly. His eyes moved slowly forward, to the spot in the middle of the lake in which the reflection of the waning moon should be. It wasn’t there, nor was it nearly dark enough out for it to logically not be there.

“Cas, I don’t think the lake is normal.”

“I certainly hope it’s okay, seeing as you forced me into it all day.”

“I didn’t force you! And—Cas, that’s not the point, you ass, I’m serious.” There was something so off about the water now, a sense of unease in Dean’s chest. Castiel was about half a moment from stepping in.

Dean leaned forward, bending down and down to reach into the dark smoothness of the water. His hand broke the surface slightly and—

Nothing. Just cold. Really, really cold. He told Castiel as much.

“Have you forgotten that I literally breathe ice? I don’t think a little cold will bother me.”

Dean was getting frustrated. “I’m serious, I think something’s up. The cranking water is glowing!”

Castiel turned suddenly toward Dean (and the sudden movement was slightly terrifying when Castiel was still a massive, ice breathing black dragon). His crystalline eyes were somehow sincere as he spoke through his mind. “I’m going to be fine, Your Highness. We can’t turn back at the slightest sign of weirdness. This entire thing is a little weird, isn’t it?”

“I’m not saying we should turn back, I’m just saying—”

“I know, and I’m saying that you need to step back so I can fly further across the lake.”

Dean didn’t like this. He really really really didn’t like this. But the water felt fine when he’d been in it earlier, and when he’d dipped his hand in just now. Not to mention that Castiel was a badass dragon, and a lake would absolutely not be his undoing.

Against his better judgment, he walked further back, away from the lake and Castiel. He watched as Castiel took off with a fierce downward push of his wings, watched him soar much further than Dean liked to have him. He stepped forward to peer into the night, across the lake where Castiel was circling. Then Castiel was diving down toward the lake, then down into the lake, disappearing into its depths.

A cold crawled over Dean. This was wrong, he shouldn’t have let Castiel go. He stepped to the lake’s edge, eyes glued to the spot that Castiel had disappeared into.

Seconds passed. Too many seconds. Then a minute.

Crank. Could dragons hold their breaths longer than humans? Could dragons even swim?

Dean barely restrained himself from pacing.

Another minute passed. Something was definitely wrong.

“Cas?” he called out, with no response. He tried thinking it loudly, projecting it, wondering if this “bond” of theirs worked both ways. Cas!

Moments passed, and Dean wasn’t sure how long those moments were, but they felt like small eternities.

Then something in Dean’s mind snapped.

No, not in Dean’s mind. It was that presence of Castiel, the firm one, heavy in the back of his mind, the one he could feel ever since he’d first heard Castiel in his head last night. That presence was panicked.

Almost immediately after, Dean saw something swirling in the lake. Something bright blue, something not Castiel, something not alive.

Then the lake started to freeze.

Only as that was happening did the thought occur to Dean that maybe someone with icy powers should not be going into water. Water that, you know, freezes.

It started at the edges of the lake, sending Dean scrambling back away from the bank to the grass. It was a sight like he’d never seen before, incredible—literally magical—and Castiel was still in the water, the ice slowly creeping into the center where he was.

“Cas!” he tried again, desperately, pointlessly.

Then he watched in awe as the smooth surface of the water rippled just slightly as the ice closed in on it, and then broke as Castiel, massive and awesome in the biblical sense spiraled out of the lake.

Dean breathed out an explicit word as he watched Castiel evening out, wings flapping grandly as he flew with great speed toward Dean. He hastily moved out of the way to clear room for Castiel, who landed with a complete lack of elegance.

Then he proceeded to open his mouth (which Dean noticed had been full of something) and out from between sharp teeth came a pile of large well-weathered stones.

Dean stood back, frozen, mouth agape and hands up in a gesture he didn’t know he’d been making. He blinked, and moments passed where he just stood unmoving in that pose, watching the heap of dragon that was Castiel.

Then he felt more than heard, “I swallowed a rock,” in a voice that, if human, would have without-a-doubt been accompanied by a pout.

And Dean was laughing hysterically, because really, out of all the things to say?

Eventually a weird sound came from the dragon that Dean realized was laughter, which just sent Dean into further fits of amusement. When he glanced at Castiel, he could have sworn he saw a flash of blue replacing the gold in his eyes, just for a moment. He couldn’t be sure, though, because he was still laughing.

When Dean finally regained his breath and his composure, he was able to ask (in a somewhat serious manner), “What the hell happened?”

Castiel grew serious, collecting his huge body from the heap on the ground. “Something was at the bottom. I don’t know what but—I recommend we distance ourselves from the lake quickly. It was… strange.” He paused and Dean waited silently for him to continue. “As soon as I had reached the bottom, I felt as if I couldn’t move, and I saw something flicker, so my first reaction was to…”

“Ice the guy? Literally?”

“Yes.” If it was possible for a dragon to be sheepish, he was.

Dean’s eyes were dragged back to the lake and he nearly shivered involuntarily. “I don’t know what the hell that was, but I’m tired and there’s no way I’m sleeping near that.”

“We could always fly,” Castiel offered, teasing.

“Shut up.”

“You know, some might find it nice to fly.”

“Yeah, dangling hundreds of feet above the ground about to fall to your certain death. Sounds like a fun time.”

“And you say you aren’t afraid of heights.”

“I hate you.”

“I don’t think so, Your Highness.”

It occurred to Dean that he was basically flirting with a dragon. Which, uh, was weird to say the least, but the voice in his head was that of the beautiful man he knew as Castiel, and he nearly flinched at the fact that “I hate you” was getting further and further from the truth.

They fell silent as Dean lead the horses and they walked, the prince side by side with the cursed dragon, until they were far enough from the lake for Dean to feel comfortable sleeping. His eyes were starting to droop. Dean was settling down, moments away from sleep, when he remembered the thought that had came to him amidst all of the chaos. He closed his eyes, concentrated, and thought, Cas, as loudly as he could. Can you hear me?

“Of course I can hear you. Just because I’m a dragon doesn’t mean I’m deaf.”

Dean sat up on his elbows suddenly. “I didn’t say anything.”

“What do you mean?”

“I didn’t say that, I thought it. You can hear me too, when I want you to.”

“Interesting,” was all he said in reply. “You need sleep.”

Telepathy is cooler than sleep, Dean thought, and could perfectly envision Cas’s smile as he leaned back down onto the ground again. But he was achingly tired, and he could feel sleep slowly taking him as he closed his eyes.

He thought, Whatever, ‘night, Cas as he drifted off.

“Goodnight, Prince,” were the last words he heard before he was asleep.

Part III: The City of Angels

Seventeen days until Dean’s twenty-first birthday

Just like that, it was on the road again. They were beelining it to Croatoan, planning to make short stops at Attero for supplies and such, and another at Eluo so that Dean could let Sam know he was alive. They rode their horses (which Castiel seemed much more comfortable on now), not talking much. The sun was high in the sky by the time Dean said, “We should probably talk about the fact that we can, like, read each other’s minds.”

“Technically there is no mind reading. We can only hear what the other wants us to.”

“Well, yeah, but—”

“And it’s no use discussing it now, it only seems to work when I’m a dragon.”

“Yeah, but I still feel it,” Dean argued.

“Feel what?”

“You, in the back of my mind. You’re just there like a little ball of stuff and you’re not doing anything.”

Castiel looked lost at Dean’s accusing tone. “I—apologize for the discomfort?”

“It’s just weird.”

“Indeed it is.”

Dean paused, then focused hard and thought, Can you hear me now?

“No, Dean, I can’t hear you—”

“Then how did you know to say that?”

“Because I know you, and you were concentrating far too hard on the back of my neck.”

Dean scoffed, “You don’t know that, you aren’t even looking at me.”

“I can feel it. Staring is rude.”

“What, is it your dragon senses?”

“No,” Castiel said, simultaneously exasperated and thoughtful. “I find myself to be astutely aware of you, specifically.” And the idiot seemed downright perplexed about that and if Dean hadn’t been riding a horse, he would’ve stopped in his tracks right there and stared straight ahead for as long as it took for him to process that statement.

But Castiel was looking at him expectantly, as if Dean would diagnose him and explain why he felt that way and why he was so aware of that, so he just ended up saying, “Did you just use the word ‘astutely’ in casual conversation?”

“I hardly think you should be one to judge my conversational skills and vocabulary. I’m still unsure as to what you mean when you refer to something as ‘cranking.’”

Dean cracked up, explaining through laughter something about curse words and just a word I guess and slang and seriously though, ‘astutely’ until eventually Castiel was laughing too and Dean didn’t have to dwell on the fact that he was kind of astutely aware of Castiel too. Specifically.

Fifteen days until Dean’s twenty-first birthday

The next day went just as the previous had, as did the next.

Dean was almost surprised that they’d yet to get tired or annoyed at each other, keeping up light conversation for the most part and sometimes just walking in a comfortable silence.

They were settling down again as the sun was making its way down, waiting for the sky to dim and for the transformation, when, breaking a comfortable silence, Cas said, “The novel that your brother lent me, the fantasy one.” He was looking at the setting sun, and it had never occurred to Dean that they were watching something beautiful every day when the sun set, always felt like something was ending. “The heroes traveled like we’ve been, and they would stay up around a campfire late into the dark of night telling stories.”

Castiel didn’t speak again for a long moment until he finally looked up, eyes locking with Dean’s as he said, “I wish I could do that with you.”

Before Dean could fathom up a thing to say to that, the sun had made it’s dissent and Castiel directed him to look away, please, and the bright light was emanating again, and then the moment had passed and Dean went to sleep.

Fourteen days until Dean’s twenty-first birthday

They arrived in Attero the next day, and Castiel looked bone-dead tired.

“I’ve told you, I don’t need to sleep,” Castiel insisted, punctuating the sentence with a long yawn and a glare when Dean raised his eyebrows.

“I don’t care if you don’t need to, can you? Like, if you wanted to, just for the hell of it, take a power nap, could you?”

“Yes, I could, but I don’t see why I would need to.”

Because as much as the early nights and early mornings may do it for old healthy people, they were not doing it for Dean, especially not sleeping on the ground with just a durable blanket. He was by no means spoiled as a prince—Mary made sure of that—but just about anyone would get cranky and pissed off after sleeping on the ground for a week.

Dean found a small inn and rented a room for them, making arrangements for their horses for the day. It had, at first, been a king suite. Dean had been forced to go back down to the front desk with ridiculously pink cheeks and ask for two beds. The innkeeper threw him a look like, Yeah right and Dean wondered if it was him and Cas or the Kingdom of Attero itself that made this keep happening. Either way, they got their room with two queens.

“I don’t need this,” Castiel insisted as he sat on his bed, crossing his arms and actually pouting. There were dark circles under his eyes. Dean figured it was like the food thing, like he didn’t necessarily need it in that he would die without it, only that he needed it to fully function correctly.

“Cas, just go to sleep for like, four hours. That’s it.”

Castiel glared, until eventually Dean got up and physically pushed Castiel down onto the bed (no dirty thoughts no dirty thoughts no dirty thoughts) and unceremoniously threw the blankets over him.

Looking like a child under the blankets, hair even more mussed than usual, Castiel mumbled something about “I don’t need this you dumb prince,” all the while snuggling into the pillows like he’d forgotten what they were like. Dean huffed out a small laugh, rolling his eyes.

Dean pulled the blankets up to his chin—new, warm, washed blankets—and settled down onto the warm bed, reminding himself to be grateful for little things like pillows, and blankets made for comfort over durability once he got home.

Dean woke up naturally three and a half hours later. Castiel was still sleeping soundly, lying on his stomach, face buried in the pillow, one arm flopped so it was sticking straight out off the bed. Dean smiled a little to himself because he was not ashamed to admit that it was cranking adorable and went about putting shoes and clothes on.

He was hoping he could get a lot done before it got dark. It was around four o’clock, so they still had a few hours. He wanted to get extra food, wash his clothes maybe, get another actual warm meal with Castiel.

Dean glanced back over at the form sleeping in the bed, chuckling to himself at the idiot who’d insisted he didn’t need to sleep but who was then snoring softly, completely passed out. He was slowly realizing—and even more slowly coming to terms with—the fact that he liked Castiel a lot. That he liked the way he laughed and smiled, the tone of his voice, his wide blue eyes, the way he took everything in like he wasn’t sure he’d ever experience it again.

So, yeah, Castiel was a dragon part-time. A weird, stubborn part-time dragon who—if the warm feeling sinking into his stomach as he watched him said anything about it—Dean was falling in love with.

Somehow, it wasn’t as completely shocking to hear as he had thought it would be to admit something like that.

He didn’t leave a note, figuring he would be back before Castiel even woke. Grabbing his leather jacket, he was out the door and on his way down to the market.

The day was just as sunny, breezy, and warm as it had been the past few days. (Dean sent out a quick thanks to whomever was watching over them for the perfect weather for traveling.) The market was large and old-fashioned, like Eluo’s was. All outdoors, each vendor with a wooden stall displaying their goods. Vibrantly colored fruits and vegetables took up the most of the stalls, along with everything from blankets to weapons to potions and elixirs for various purposes.

Dean was looking at some of the less perishable food items to buy when he heard a commotion. He turned to see what was happening and saw three figures, around which everyone seemed to be parting to make way.

When he saw who the figures were, he realized why. The petite figure of a girl—just two years younger than him, he knew—was framed by a bulky man on either side. The girl’s blond ringlets and wide smile were what revealed herself—Jessica, princess of Attero herself. And, yeah, she was coming right toward him.

Dean turned fully just as she was coming to stand in front of him. He froze, just a little, before remembering himself. “Your Highness,” he greeted, bowing slightly.” He was painfully aware that everyone in the market was watching the exchange, wondering who Dean was and why he deserved the attentions of the princess. He was also wary of the two guards standing beside her.

That was one of the things Dean was most grateful about with his parents. They never insisted Dean had guards with him at all times, just told him to be careful and more or less let him do as he pleased. He could go into the markets by himself, and he never feared for his safety. Mostly he was just greeted with free samples of different products because he was the prince which, yeah, he had no problem with at all. He couldn’t imagine being flanked by big guys like these at all times, not able to go anywhere by himself. Attero wasn’t a dangerous kingdom—quite the opposite, for it was known for being even more peaceful than Eluo. Jo of the Harvelle Territory had told him once, when they’d met for a ball involving both kingdoms, that she was constantly trying to escape her guards, how lucky he was that he didn’t have to have any.

“Please, there’s no need for bowing, Dean. We’re equals, remember?”

Dean and Jess had only met twice: at the same ball at which he’d met Jo, and when she’d come to meet Dean when talks of the arranged marriage were seeming more likely what with Dean not having any sort of relationship. Both times, she’d seemed far more interested in Sam than she had in Dean. He could tell that Sam was harboring a massive crush on her, but was trying his best to hide it. It made Dean feel bad that he’d not found someone else so that Sam could pursue Jess.

“Of course,” Dean smiled. Even if he had no romantic interest in Jessica, she was beautiful, kind, and all sorts of clever. He knew that they would at least be good friends, whatever happened.

“What are you doing here in Attero? I must ask, just for curiosity.”

“Just stopping through on my way back north to Eluo,” Dean explained, praying that she didn’t ask where he’d been previously, especially since south of here was almost entirely unexplored.

“I see. How is Sam doing?” Dean didn’t miss the way her eyes softened with his name.

“He’s doing fine, I suppose.”

Jess glanced back at her guards before saying to them, “Please give us a moment?” She stepped forward into Dean’s personal space, leaning in to whisper.

“You were here a few days ago. Yesterday, two Croats stopped in asking about you and a male companion. I’ve been informed that they’re still here, and they know that you are.” Dean stiffened, suddenly and completely alert, sharp eyes sliding over the market for anyone suspicious, taking careful note of armed men and women. “I don’t know what you were doing south of here, and I don’t know what you could have done to incite the anger of the Croats. But, please, be careful. Your kingdom needs you—Sam needs you.”

She stepped back and away from her, the serious tone in her voice gone and looking just as calm and pleasant as before. Dean tried to force himself to seem that calm and controlled, but his focus was sharp and he could feel every movement made—adrenaline.

“It was lovely to see you, Dean. You know that you’re welcome here at all times.”

“Thank you,” Dean said, forcing a light tone. Jess and her guards were already turning and leaving.

It was all he could do not to sprint back to the hotel room, a dozen things racing through his mind about how Lucifer must have found out, how did he find out, Cas could be hurt, oh suns oh suns they have to get out of here and fast.

He got to the inn and walked as quickly as he could without drawing too much attention to himself up to the room. When he got in there, Castiel was lying on the bed.

Still asleep.

He let out a sigh of relief, aware of the fact that he was overreacting. Castiel could probably sleep for another good few hours—hell, he could use a few days’ worth of sleep—but Dean knew it would be best for them to distance themselves from Attero quickly. He went to Castiel and shook him lightly, urgently whispering, “Cas,” until his blue eyes blinked open.

“I believe you were correct, Your Highness. Sleep has proved to be remarkably refreshing,” he mumbled through a yawn as soon as he was awake. Dean might have laughed at that, but—

“There are Croats here looking for us, Cas, we gotta get out of here.”

That woke him up. He sat straight up in bed (and his face was suddenly really close to Dean’s). “What? How could they even know what we’re doing?”

“I don’t know, Cas, but we need to leave.”

Castiel was up out of bed in no time, all traces of sleepiness gone, the circles under his eyes much lighter now. He pulled on shoes and didn’t bother with anything else.

With their stuff packed, they hurriedly went down to check out. The woman at the front desk declined when he tried to pay for the day. “You’re the prince of Eluo, we couldn’t possibly make you pay!”

Which was weird for two reasons. First, why was it that rich princes, who can actually afford to pay for things, got free stuff? Second, he’d never told the people here that he was the prince, which meant that word had spread from the market already, which meant that surely their pursuers had heard.

“Really, it’s fine. We’re kind of in a rush though, so—” he let out a choice string of words under his breath and shoved a wad of money into the woman’s hand with a quick “Thanks again!” and then just about dragged Castiel out of the inn. By his hand. Which he had apparently grabbed at some point.

And was still holding as they walked quickly toward the gates with their things, stopping to get their horses from the stables. Castiel didn’t seem to be complaining either way, and Dean felt a warm happiness settle inside him despite it all while he decided he might as well keep holding his hand since he didn’t have a problem with it.

They were out of the kingdom quickly and on their way in the direction of Eluo, Dean reluctantly releasing Castiel’s hand so that they could mount their horses and bring them to a gallop. They needed to cover as much ground as they could before night fell and they would have to rest.

Dean was studiously ignoring the way Castiel kept glancing over at him with an extremely confused look on his face ever since he’d let go of his hand, because really, fleeing from Croats was more important than Dean’s stupid starting-to-be-more-than-a-crush on Castiel.

They kept moving.

Thirteen days until Dean’s twenty-first birthday

They had both crashed as soon as it grew dark and there had been no words spoken until the next morning.

That’s when Cas said, “Is it customary in Eluo for two friends to hold hands?” He sounded so cranking earnest that Dean had to look away from his wide questioning eyes.

Dean was silent for a long moment as they continued traveling. They were walking again rather than riding, both of them tired and hoping they’d gotten far enough away from their pursuers. He had just about thought that Castiel had dropped the subject when Cas said, “Dean?”

He spared Castiel a weary glance, really not wanting to elaborate. So he just said, “No, not particularly.”

“Oh,” was Castiel’s only reply, before they lapsed into silence again.

Dean didn’t miss the half smile that flickered over Castiel’s features as he said that, though.

With the haste made after running from Attero, they made it to Eluo just as night was falling. This worked perfectly for Dean—he could sneak in and let Sam know that he was alive and kicking, tell him not to worry, maybe get some extra clothes because suns he needed it—but not so much for Castiel, who went to wait in the cave, since the whole being-a-dragon thing could be a little distracting.

Hey, Dean thought at Castiel, because telepathy was really freaking cool. This way we can test how far this bond thing goes, right? I’ll talk to you and you talk back, see if we can hear each other from far away.

“Yes, I suppose.” It was obvious that Castiel was not looking forward to returning to the cave—alone, no less. Dean felt bad for making him wait, but he really needed to let Sam know. His parents were probably worried.

See ya in a little bit, Cas. It’ll be just you and me again, okay?

Dragons couldn’t smile, but Dean felt a warmth radiating through the bond and smiled to himself as he turned to head toward the back entrance of the kingdom—the one where Garth was, that he always left through.

When he got there, Garth was there as usual, and when Garth spotted him he nearly screamed. Dean hushed him.

“Shh—no, shhhh, Garth, please, shut up!”

“Dean—Your Highness—you—!”

“Garth!” Dean hissed in a whisper.

“You were gone—we all thought you were dead! Oh thank suns!” Then he raised his voice as if trying to announce it to everyone. “The prince is alive! The prince is—”

Dean finally silenced him with a hand over his mouth. “Garth. I need you to shut up.”

Garth’s eyes were wide and slightly terrified, which would have made Dean feel bad except for the fact that—”Garth, no one can know I’m here, got it? When I take my hand off of your mouth, you need to be quiet. Can you do that?”

Garth nodded furiously. Dean took his hand from his mouth and—

“Holy flying avocados, Dean!”

Which, ignoring the “flying avocados” part, was way too loud.

“Garth. Quiet. Remember the talk we just had? Two seconds ago? Yeah?”

Garth seemed to calm down. When he spoke this time, he whispered. “You’ve been missing for over a week.”

“I know. I’m fine. There’s just something I’ve gotta do.”

“Dean, you know you’re the coolest guy I’ve ever talked to—”

“Garth,” Dean sighed exasperatedly.

“And you’re the only one who ever laughs at my jokes—”

“Garth.”

“And you’re the only person who’s nice to me—”

“Uhhh—”

“But you can’t just disappear! The whole kingdom’s been worried sick. Your parents have been sending out search parties!”

Suns. Sam was supposed to take care of that, the idiot. “But Sam was supposed to tell everyone not to worry!”

Garth froze. “Well…. He did. For the first few days.”

“What the hell does that mean, Garth,” he growled, the tone of his voice sinking down into his skin like ice.

“He told everyone not to worry. But then, two days after you disappeared… so did he.” Garth winced like he thought Dean was going to hit him—and he wasn’t far off. His fingers balled into a fist.

“No. No, fuck, you’re lying to me.”

“I’m sorry, Dean—Your Highness. The kingdom’s sort of in chaos. The king is going insane trying to find you guys. He thinks it was the dragon.”

“He—he thinks the cranking dragon got us?”

“He doesn’t know who else would.”

“Fucking Lucifer. The Croats, Garth,” Dean hissed. “You need to tell them that it wasn’t the dragon.”

“Why can’t you tell ‘em?”

“They can’t know I’m here! I have to leave again. I was just stopping in to—Suns, to tell Sammy I was okay.” Dean’s anger flared and he forced himself to keep himself calm and not to hit something.

“Why can’t you tell everyone you’re fine? Why can’t you come back?”

“I can’t—I really shouldn’t tell you, Garth. But, you gotta know that I wouldn’t be doing this if it wasn’t important.”

Garth slumped. Then he waved Dean on and said, “I didn’t see anything.”

“Thank you.”

Dean went forward quietly. He needed to find Charlie.

Charlie’s house was just within the gates of the palace, and just outside of the castle itself. Being one of the most badass knights meant she had to be reachable at all times, but being a “girl with needs,” as she put it, meant she needed privacy and her own bathroom.

Thus, she had her own house within the palace walls. Dean might have helped convince his parents that it was necessary, only because Charlie gave him the puppy eyes and said, “For your best friend?”

When he got to her front door, he knocked as quietly as he could. “Charlie,” he hissed.

No response.

He knocked a little louder, and no dice. He sighed and screw it, he was already in ten kinds of trouble. So he got down on his knees and got creative in picking the lock.

He crept into the house.

“Charlie?” he called into the darkness. He’d been to this house dozens of times before, so he was able to locate a light switch in the dark and flick it on.

When he did, he saw Charlie standing in the shadows, holding a fire poker.

“Dean?” she whispered in shock.

“You thought I was a murderer, and you grabbed a fire poker.”

“Dean, you asshole, we thought you were dead!”

“You’re a knight, Charlie, and you grabbed a fire poker?”

“Dean Winchester, you complete asshole!” She said, and then she threw herself forward and hugged Dean, dropping the fire poker onto the ground with a loud clatter as she did. Dean hugged her back, not having realized that he missed her, missed Eluo and his parents and Sammy, even only being gone a week..

“Where were you? Were you with Sam?”

Dean was suddenly hit with that reminder. It didn’t seem real. “Is he really—” his voice broke and, no, fuck this, he wasn’t gonna cry.

“Two days after you, Dean,” her voice was soft because she was the best best friend ever and knew that Dean was upset.

“Fuck,” Dean muttered. “This wouldn’t have happened if I’d been here.”

Charlie said nothing, and that spoke volumes in itself.

“Fuck,” he said, louder this time. And before he knew it his fist was hitting the wall and it stung, but he did it again and again until Charlie grabbed his arm and pulled him away from the wall.

“Dean, I know. We all know, the kingdom’s had both princes go missing over the past week and we’ve had no news. You have to tell me what’s going on,” and Charlie, keeping his head on straight like always.

Dean dropped his head to lean it against the wall and closed his eyes for a long moment. His brother was gone and with Lucifer having who knows what done to him, and it was his fault.

“I’m his cranking brother, Charlie, I’m supposed to protect him.”

Charlie went to him, resting a hand lightly on his back. “I know, Dean. But the only way we’ll be able to get him back is if you tell me what you know. So… where have you been? Start there.”

And screw it, because Dean did. From the beginning, when he’d been stupid enough to think he could slay a dragon by himself, to when he ended up befriending one, all the way to now. He left out a few things, like the bond thing (something about it seemed too private to share outside of the two of them), and the way Castiel smiled with his eyes and the smallest curve of his lips, the way Dean felt when Castiel let out a rare laugh.

Still, Charlie saw right through it. “You’re in love with him.”

Dean didn’t reply, didn’t make eye contact, just kept thinking how everything was messed up and Sam was gone and Castiel was still a freaking dragon and they had less than two weeks to finish the spell before Dean had to return for his birthday. He took a deep breath, needing to get himself together if he was going to be of any use to anyone.

“It’s barely been over a week,” Dean said in answer.

“That doesn’t mean a thing and you know it.”

“Doesn’t matter, Charlie. That’s not the point here.”

“Then what is the point?”

“I’m only stopping here. I have to get back to Cas so we can break his curse. I just need you to make sure everyone knows that I’m okay, that Sam is going to be okay.”

“And let you guys prance off into the sunset?”

“The Croatoan Kingdom is hardly sunset, Charlie.”

Charlie looked at him studiously with just a bit of sympathy mixed in for another minute before a look that Dean did not like came across her face as she tapped a finger against her chin. “I’ll let everyone know you’re okay,” she said.

“Good,” Dean replied, hoping that would be the end of it.

“But,” crank. “I’m going to meet you guys at that cave tomorrow, and I’m gonna come with you.”

“Absolutely fucking not,” Dean growls.

“Somebody’s gotta make sure you don’t get yourself killed. And besides, I need to play matchmaker and get you and the dragon together,” she reasoned. Then, as an afterthought, “That’ll make for some kinky se—”

“Oh my suns Charlie stop talking,” Dean forced out, face going red for no reason at all. “You can’t come, Charlie. Sam’s already in danger, and I need to break the stupid curse. I don’t want you in danger on top of it all.”

Charlie glared at him seriously all of the sudden. “Why do you feel the need to be everyone’s protector all the time?”

“Charlie—”

“No, Sam’s had almost as much battle training as you have, Cas is a freaking dragon, and I’m a knight. The best in the kingdom, I may add. Your words, not mine.”

“Come on—”

“I get that you want us to be safe, but you’re gonna kill yourself worrying all the time. We can take care of ourselves. Just let us.”

“Charlie, please,” Dean asked, in a last attempt, knowing it was pointless.

“No. I’m coming. Now go to your little dragon friend, and before I get to your love cave tomorrow morning, once he’s fully human, you better have hooked up.”

“Oh my suns.”

Maybe telling Charlie was a dumb decision.

“Capiche?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m going.”

But then, he really had missed her.

Dean sneaked into his room to change clothes, wishing that he could sleep in his own bed for the night but knowing that he couldn’t without getting caught. With a new bag of supplies, he left for the cave.

Garth gave him a sad smile as he passed and said, “Good luck, Dean. With… whatever you’re doing.”

Castiel was snoring when Dean got to the cave. Snoring, in his dragon form, curled up in the wide space. Still, it seemed a lot smaller when Cas was in his huge dragon form. He lay down on the ground, using the same blanket he’d been using the past few days, and let himself fall asleep to the heavy exhales of dragon-sized Castiel breathing.

Twelve days until Dean’s twenty-first birthday

Dean woke as Castiel was transforming. The blindingly bright light burned the back of his eyelids, forcing him awake. By the time he’d sat up groggily, rubbing his eyes and blinking blearily, Castiel was sitting slumped over and completely human, hair ruffled and looking quite annoyed.

“I was sleeping,” Castiel mumbled pathetically.

Dean huffed out a laugh. “So was I. Part of the curse, I guess.”

Castiel nodded, looking like he was about to nod off again before turning, suddenly alert, to Dean. “How did it go? How is your kingdom?”

And Dean remembered everything. He crumpled, and he knew Castiel saw it, too, since he was moving over to sit beside him.

“What happened?” he said seriously.

“Sam’s gone. It was Lucifer, it had to have been.” His right hand clenched into a fist in his lap and he wished he could just go back to sleep instead of continuing to walk toward the evil bastard who’d taken his brother and cursed the sweet man who was Castiel.

“I guess it’s a good thing we’re already heading for him, huh, Cas?” Dean joked humorlessly.

Castiel’s hand rested on Dean’s shoulder, in a way that was totally comforting and (unfortunately) not at all romantic, and said, “We’ll get him back, Dean,” so utterly determined and so very Cas. (And Dean did not miss the way he said his name instead of Your Highness and hoped that he wouldn’t go back.) “This is why you didn’t attempt communications then?”

Dean remembered having said he would test the limits of their bond and sighed, more frustrated than anything.

“Sorry… I got a little distracted.”

Castiel gave him a look that seemed to say Do not even dare apologize, Dean Winchester. Do. Not. Dare. “It’s fine,” was all he said.

“I should probably warn you in advance—my friend Charlie invited herself along.”

“Along where?” Castiel’s head tilted.

“On the adventure,” Dean said with a grin. Somehow, Cas saying it would be fine was enough to make him think that maybe it could be.

The first thing Charlie did when she reached them was pull Castiel into what looked like a bone-crushing hug and whispering something in his ear that Dean couldn’t hear—but it made Castiel blush fiercely, so he had a few ideas.

“What did she just say to you?” Dean whispered as soon as he was away from Charlie..

“Nothing,” Castiel insisted in return, way too quickly for Dean to believe.

Charlie had brought her horse, a gorgeous Palomino with endurance that rivaled that of Impala’s. They all mounted their horses, packing up and getting ready to leave.

“You sure you’re in this Charlie?” Dean asked. He hoped she would change her mind, say Eh, never mind, I’m not feeling it so much anymore. He hoped she would hit him in the back of the head and say, Yes, idiot, stop trying to keep me out of this. He wasn’t sure which one he hoped more, but the latter is what ended up actually happening.

As soon as Castiel turned his back, Charlie gave him a look, one that clearly said You guys hooked up, right? Say you hooked up or so help me—

And Dean shot back a glare that said, Mind your own cranking business, Bradbury.

Dean and Castiel might share a profound bond, but Dean and Charlie had a language all their own.

Charlie and Castiel got along famously, for multiple reasons. Apparently everyone except for Dean had read the book Sam lent to Castiel, because they were going into great detail about the complexity of each character and Dean could barely keep track and just ended up listening to Charlie laugh and watching Castiel’s eyes sparkle and thinking that this was an okay way to pass the time.

Then they got to a different topic. Dean. Like, how annoying it was when he did this and how it was so cute when he did that without even realizing it.

“You guys? I’m still here?” Dean waved his hand awkwardly, trying to disrupt a conversation that they were both chuckling about, Charlie having just finished some embarrassing story or another about him when he was younger.

Castiel had the decency to look ashamed, but Charlie just poked him in the ribs and laughed.

The hours passed faster with the extra person. They spent time filling in Charlie on extra details that Dean hadn’t had time or hadn’t remembered to explain. Even when Dean wasn't included in the conversation, he was glad to just listen. Still, despite the comforting presence of his friends, something heavy settled in his stomach that he knew came from knowing that Sam was not safely at home.

They stopped to eat a quick meal of bread and, since they were still traveling along the river near Castiel's cave and—since Charlie was freaking awesome at hunting and gathering and fishing—some fish.

When night fell, Dean told Charlie to avert her eyes as Castiel transformed. Once the bright light had died down, they turned.

"Holy shit," Charlie whispered. Then, "Holy shit!"

Then she was babbling about how rare black dragons were and how his wings were perfectly proportioned to his body for flying and Wait, can you fly? and Do you  have powers like do you breathe fire or ice or acid, oh my suns acid would be so cool. Dean, as patiently as he could since he knew he'd basically done the same thing when he's first seen Cas like this, answered the questions. He was almost surprised that he knew how to answer all of it, that he knew that much about Castiel in his dragon form.

They were talking until Castiel yawned, loud and huge, his breath letting out frost and sending a freezing breeze toward Dean and Charlie.

They looked at each other in shock for a second, and then started laughing.

“Got the poor guy hooked on sleep,” Dean laughed. Castiel mentally grumbled at him which sent him into a whole other fit of laughter until he eventually calmed down and they all settled down to sleep, feeling somehow optimistic despite it all.

Eleven days until Dean’s twenty-first birthday

Dean woke up to a cold drop of water on his forehead. Groggily, still half-asleep, he groaned and rubbed at his forehead as he started to sit up. Dawn had broken and Castiel was human again, albeit still asleep and—so it seems, curled up next to Dean. Dean knew he’d fallen asleep far away from his dragon form, so he assumes Cas had woken during his transformation and crawled over to sleep some more.

Dean would not complain, especially not with the warmth of Castiel’s body and the steady rise and fall of his chest just barely brushing him.

He looked up to find the source of the cold water, and the skies were dark. The sun was hidden by a thick curtain of black clouds, and Dean almost laughed at how fitting it was; they would soon arrive in the Croatoan Kingdom.

He gently shook Cas awake, trying to focus on how not cute the little hic-ing intake of breath as he woke was, how his hair was not adorably ruffled, how Castiel didn’t even scuffle away when he noticed how close he was to Dean, just rubbed at his eyes with a yawn.

“Up and at ‘em, Cas. We’re behind schedule.”

They were back to the usual—walking and riding. This time, without the talking. The rain started pouring less than half an hour into they returned to their travels, thunder booming. Lighting struck in the distance, and nobody felt much like joking.

“You okay, Cas?”

“I’m fine,” Castiel seemed surprised that Dean had even asked. “Why do you ask?”

“I dunno. We’re gonna get there, probably tomorrow. It’s a lot to take in, I guess,” Dean thought. “The shitty weather isn’t helping.”

“I’ll pull through, Dean. But thank you.”

The feeling emanating slightly through the bond even in the daytime was not warm and grateful. It was dark and ominous, and Dean felt a shadow fall over him.

Ten days until Dean’s twenty-first birthday

The rain didn’t end the next day, not when they woke after finding shelter in a cave (which was not nearly large enough to house a dragon, to which Castiel responded by insisting that he would stand guard. Dean had woken to see a human Castiel shivering in his sleep next to him and wondered if Castiel was going to make a habit of crawling in next to Dean after transforming as he lay an arm over him. To keep him warm, of course.), not when they started walking, and not when they saw the tall dark towers of Croatoan looming ahead of them behind a dirty stone wall.

Caelum had once been beautiful, Castiel told them. The flagstone pavement and the buildings were white, clean and welcoming. Colorful flowers bloomed and Chuck had cast an enchantment around the kingdom to protect it from bad weather, letting warm sun shine in at all times.

All of the brilliant white had grown filthy, dirt and vines covering walls and moss seeping up out and over the stones. Chuck was gone now, and no one except for Lucifer had taken up sorcery. Now Lucifer was one of the last known sorcerers, and he would never waste magic on something like the weather.

It was almost dark by the time they got there, the rain lightening slightly but still damp and cloudy. They decided to wait it out until morning, once Castiel had transformed again.

“I shouldn’t have to sneak into my own kingdom,” Castiel thought at Dean, and Dean could feel every bit of anger and hurt squished into that sentence.

And, though it pained Dean to say so, he thought back, It’s not your kingdom anymore. Caelum is long gone.

“Where are you guys?” Charlie asked, waving a hand in front of his face. “You’re both zoned out.”

“What do you mean?” Dean asked coyly.

“Does it really need to be a secret?” Castiel asked.

I don’t know. It just seems sort of… personal.

“Well, I suppose you don’t get much more personal than being in someone’s mind.”

“You’re doing it right now,” Charlie accused, narrowed eyes flicking back and forth between the two of them.

“Doing what?” they said simultaneously.

At that, Charlie gave them one last narrow-eyed look before shrugging and muttering something about “you weirdos”and “need to get a room.” Then, loud enough for them to hear clearly, “I’m gonna crash, so good night and stuff.”

They spent the rest of Castiel’s time as a human for the evening sitting close together, speaking only in their minds so as not to wake Charlie, about everything but what they would have to face in the morning.

Nine days until Dean’s twenty-first birthday

They didn’t have a plan. Which, yeah, probably wasn’t a good idea. In Dean’s mind, it went something like, Go in, sneak into the prison area (???), break out Sammy (???), sneak into the castle (???), find Cas’s mom, and steal something of Lucifer’s.

So. Shitty plan to go on. And, needless to say, it didn’t go that way.

Dean was kind of hoping that Castiel would at least know where things were, but all he knew was how to get to the palace—no secret entrances, no alternative routes, just pointing his finger in the direction of the dark castle looming over the kingdom.

It had finally stopped raining, but everything was still off. They were able to get inside the kingdom almost too easily, not getting stopped to check for anything. They just walked right in, no questions asked. They exchanged worried glances.

As they moved toward the palace, it was made clear what this kingdom had come to. All of the windows and doors were boarded shut, men and women of all ages sitting on the ground leaning against buildings. There was a constant sound of coughing, of a baby screaming, of something. They all watched as Dean, Castiel, and Charlie passed through, eyes cold and full of nothing—broken. Castiel shifted to walk closer to Dean but said nothing. Dean knew what he would be thinking anyways—how could things have gone so wrong?

They reached the town square when they saw what was really horrifying. A woman was standing in the middle of the open space, six black-clad figures stood motionless in a circle around her.

“Demons. Soldiers of Lucifer.” A crowd of people were watching, lingering far back, practically against the walls of the surrounding buildings. No one said a word and, despite the constant sound of a barking dog, the whistling wind, crying or coughing, everything seemed utterly silent

And then, “Please,” the woman was wailing. “Please, no, I’m—I’m sorry!” and her next words are cut off by the swish of iron cutting air, a flash of silver and a gurgling sound and the woman was falling falling falling to her knees, slumping forward to the ground as everyone just watched and Dean couldn’t just watch and he didn’t know what he was doing but his hand was going to his sword and—

Castiel’s hand appeared warm around his wrist, holding him back.

Dean froze, natural instincts telling him to run, battle instincts telling him to attack, the need to protect telling him to push Castiel and Charlie behind him and defend. While Dean froze under Castiel’s hand, one of the figures—a girl with wavy dark hair, light skin, a round face, arched eyebrows—looked up and smirked at him. She was holding a short knife, one tipped with blood.

Dean saw red, but the girl turned and disappeared in the blink of an eye, followed by the other people in the circle before he could do a thing. The body of the woman lay there.

Everything was silent and still for a minute, then two, and three.

Two people finally crept forward from the crowd to pick up the body, carrying it off to who knew where.

“What did she do wrong?” Dean asked to no one in particular.

“She had a sword in her house,” came a voice in reply. Dean looked up to see an old, dark-skinned woman standing beside him. She had been watching the execution—the actual cranking public execution and Dean wanted to hit something, he saw red, he couldn’t understand how anyone could let this happen—and responded quietly. People were giving her dirty looks, it seemed, for speaking. Upon Dean’s bewildered look, she added, “Citizens aren’t allowed to have weapons. Supposed to keep the peace.”

The way she huffed showed exactly what she thought of that, and the annoyance at the irony made Dean’s stomach roll as he realized that this was normal, just everyday, routine.

“You’re not from around here,” the woman observed.

Dean didn’t respond, overwhelmed by the sense of pain and panic in the back of his mind that was not his own. He whirled around to face Castiel, whose eyes were unfocused and he looked faint.

“Stay here, Charlie,” Dean ordered, eyes not leaving Castiel’s as he grabbed him and brought them both into the small space between two shoddy houses.

“Cas,” Dean said, grabbing his face in his hands. “Cas, look at me.”

He did, and his eyes were full of such pain, and then he was crashing forward into a crushing embrace that Dean wasn’t quite sure who initiated.

“Who did this?” Castiel wasn’t crying, wasn’t shaking, was breathing just fine. Dean knew instinctively that Cas was not one to cry, that he would stay solid and strong no matter what. Either way, Dean just held him and rubbed small circles onto his back didn’t say a single thing.

“It’s been such a short time. How—” Castiel cut off, paused before continuing, “How could things have changed so drastically?”

Dean could only grimace an say, “We’re gonna fix this, Cas. I promise. But we have to get your mom, and Sammy. We’re gonna get you full time human, and we’re gonna bring back Caelum. I swear it, Cas.”

There was no gate surrounding the castle, no moat, not even a guard, nothing preventing them from just walking right in through the front doors.

“Do we just… Go in?” Dean asked cautiously.

“One does not simply walk into Mordor,” Charlie offered.

“What?” Castiel asked quietly. Dean could tell he was still shaken up, but he couldn’t help the little warmth in his chest when at the thought of confused, naive Castiel trying to understand fantasy book series references.

Both Charlie and Dean united despite the gloom hanging over them in giving Castiel an incredulous look. “I understand that now isn’t exactly the best time for this,” Dean said. “But as soon as this is over, I’m gonna get you so many good books.”

Castiel allowed him a small smile and Charlie mouthed something that looked like the word Whipped, but Dean chose to ignore that.

“If we try to walk in this way, the Demons will see and attack, surely,” Castiel said.

“They haven’t so far,” Dean offered.

“Is that saying that they’re shit at their job, or that they want us to be doing this and we’re walking right into their trap?” Charlie had said it as a joke, but as soon as the words were out in the open, Dean cursed.

“That Demon bitch looked right at me. They know we’re here, that’s for sure,” Dean said, eyes suddenly alert and taking in every bit of movement, hand dropping down to the hilt of his sword.

Castiel looked far away, his mind going through some sort of battle plan. “It is likely that Lucifer knows we’re here already. In which case—”

“In which case we barge in there and make a scene, go down with a fight?” Dean joked. Mostly joked.

Castiel didn’t crack a smile. “In which case, we should be careful nonetheless. I remember where my mother’s quarters are.” He stepped forward, toward the grand doors.

Dean’s hand grabbed his shoulder to keep him from moving forward. “So we just walk in like we own the place?”

Charlie chuckled. “Technically, Castiel still does.” Castiel gave her a confused yet almost hopeful look. “Lucifer’s only king because Castiel here went missing. Castiel is still, technically, the rightful king.” She turns to Dean. “Right?”

Dean nodded numbly. They were really actually doing this. Breaking into a castle, breaking a curse and coming back to overthrow the evil ruler. It all seemed like something happening to a character in one of the stories that Charlie always insisted that Dean just had to read, not happening to him.

“So we just go in?” Dean repeated dumbly.

“Why not? They’ll probably try to kill us anyways...” Charlie shrugged.

“Good attitude,” Dean sighed, and then they just—

Walked through the doors. Like it was nothing.

They weren’t immediately greeted with swords held to their throats, warning bells, or even a single Demon. In fact, the castle was completely empty from what they could see, and near dead-silent.

Compared to the rest of the kingdom, the place was not what Dean expected. Where the outside kingdom was filthy and old looking, the inside was cool and modern, shiny obsidian floors rather than dirty white. Everything about it seemed cold and empty, and Dean knew that it must be drastically different from what Castiel knew.

Castiel said nothing, though, just tilted his head back to look up at the tall ceiling with stained glass at the top, the chandelier with clear crystals hanging down, the dark walls.

“He’s really embracing the whole Evil Sorcerer thing, isn’t he?” Dean asked. He didn’t realize he was whispering until it came out. He figured he didn’t really have to—how much more indiscreet could you get after walking right through the front doors?—but it was too eerie a silence to break.

“Follow me,” was Castiel’s only reply.

He led them through long hallways, their footsteps echoing off the tiles of the floors and off the high walls, through the maze that was the castle, up a flight of stairs made of some sort of clear material much stronger than glass.

Then Castiel froze in front of a door.

“This it?” Dean asked. Castiel said nothing, and Dean leaned around him to look at him, try to see what was going through his mind.

“It’s… Yes, this is where my parent’s quarters used to be. But,” he bit his lip, avoiding eye contact. “What if she’s not there? What if—What if she doesn’t recognize me, or doesn’t want to see me?” Castiel finished quietly.

“Cas,” Dean said, “you can’t possibly think that.”

“I don’t know what to think.”

Dean put a hand on his shoulder and said, "Cas. It's gonna be fine. Alright?"

Castiel stared at him long and hard for a few moments before nodding minutely.

Charlie didn't say anything about the exchange (thank suns) and then, Castiel stepped forward and reached for the door handle.

Time seemed to stand still in the moments between Castiel turning the handle and the moment after the door swung open. What they saw was not a mother, staring in awe at the child she thought she had lost years ago.

What they saw, was a body, on the ground.

Dean felt his whole body slammed with pain when the realization hit him.

The body was facing the other wall, but blood was pooled around her, staining the white clothes she wore. Her hair was blond, nothing like Castiel's, but Dean knew, somehow, that she was Castiel's mother and he felt like puking but knew he wouldn't.

Charlie gasped from behind him as Castiel stepped through the door silently. Dean followed. Charlie did not.

Castiel didn't say anything as he surged forward and fell to his knees in front of the body. Dean could see his hands shaking as he turned the woman to face upward so he could see her, so he could be sure, and with the smallest shaky exhale of breath it was confirmed.

Dean froze, couldn't move to Castiel like he wanted to and suns, he could see that barrier in Castiel—the one that hadn't let Castiel cry when he'd first heard the news about Caelum or when he had seen the innocent civilian killed or at all after being alone and feeling alienated for years—breaking.

Castiel turned, leaning over her—Rachel, her name was. Had been, is. Dean could barely hear the whisper, the "No," that escaped Castiel in a breath. He pushed her hair back to look at her face, went to her neck in search of a pulse, patted her cheek none too gently, shook her, letting out a desperate string of the same word—

"No no no no no."

And then, "Please, no, please you can't be—"

Dean was finally able to get his legs to work, was moving toward Castiel to do something, anything, when he heard Charlie's voice shouting their names and then the sound of the door slamming open against the wall followed by heavy footsteps. Dean turned. Demons.

"You bitch," Dean snarled upon recognizing one of them as the same dark haired woman who killed the civilian.

"Sorry, fellas," she said. (She didn't sound sorry at all.) "Looks like you guys are being taken in." Then, to the men standing behind her. "Take 'em. Remember, he said he wants them both alive."

Castiel was still leaning over his mother, shaking.

"Cas!" Dean called, hand going automatically to his sword, prepared to fight his way out of this. The Demons were fast, though, and they were on him before it was even fully unsheathed. The second he bucked back against one of them, trying to get them as far away as he could, trying to keep them away from Castiel who was only just now looking up with eyes flashing gold—the second he saw one of them hitting Castiel sharply in the back of his head with the hilt of a sword—was when he felt a sharp pain in his own head.

Everything was shaking and blurry and he fell, tried to stumble forward. "Cas," he called weakly.

Then another blow to his head.

Then, darkness.

Eight days until Dean’s twenty-first birthday

Dean woke to the sensation of something throbbing at the back of his skull, hard concrete beneath him, and the sound of whistling.

He groaned, hand reaching to feel his head, which now bore a raised bump from where he’d been hit.

Hit…

The memories all came flooding back, and Dean half wanted to close his eyes and sleep again.

Cas, he tried. He wasn’t sure whether it was night or day, or even if Castiel could hear him from this far away, even if it were night.

There was no reply.

He pushed himself up to a sitting position, the word spinning just slightly before settling to normal. He blinked a few times, then took in his surroundings. His sword and bag with all of his things were gone. (He prayed silently that Castiel still had the stone from the lake, at the very least.) He was alone in a dungeon cell, gray concrete beneath him and surrounding him on three sides, iron bars on the other. The iron bars were closed with an ancient looking lock. Dean nearly scoffed at how easy it would be to pick a big lock like that.

It could have been easy, except, that was when he saw the source of the whistling.

A tall, dark skinned man stood leaned against the wall near a staircase. He had a sword at his side, and a ring of keys attached to his belt loop.

So. He was below ground, and he was being guarded.

The guard’s eyes fell on him, having noticed he’d woken up, and the whistling stopped.

“I’d heard a lot about the great Dean Winchester, King-to-be. Gotta say that I’m kind of disappointed.”

“Where are they?” Dean growled in response.

The guard looked amused at that, but asked, as if humoring him, “Who’s ‘they?’”

“Sam. Castiel. Charlie. Take your pick.” Dean had to grit his teeth at the realization that Lucifer had some of the most important people in his life and there was nothing he could do about it.

“Sam and Charlie are in separate divisions of the dungeons. Castiel has a… special holding room.” The guy smiled, amused, of all things, by Dean.

Dean wanted to punch him in his fucking face.

“Are they okay?”

“Don’t know.”

“Can I see them?”

“No.”

“Can you tell me what Lucifer wants?”

“No.”

“Can you tell me what time it is?” Dean bit out.

“Two in the afternoon.”

It was silent for a long moment before the guard spoke. “Lucifer wants to see you now that you are awake.”

“Fucking awesome, I’ve always wanted to meet him. He’s really an inspiration to us all.” So, maybe then wasn’t the best time for sarcasm, but call it a coping mechanism for suns’ sake and cut him some slack.

The guard approached the door to the cell, a pair of shackles in hand.

“Like hell,” Dean snarled, realizing who those were for.

“You’re just lucky you don’t have to wear them while you’re in there too.”

The guard opened the door. Dean punched him in the face.

He had been aiming for his nose and teeth, wanting to do some serious damage—if not enough for Dean to escape, then enough to leave the guy a sting that would make him think about the shit he was doing with his life. The guard, however much a douchebag, was not slow enough and only got hit in the jaw before he had swiftly shackled Dean’s wrists together like it was nothing, barely flinching with the force of the punch.

The fuck? Dean thought. He only realized he’d said it out loud when the guard said, “You learn how to take a punch when you work with prisoners.”

Dean wanted to punch the guy again.

Instead, he was being led to Lucifer.

He swung his shackled hands at the guard, kicked him twice in the shins, and kneed him in the crotch on the way to wherever the fuck he was being taken to see Lucifer. The guard had only been fazed by the knee in his nuts and, in return, punched Dean hard enough to give him a split lip.

Dean spat, trying to make as much of a bloody mess on the shiny floors as he could, and went silently and peacefully the rest of the walk.

He was eventually pushed through two large doors, into a grand room of black and gold, an intricately designed chair at the front of it, adorned with gold and jewels. The throne room.

There were two figures standing ahead of him, one of which he recognized—Castiel. The other, he had never seen before but recognized automatically. Lucifer. Castiel was stiff as Lucifer silently watched him.

Dean bolted forward to Castiel’s side, wishing his hands weren’t shackled so that he could hug him or something. “Cas!”

“Dean,” Castiel said, turning to see him. His eyes locked on his freshly split lip.

“What happened?”

“I’m fine, it’s nothing. Are you okay? Where’s Charlie? And Sam?”

“I don’t know…”

“Hello, Your Highness,” came a new voice. Lucifer’s voice was not cold or cutting like a villain’s often was. It was soft and quiet and soothing, but to Dean it was like nails on a chalkboard. The way the words Your Highness fell from his lips had none of the teasing familiarity that Castiel had and he cringed.

Dean saw Castiel stiffen, his eyes flashing gold, as if he had forgotten where they were.

“Where are they?” Dean growled.

“They’re perfectly fine, Dean. Do you mind if I call you Dean?”

Dean just glared.

“Your brother is fine, and so is your friend. I don’t want to kill people, you must know.”

There had to be a way out of this. Dean thought of the lock on the shackles around his wrist and subtly shifted his shoulder forward, leaning slightly forward to see if he could slip his hand into his pocket. There had to be something, a wire, a pin, a—

A paper clip.

He kept his poker face as his fingers wrapped around it in his back pocket, shifting again, trying to move imperceptibly.

“It doesn’t seem that way,” Dean said. He had to keep him busy so he could get the lock open, grab Cas and make a run for it. His eyes skimmed the room.

Two ensembles of knight’s armor were posed by the door. Dean barely suppressed an eyeroll at that, but was simultaneously thankful—they each wielded a sword, ones that looked very real.

“I don’t want to, that is true. But I will, if you continue to get in my way.”

Dean fiddled with the paper clip, bending it into shape, pushing it into the keyhole of the binding chains.

“How are we getting into your way? We just wanna get Cas human again.” Dean nearly saw red at the fact that this was him, this was the guy who had made Castiel like this. “You did that to your own brother. How could you—how do you—”

“I do what I have to. Castiel won’t take back the kingdom.” He shook his head, almost sympathetically. “I’m sorry. I won’t let you ruin everything I’ve done.”

Castiel had been silent up to that point. Here, he spoke, eyes flashing gold like they did.“You’re killing innocents. People are sick and poor and dying. You—” his voice broke. “You killed our mother.”

“I killed her?” Lucifer shook his head sadly. “Haven’t you heard the news? Two strange men and a red headed woman sneaked into the castle. They were found over her dead body.” His eyes were light, they were amused. “Everyone is talking about it. What were their names? Dean? Castiel?”

“You sick son of a bitch,” Dean snarled, wanted more than anything to lunge forward and wrap his fingers around the bastard’s throat , but he couldn’t.

He was making progress on the lock though. Just another minute. Come on, come on.

“It’s not your kingdom, asshole. Caelum’s gonna come back,” Dean spat.

“Not my kingdom? Then whose is it? Castiel’s? He’s done nothing to earn it, hadn’t done a thing to earn Father’s approval. He was being handed everything and he didn’t even want it!”

Dean’s eyes went to Castiel, who was looking at the floor.

“Didn’t tell you that, then? He didn’t deserve any of this. I had to fight and kill to get where I am today. I—”

“Don’t you fucking dare act like you’re justified.”

And then the lock came undone with a nearly silent, but just audible click.

Lucifer looked him straight in the eye, suddenly alert. Then he waved his hand and black hazy substance—magic, actual magic, Dean had never seen it—lurched forward at Dean, circling his wrist and then he was being thrown back and back and back until his back hit the wall on the opposite side of the room, knocking the wind out of him.

His wrists were without shackles but were held above his head, that black shadowy magic locking him there around his wrists. He struggled against it, knowing inherently that it was pointless.

Despite the sudden outburst, Lucifer was still disgustingly calm and casual. “No, Dean, I’m sorry. But it was a good try.”

Castiel stepped forward growling, “Lucifer, stop this,” way too intimidating for someone who was still cuffed.

“I think I will.” And just like that, without summoning, Dean’s guard came back into the room and approached Dean with those cranking shackles again, a herd of other men walking over to Castiel.

(Should Dean be offended that Lucifer thought he only needed one guard to keep him in line? He decided against thinking too much of it.)

“You won’t defeat me, Dean, Castiel.” He shrugged and shook his head with a what are you gonna do? sort of sympathy that made Dean wish he had his sword so he could stab something. (Preferably Lucifer.) “You just won’t.”

Castiel shot Dean one last look, packed with too many things. In it was definitely a good luck and a I’ll be fine and a We’ll get out of here, we’ll figure this out alongside more desperate We have to stop him we have to and something else, something Dean didn’t recognize. Then he was guided out of the room (he would have been dragged had Castiel not shaken them off with a look that seemed to encapsulate more chill than his dragon ice powers and walked out with his head held high) and gone.

“Oh, and you might as well bring him to the prisoner in cell number 0239 for the night.”

The guard—same one as before, that asshole—nodded dutifully and led him out of the room, back to the prisons. He didn’t struggle as much this time, too pissed and proud and curious about whom he was being led to.

As soon as he was pushed into the dungeon, he didn’t notice if the guard stayed or left, didn’t notice anything but the fact that Sam was there, he was alive and totally uninjured in his eyes and he was looking at Dean with a mixture of surprise and happiness and disbelief and “Sam!”

“Dean?”

Dean rushed forward and pulled him into a tight (and totally manly) embrace because as much as he complained, he loved his brother and suns he’d been worried.

“What the hell happened, Sammy?”

He didn’t notice or care when the door of the cell swung shut and locked behind him.

“I don’t know. I was on my way out of the kingdom and then I heard something moving, and before I could even turn to see what, I felt something sharp in the back of my head. Next thing I knew I was here and no one would tell me anything. Why are we here?”

Dean was furious at the idea of anyone touching his brother and growled, “I’m gonna kill all of them.”

“Dean, why are we here?”

Dean raked a hand through his hair. “Castiel.”

Sam sighed. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“His lunatic brother can’t let him go back to full-human-mode ‘cause he’s afraid Cas is gonna try to take the kingdom back. Which, yeah he is, but—” Dean paused. “Wait. Why were you leaving Eluo to begin with?”

“What?” Sam forced out, like he hadn’t meant to say anything in the first place, and, yeah, he was just a shit liar.

“You said they attacked you on your way out of the kingdom. Where were you going?”

“I. Um.”

“Sam.”

“Everyone was freaking out over your disappearance, okay? I was trying to help but—I don’t know, I wanted to just tell them what I knew. But I knew you’d kill me.”

“So you went for a leisurely walk between kingdoms?”

Sam blushed. Blushed.

“Shit, you were going to talk it over with someone weren’t you. A romantic interest someone,” Dean waggled his eyebrows. “Are they hot?”

Sam looked away.

“Sam, come on.” And there he was, freakin’ talking about crushes together like teenage girls. Dean was halfway to offering to braid Sam’s stupidly long hair in the middle of a freaking prison cell.

“It’s Jess,” Sam blurted out all of the sudden, his voice rushing like he was afraid Dean was about to hit him or something. “I’m sorry, I know, I mean, we aren’t together, I just like her, a lot maybe, and—”

“Wait, hold on, Princess Jess? From Attero?”

“Yeah. I know you guys are supposed to be—”

“I totally called it!”

“—getting married and stuff, but she’s really pretty and really nice and—” he paused. “Wait. What?”

“You guys made googly eyes at each other for the entirety of our two freaking meetings.”

“So—you’re—not mad?” He said it like it was something he couldn’t wrap his head around.

“Dude, I don’t care. It was gonna be arranged, remember. I’m just glad you’re alive and you’re happy.”

“I—thank you,” Sam said, sounding so ridiculously grateful that Dean had to clear his throat and awkwardly pat him on the shoulder twice.

“Yeah, yeah, let’s not start any chick flick moments, okay?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Yeah… So with all that behind us—” he lowered his voice and glanced over at the guard still nearby. “What are we gonna do? We gotta get out of here.”

Dean nodded gravely. “Cas and Charlie are both here too. I don’t know what time it is now, but once it gets dark outside I can talk to Cas and figure out a plan.”

“How?”

Dean coughed. “Uh.”

Sam just raised an eyebrow and waited. “The whole turning into a dragon at night thing?”

“Yeah…?”

“We can. Sort of. Talk with our minds. When he’s a dragon.”

Sam just. Stared.

“What, you think I’m kidding?”

Dean was fully expecting Sam’s nerd side to come out, to bombard him with questions about how it worked and when it worked and to what extent and whether they only heard what the other wanted them too or if they overheard or whatever. He was not expecting Sam to give him a knowing look, holding back a smile despite the entire shitty situation.

“What?” Dean demanded.

“And I thought you liked him back then.”

“It’s been, like, a week.”

“Almost two.”

“Does that make a difference?”

“No,” Sam rolled his eyes like Dean should know this list of seemingly endless rules about the-thing-he-was-not-calling-love-for-as-long-as-they-were-talking-about-Castiel. “What makes a difference is that—” Sam nearly snorted, the bastard. “You’re so ridiculously head over heels, and I can tell as much without even seeing you guys in the same room.”

“You—I don’t—he’s not—” Dean fumbled for something to say while Sam laughed at him and settled instead for, “Bitch.”

And when Sam, of course, said “Jerk,” Dean thought that maybe everything would be okay.

The same guard made Dean leave again later, bringing him back to the cell he’d woken up in.

“It’s night, in case you were wondering,” the guard offered, in a way that seemed like he was trying to seem unfriendly and hateful.

“Thanks,” is all Dean said.

Cas? Dean tried, praying for any sort of response.

“Dean?” the thought came through distorted and splotchy, like listening to a static-filled radio and Dean tried not to let all of his worry seep across the bond.

Cas, are you okay?

His response cut in and out and Dean struggled to hear even the little bit that got through.“Yes—put me in a—room…Magic that limits my powers and our bond…Have to go soon.”

But you’re okay?

“Yes, Dean. Listen, we have to—” cut off for a long enough time for Dean to start to worry, and then. “We have to try to escape tomorrow night. Okay?”

When?

“You’ll know…I have to—I can’t hold—”

It’s okay, just stay safe.

“You too. I—”

Dean waited for more, waited far longer than he should have, before he gave up and laid back on the ground. There was nothing in the cell besides a disgusting metal bucket (which Dean assumed was meant for piss but which he had no intention of ever investigating) and a wooden stool. He was on the cold ground for all of ten seconds before coming to the conclusion that he would not be able to sleep here, separated from everyone he loved and not knowing if they were safe, on a cold floor in an actual cranking dungeon.

So Dean did what he did best—he talked.

And the only person there besides him was that guard, which was why what came out of his mouth was, “How do you stand it?”

“Excuse me?” the guard asked. Dean didn’t miss the way his hand went to his sword like he wasn’t sure if this was some sort of ploy to cover an escape attempt.

“Calm down, asshole. Just makin’ conversation.” The guard looked more annoyed than anything. “How do you stand working for Lucifer, I mean.”

“Why would I talk to you about that?” the guard sneered.

“Because of my endless charm?” Dean offered. Dean decided that, if at all possible, he would annoy this douchebag to as much of an extent as he could manage. “Or maybe ‘cause—look around buddy—we’re the only two here. Speaking of, does every prisoner have their own guard, or am I just special? How many guards does Cas have? Shit, if Charlie has more guards than me I will never hear the end of it.”

“Kindly shut up or I’ll do it for you.”

“But you’d have to come in here to do that, and, in all honesty, I think you’re afraid of getting kneed in the nuts again.”

The guard turned away from him, pointedly ignoring him.

Then, in all seriousness. “You work for a guys who kills innocent people, who curses his brother and kills his own damn mother, and you’re tryin’ to tell me that doesn’t keep you up at night?”

“I do what I have to, just like we all do,” the guard said stiffly.

There was silence until it looked like the guard was relaxing again before he asked, “What’s your name?” just ‘cause he was curious. No answer. “Just thought it’s a little weird to keep saying the guard in my head. And it seems like we’re gonna be spending a little quality time together.”

The guard looked like he desperately wanted to bang his head repeatedly against the wall, and Dean wondered if he could annoy details out of him—like where Cas and Charlie and Sam were and how to get to them and a full map of all exits in the castle, that would be nice.

“I’m Dean Winchester, by the way.”

“Victor Henriksen. But I’m not shaking your hand.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Dean paused, thought about saying more, and decided against it. He lay back and stared at the ceiling until it grew fuzzier and fuzzier until he drifted off to sleep, alone (except for Henriksen) for the first time since this all started.

Seven days until Dean’s twenty-first birthday

Dean woke to the same guard standing there, just as he had been when Dean fell asleep.

“Do you ever sleep?” Dean asked, his own voice still groggy.

“Someone came in for the night shift already.”

“Guess I slept late then.” Dean wasn’t completely sure why he was going out of his way to converse with/befriend/annoy the guy, but hoped that somehow it would benefit them when they tried to escape. That would be tonight. It would be so much easier if it were just him and Cas, but no. Sam and Charlie didn’t even know the escape would be tonight, ‘cause they didn’t exactly have fancy mind connections like he and Cas did. So Dean would have to grab one or both of them. He wished he could’ve talked to Cas more last night, found out what he was planning, had Cas break Charlie out so Dean could get Sam.

Either way, talking to Henriksen was proving at least slightly entertaining, which, well, fuck it. Dean had never been one to have a one-sided conversation, but he’d also never been one for stoic silences and thinking about what he did and that sort of stuff.

“What’s on the schedule today? Go see His Royal Douchebag? Arts and crafts at noon?”

Henriksen looked like it physically hurt him not to roll his eyes, but he somehow restrained himself.

Long moments passed before Dean thought of what he’d said last night and thought it was a fair question, speaking again.

“I’m in here because I’m trying to break a curse. You know that, obviously. I’m trying to break Cas’s curse—which his own brother, previously mentioned ‘douchebag’ over there who you’re working for—put on him. I just wanna know why he has so many followers. How you can do it.”

Henriksen looked at him strangely then, like he wasn’t really sure how to answer the question but knew exactly what he meant, like he wished he could answer it.

“He’s powerful, and he scares a lot of people. That’s all there is to it.” The way he looked away seemed to say that that wasn’t all there was to it.

“Look,” started Dean. “I’ve tried the perfect soldier gig. I know how that is, and trust me, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be. Rebelling a little bit,” Dean thought of first meeting Cas when he’d first defied his father with the intention of killing him, how that changed so much as he continued to go around his parents’ backs to see him those few times. “That’s a fun time. You should try it.”

The silence came back over them as Henriksen ignored him until, eventually, “You’re not goin’ anywhere today. Crafts or otherwise.” If Dean didn’t know better, he would think the guy cracked what could pass for a smile. Maybe.

Dean wished he could say that the next few hours of lying in his cell was filled with chatter and suddenly he and Henriksen were best friends and then he was being allowed to go, all hush hush, because he was just that cool.

Well, they did talk some, but mostly it was cold and irritated on Henriksen’s part, and (admittedly) purposefully annoying on Dean’s part. It was entertainment, if nothing else, but Dean swore he saw Henriksen fighting amusement a couple of times.

It was probably dark when it happened. Probably, because, of course, there weren’t any windows in the freaking cell, but Dean had what he thinks is a pretty good sense of time.

So, yeah, it was dark when it happened.

Dean had been trying to speak to Castiel to no reply when two guards clambered down the hallway. Henriksen looked up, suddenly alert from when he’d been thoroughly investigating a rather tempting ring of keys.

“There’s trouble with prisoner one-thirty-two.” Dean sat up, keeping to the shadowy sides of his cell and listening carefully while trying not to draw attention. This must have been what Castiel was planning.

“Did he escape?” Henriksen asked.

“He’s definitely trying. We need as many people as we can to keep him at bay.”

Henriksen spared Dean one more look before drawing his sword and following after the guards down the hall.

Dean waited—one, two, three—and then he was moving forward toward the lock. He didn’t bother holding back a small smile because Cas was seriously just badass.

By himself to deal with the lock. Awesome.

Or, it would be if he had something to pick it with.

He looked around the cell desperately, for anything he could use. That stupid paperclip was long gone from their encounter with Lucifer and no way was he going to let this one opportunity pass him by.

After a few moments of frantic searching, he found what he needed—a long, rusted nail. But Dean would never be so lucky, so naturally it was still half wedged into the wall.

Dean pulled and twisted for what he thought was way too fucking long, considering he had no idea how long Castiel’s distraction would keep the guards busy, ignoring the rust that cut into his skin and the fact that his cranking fingers were bleeding because that could all be dealt with later.

Finally, the nail was freed and Dean moved on to the lock, making fast work until he finally heard a click.

“Has my distraction proved effective?” Castiel’s voice came in perfectly clear in his mind and Dean smiled at the sound.

’Course it has. Not a guard in sight.

“So you’ve escaped?”

Working on it. You? I’m not leaving if you aren’t, he didn’t say

“Yes.”

What about Charlie? Dean asked. Charlie didn’t exactly have access to their little mind meld chatroom.

“She’s been accounted for,” Castiel offered vaguely.

How do you know?

“Because I just broke her out.”

Of course you did. Dean pushed the door of the cell as quietly as he could, slipping out carefully and looking around. There was the staircase he was led up when he had been brought to Lucifer, and he imagined that was the way out, but he had to account for—

“Get Sam and get out of the kingdom. He’s on the same floor as you, but I don’t know where.We’ll find each other once we’re out.”

How?

“I’ll be the black dragon with huge wings, golden eyes, sort of hard to miss?”

I see my humor’s rubbed off on you, Dean teased fondly.

“Now’s not the time to be flirting, Dean. I have to—” He was cut off in a pained sound.

Cas?

“Sorry, I need to focus on getting out. The palace wasn’t exactly designed to handle dragons,” Cas explained. Dean would laugh at the image of Cas’s wings taking out a chandelier or something if he weren’t so worried.

Castiel added, much softer, “Be safe.”

You too, Dean thought back, but somehow he knew that Castiel didn’t hear it.

(Dean didn’t say that he loved him. He hoped to the suns there would be time for that later.)

He was off, moving quickly but as silently as he could down the hall, eyes peeled in the dim light for his brother.

A little bit down the hallway was a strip of cabinets along the walls—all of the prisoners possessions. He rummaged through until he found his sword and bag, thanking anyone who would listen that the stone from the lake and all of his things were still in there. Then he was running again.

It didn’t take long, because Sam, the resourceful kid that Dean always made sure he was, had gotten out of his cell as well.

When he saw him, moving fast and quiet and careful, he pulled him in a tight hug as quickly as he could before pulling back. “We gotta get out of here.”

“Thank the suns you’re alright Dean, I thought maybe, when they said there was trouble—”

“No, Cas is making his escape as a diversion so we can get out.”

“Is Charlie okay?”

“Cas’s got her,” he turned and they started moving again, back in the direction of his cell for that staircase.

“Dean—all the other people down here,” Sam started. “They’re like us, they didn’t do anything. We have to—”

“Sammy, suns know I want to but getting us out is what’s important right now, okay? Once Cas is back to two legs twenty-four-seven we can figure out what to do with this hellhole.”

Sam didn’t look satisfied, but he nodded and they kept moving.

They were at the staircase, heading up to the main floor and the exit and brighter light and freedom, when Henriksen appeared, his sword still drawn.

Dean’s world felt frozen in one impossibly long and tense moment as Henriksen looked from Dean to Sam and back.

When he lifted his sword, Dean flinched. But his sword was off to the side, pointing up the stairs.

He looked like he was in physical pain when he said, “Get out of here. I didn’t see a damn thing.”

Dean waited a second, then another, before what he’d said clicked and he was serious.

“I—thank you,” Dean said, because he didn’t know what else to do.

“I didn’t see a damn thing,” he repeated, and then Dean was pulling Sam along and out.

It was harder to stay quiet on the tiled floors surrounded by tall walls that made everything echo, but it didn’t take long to realize that they didn’t need to.

They were able to navigate by the sound of absolute chaos coming from outside.

They ran down long hallways, through door after door until finally they reached the courtyard just inside the palace gates.

The palace gates, which were opened, allowing what looked like every cranking mistreated citizen in the whole kingdom to flood in, and they were attacking Lucifer’s Demons viciously. Back smoke rose from both the escape of Demons and from fires. Screams and shouts erupted everywhere, swords flashing fists flying and—

Predictably, Lucifer was nowhere in sight.

Holy shit, we started a revolution, Dean thought. Where are you?

Look up, Castiel projected back, and Dean was pretty sure there was an implied Dumbass in there.

Dean looked up just in time to see Castiel in all of his beauty and power swooping down to land in front of him, the area below him clearing frantically as he did.

Just as that happened, Charlie ran up, leading their three skittish looking horses and wielding her sword.

They said nothing, just shared a long look of happiness that they’d all gotten out, and understanding that the escape wasn’t over yet.

Dean noted that the shackle that Castiel had always worn was gone.

“We need to go,” Castiel said urgently. It would have been nice to be able to have a conversation in peace, but when one of your companions was a giant dragon and the subject of an evil ruler’s hate, you couldn’t afford that luxury.

“I know, Cas, just—”

Dean turned to Sam, speaking quickly and urgently. “Go with Charlie back to Eluo. I need you to—”

(Here, a slew of Demons came at them and were quite literally frozen by Castiel’s powers, but Dean wasn’t paying that much attention.)

“No way, Dean. What about these people? What about Cas?”

“I’ll take care of Cas, and we’ll help the people once we have dad and our army behind us, okay?”

“Dean,” Sam protested.

“I need you to go back and tell Mom and Dad everything. Everything. Please, Sammy.”

Sam glared but eventually nodded.

“Go,” Dean directed. With all of the chaos, Sam and Charlie slipped through the crowd with the horses in tow, not drawing too much attention.

“What now?”

“We can’t stay and help, as much as I wish we could,” and suns, Dean could feel how much his heart was breaking because of it.

“So how are we getting out?”

Castiel crouched down, allowing an easy way for Dean to be able to get on him.

Dean took a step back and almost ran into someone’s torch. An actual torch.

“No way. Fuck no. No, I can’t—I—”

“Dean, you have to trust me.”

“Cas—”

An especially loud disturbance came from across the area.

“Dean,” Castiel pleaded, crouching even further and giving Dean a pleading look.

Dean scrambled on and simply clung as he felt Castiel prepare for takeoff.

He squeezed his eyes shut, felt the flap of wings and a rush of air and up and up and up.

This definitely wasn’t a moment in which he opened his eyes and realized how magnificent flying was. No, he opened his eyes for a few seconds once they were leveled again and nearly vomited.

Exhaustion came over him slowly as the adrenaline receded.

What next? Dean asked.

“Rest,” Castiel instructed.

And just like that, Dean fell asleep on the dragon’s back.

Six days until Dean’s twenty-first birthday

He woke to the feeling of solid ground underneath his stomach, grass pressing into his skin, and a hand resting on his back.

He blinked once, twice, before pushing up on his elbows. The hand removed itself and Dean mourned the loss as he sat up. Castiel was sitting beside where he lay, watching Dean carefully.

“You slept most of the day. We’re about an hour’s walk away from Eluo,” he informed him, his face oddly expressionless and Dean thought back to the previous day and—

It didn’t all come back to him in a rush or a wave of oh. It was more like getting punched in the gut with the sadness on Castiel’s face because with everything, everything that had happened, Dean had somehow not stopped to think about the fact that Castiel had lost his mother. That he didn’t just have his hopes of being fully human dashed, that he didn’t just learn that his mother died; that he saw her on the ground, bloody and still warm and pale.

“Cas,” was all he could say, and like that he crumbled and Dean was stepping forward to hold him, letting Castiel press his face into his neck just as Dean buried his nose in soft hair. There was not the feeling of warm tears. He wasn’t crying, just shaking, trembling and Dean held him harder. “I’m so sorry,” he said, because he didn’t know what else he could do.

They stayed just like that for what felt like an eternity before Dean heard Castiel’s voice next to his ear, far too soft and quiet. “Now I have no one.”

And Dean wanted to say, You have me, but he didn’t, and instead told him in the tightening of his arms and his hand stroking through his dark hair. Somehow, Dean knew that Castiel heard exactly what he was trying to say.

Castiel withdrew just slightly after minutes or hours. He was still close enough for Dean to rest a hand on his shoulder and the other in his hair, Cas’s head bowed. He shifted his arm backward to twine their fingers together.

With a last shaky breath he looked up. He reached into his pocket to pull out a small vial filled with a wisp of what looked like pure light, blue and glowing.

“This is Lucifer’s grace.”

“His… what?”

“The spell couldn’t really be just anything, it needed something important to him,” Castiel explained softly, and he was avoiding Dean’s eyes at just about all costs. “It’s the source of his power. If we use it, he’ll be powerless. And that’s assuming that it doesn’t just—”

He broke off, but it was clear what he meant. Despite everything he’d done to Castiel, despite of all his evil, Dean knew that Castiel didn’t want Lucifer to die. He was still his brother, and he was almost the only family he had left. Dean pulled the hand holding Cas’s to him so he could kiss it impossibly lightly.

“So we still need—” Dean didn’t want to say it, thinking back to Castiel’s mother on the floor. “The blood of a loved one.”

Castiel looked down and Dean was sure at least a year passed before Castiel spoke. “I believe we have that one covered.”

Dean paused. “What do you—?” Dean started to say before Castiel squeezed his hand pointedly and met his eyes for the first time that day.

“You—?” Dean tried to ask.

“Of course I do,” he said quietly.

Dean didn’t say anything, just wanted to ask what he meant. Now Castiel’s eyes were watching him intently, waiting. When Dean didn’t do anything but gape, he repeated, louder, “Of course I do. You’re… kind, and warm, and stubbornly brave and funny,” he started speaking more and more quickly. “You’ve helped me so much and I have no idea how I’ll ever repay you but despite everything in between I have enjoyed your company and you make everything seem okay, and you don’t care about any of the, you know, dragon stuff. So, I just, um, yes. Yes, of course I do. You don’t have to say anything, and I understand if you don’t share the sentiment but I—”

Dean didn’t care to find out how the sentence would have ended, because Cas was adorable when he was flustered and this had to be the only time he had seen Cas unable to get whole sentences out. And maybe now wasn’t the time for this—no, now was definitely not the time for this—but he found that he was too busy lurching forward and pressing his lips to Castiel’s so briefly in what was surely the most chaste kiss he’d ever given or received.

Castiel stopped talking and his eyes fluttered as Dean pulled away.

“I—” Castiel started.

“You are an idiot, Cas,” Dean said, and even with everything happening he grinned as he pushed himself off the ground to stand. He leaned down to help Castiel up, keeping Castiel’s hands in his to pull him closer.

“So we have everything, then. You’re gonna be a full-time human.”

“Yes,” Castiel said slowly, looking at Dean like he was a particularly confusing specimen. “But, wait, hold on, you—”

“Are in love with you, yeah,” Dean said. Somehow it was so easy to say, after everything. “And you need to sort out your priorities,” he laughed.

“I think I have.” Then he dropped Dean’s hands in favor of gripping his shirt and pulling him in again, their lips melting together warm and soft and there as their eyes slid closed. Dean settled his hands on Castiel’s hips and Cas’s hands moved up to rest on Dean’s neck. Dean could still sense lingering sadness underneath Castiel’s kisses, and maybe it was the absolute worst time for this, but still they stayed like that, two princes in love with a quest so close to finished.

Part IV: The Spell

The sky was beginning to darken, both with thick black clouds and the lowering of the sun. They decided that it would be best to do the spell during the night, so they could make sure that it worked.

Castiel’s hand had been gripping Dean’s for as long as he could before they started preparing. Castiel said that he didn’t know of any specifics for the spell or if there even were any, so they just arranged the first two items next to each other. Castiel squeezed Dean’s hand as he watched him drag his sword across his forearm. Dean wished they had a vial or something, but instead dripped his own blood across the stone.

They didn’t speak as this happened. The first words since they began were Castiel’s.

“I know enough sorcery that I know the incantation we have to speak,” Castiel said, rummaging in his pocket. “I know it, but… If anything should happen to me, you have to keep saying it, no matter what.” He pulled out a carefully folded piece of parchment. It seemed old, worn around the edges like it had been folded and unfolded thousands of times.

Dean looked at it carefully before saying, “What might happen to you?”

“I don’t think anything will until the spell is completed, but anything could happen and we have to be prepared.”

Dean nodded carefully, desperately wishing he could crack a joke about it all.

Dean looked away when Castiel finally made his transformation as darkness fell.

“Shall we begin?”

Dean began to speak.

“Per noctem

in die illa

aliter homo, interius transformat,

in figura, quod habet

in mobili, sicut sol.”

Castiel was chanting it in his mind along with him. Thunder cracked and a light drizzle of rain settled over them. Neither of them acknowledged it as they felt their skin grow wet.

“Iterum ad solem lunam ictus

squamosae, versa est in carne

glacies, spiritus vertit se ad calidum inflat

dentes minor

ad illa quae sunt lente labuntur.”

Dean felt something strange tugging in his gut. “Cas—” he started. Castiel looked up, and just as his mind was forming the next line of the spell, they both saw it on the horizon.

A stream of black smoke, completely unnatural in its movement. Moving fast, right towards them.

“Is that—”

“Lucifer.”

Drawing his sword, Dean turned. They’d come so far—they wouldn’t let some dick with a stolen crown keep them from finishing the spell.

“Dean, you have to keep saying the spell.”

“I’m not letting that douchebag stop this, Cas.”

“I know. Regardless, this is something I have to do myself.”

Before Dean could say anything—wait, we can do this together, I believe in you, I love you—Castiel’s wings were stretching and he was taking off toward the swirl of smoke.

Dean could waste time in running over there and trying to save the day.

Or he could suck it up and trust that Castiel could handle his brother and finish the spell like he’d been told.

“Et sub terra, saxo ambulamus

eum qui posuit animam.”

He wished he at least had a good vantage point, to see if Castiel was okay, to hear what they were saying now that the black smoke materialized into Lucifer. He wished he could go over there and do something to help instead of being all the way back here.

“Et sanguinem qui dilectam

transfigurat se in extremo tempore

formam accipere vult.”

Castiel looked so huge in his dragon form, standing next to his human brother.

“Cum haec verba

se habet ad Magiam.”

Did Dean look so small standing next to him?

“Quæ numquam visa sunt.”

Cas, what’s going on? Dean thought, projecting it as far as he could.

“Keep going with the spell, I’m fine.”

The small outline of Lucifer raised a hand.

“Donec eu purus narratum est, quod absque omni

et homo est.”

A shot of something bright was sent flying toward Castiel. The dragon shuddered but didn’t fall. Dean watched for a beat, two beats, as Castiel stilled.

“Puritas hominis

Imbecillitatem.”

Castiel began to attack. He was an explosion of ice and talons and teeth, launching himself at Lucifer and—

“In virtute

quia pertinax esse

qui ex vobis est.”

Cas?

There was no reply.

What looked like pure energy shot out toward Castiel, meeting in midair with the blast of ice Castiel had roared.

“Neque decipiaris somnis

Miratus sum, ut declinent a quo tempore in tenebris ambulavimusneque decipiaris somnis

audire ad sonitum vocis tuae

si nosti omnia

tibi facies est videre tuum.”

The battle went on like that, Dean too far away to do anything but speak, Castiel rearing back and letting out a blast of pure ice with a roar that Dean could feel even this far away. Lucifer shot some sort of magic at him, Castiel shuddering at each one that hit.

Lucifer never wavered.

“Quam operatus est in

qui fecit nos, mortuus est, ferire.”

Dean’s mind was stuck on repeat. Cas was losing Cas was losing Cas was—

“Quid erat quod iam revertamur

tollitur in items obtulit

nos tibi secundum sermones tuos.”

He wouldn’t lose Cas.

He remembered Castiel’s words from the other day.

If we use it, he’ll be powerless. And that’s assuming that it doesn’t just—

“Est tanti,

cum deficeret

solis erit.”

If he finished the spell, Lucifer would be powerless.

Or dead.

He would take that risk.

There were barely any words left on the page.

“Sicut calidum—”

Dean watched in horror as Lucifer raised both hands calmly, aiming.

“Semper in conspectu—”

Some sort of magic began to grow between Lucifer’s hands.

“Vetus et novum caelum—”

It was sent hurtling toward Castiel who tried to move—

“Quod oculis intueberis.”

There were no more words on the page.

Lucifer collapsed.

The magic kept toward its destination.

Dean dropped the paper and started running.

The magic hit Castiel’s side just as he began to glow with his transformation.

Dean somehow managed to remember to look away as the light grew brighter, but he kept running.

The light dimmed just as Castiel’s human figure slumped forward and fell to his knees.

Dean couldn’t breathe.

He reached his side a moment after he hit the ground.

The spell had worked.

Everything that seemed to be going in slow motion sped up and he couldn’t keep track of anything but—

Castiel was bleeding all down his right side, his blue eyes looking distant as they tried to lock on Dean’s. He fell to his knees next to Cas.

No no no no no no no no—

There wasn’t any one spot to put pressure to. His whole side had been struck.

“Dean…” his voice was so small. Dean leaned over him, taking his face into his hands. His face was damp with rain. He was shaking. Castiel was so pale, his eyes so unfocused.

“I’m here Cas, I’m here, it’s fine. It worked. You’re fine, everything’s gonna be fine,” Dean choked out. It had to be fine, they’d done it, it worked.

“I’m gonna take you home, everything will be fine, okay? Right?” Castiel’s eyes drifted aimlessly over Dean like he was taking everything in a last time. Dean’s thumbs stroked across his cheek, smudging blood there. “Hey—hey, Cas, look at me, please? Come on.”

“Dean—” it was barely a whisper, but it came across so urgent. His eyes found Dean’s. “I’m… sorry.”

“No, Cas, don’t say that. There’s nothing to be sorry for, okay? Everything will be fine.” He knew he was lying now. “Just stay with me, okay, just keep focused on me.”

“No… I’m sorry… for eating those cows.” He struggled for breath before resuming. “I know your kingdom… will prosper.”

Dean choked back a sob, trying to fake a smile for Cas’s benefit. “Hey, no, don’t apologize. It’s fine. It’s fine, that’s why we met, right? I don’t regret any of it. Not one bit.”

“Me neither.” Castiel smiled sadly, and that was when Dean knew that Castiel was aware of what was happening. He knew he was going to die. “Th-thank you, Dean.” His breathing stuttered.

“I’m glad that I’m able to die a human.”

He didn’t break into a coughing fit, or spasm. His eyes just slid closed.

Dean shook his head, shaking him gently.

“Cas, open your eyes. Hey, we were gonna get through this, remember? Come on, just—look at me. Please—I love—”

He pressed his forehead to Castiel’s and didn’t finish the sentence, didn’t feel as a single tear drop roll down his cheek.

I love you please come back to me I love you I love you I—

He stayed like that, frozen.

Moments passed. Maybe they were eternities.

And there, he felt the slightest puff of warm breath against his lips.

The smallest exhale.

Castiel was still breathing. He wasn’t dead yet.

Dean felt his face harden. Castiel wasn’t going to die. He wouldn’t let him.

He stood, hauled Castiel up to hold him in his arms.

And he ran.

Part V: See the Sunrise

“Dean, oh my suns, is that you?”

“Are you okay?”

“Where have you been?”

“We thought you were dead!”

“Oh my—who is that?”

“What happened?”

“Is he hurt?”

“Are you hurt?”

Dean marched straight passed everyone, right to the emergency medical wing.

“He needs medical attention!” He heard himself saying. Everything sounded like he was underwater. His body ached.“Suns, please, just save him.”

He felt Castiel’s body being taken from him.

He didn’t feel himself pass out.

Five days until Dean’s twenty-first birthday.

Dean was cold when he woke up.

He wiggled his toes, his eyes blinking open.

The sun was out, shining through the window, casting a warm glow over his room.

His room.

He sat up quickly—too quickly.

His head spun for a moment before settling down.

He’d been changed into new clothes, it seemed, seeing as the ones he was wearing weren’t wet with rain or blood. His room looked just like he had left it all those days ago, except—

Except someone had dragged a chair up next to the bed, and Sam was sitting on it. He was awake, and watching Dean with a small smile.

“You’re an idiot.”

“Good morning to you too, Sam.”

The small smile disappeared and Sam grew serious. “Do you have any idea how worried we all were?”

Sam then proceeded to smack Dean upside the head.

“Ow, suns—”

“You make us leave you in that city, leave us to explain everything to Mom and Dad—oh my skies, Dad is livid, Mom was about to start mourning—then you show up here with a freaking half-dead body, both of you covered in blood, and you pass out—”

“Cranking—wait, Sam, is he okay?” Dean felt like everything was frozen in that moment of unknowing.

Sam ran a hand through his long hair and his gaze softened at the worry in his brother’s tone, and Dean was about to freaking kill him if he didn't say something.

“He was messed up really badly. They had to do surgeries and he was completely passed out and there was a lot of medical jargon I didn’t understand—”

“Sam, please.” Suns, Dean hated begging. He’d been doing it a lot recently.

Sam sighed. “He’s gonna be fine. He hasn’t woken up yet, but they have him on some pretty intense painkillers, so that’s expected.”

Dean sagged with relief, ran a hand across his face.

“Can I see him?”

Sam looked like he was crazy. “Did you not hear anything I just said? Mom and Dad and the whole kingdom have been waiting for you to tell everyone what’s been going on.”

“Did you not tell them?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “I told them everything I know. Well, most of it.”

Dean could guess which part he was leaving out.

“You’re just lucky I’m the one you woke up to. Mom would have started crying, Dad would have murdered you, and—”

He falls silent when Dean throws himself forward to pull his brother into a fierce hug. Sam faltered for a second before returning it.

“I’m glad you’re safe, Dean.”

“I’m glad to be back,” he said. “We did it. We freaking did it.” He knew that Sam knew what he was talking about.

Sam tried to get Dean to stay in bed so he could bring John and Mary in, but Dean was not some delicate little flower and insisted that Sam brought him to them.

Mary’s eyes were ringed with red but she wasn’t crying—until Dean came into the room and quietly said, “Good morning.”

Mary and John both whipped around so fast that Dean nearly flinched.

Mary started sobbing as she pulled Dean to her, and Dean’s heart nearly broke. Crank, he didn’t know that leaving for a little bit would have this effect.

She pulled back for a minute, taking a long look at her son’s face as he offered what he hoped was a reassuring smile. Then he was being smacked in the head for the second time this morning as Mary’s face grew stern.

“Don’t you ever even dare think about ever disappearing like that again, do you hear me, young man?”

Dean winced, mostly because he knew he deserved it. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Leaving for weeks, sending Sam back to give us a message about where you’d been, coming back like that—”

“I know, I know, I’m so sorry.”

Mary narrowed her eyes. “You’re lucky you came back alive, or I would’ve killed you.”

She hugged him close again and Dean squeezed his eyes closed as he breathed in the scent of home. Over her shoulder, when he opened his eyes, he saw his father standing with his arms crossed.

Dean pulled away from the embrace, crossing the room to stand in front of John. He couldn’t meet his eyes.

“Is what Sam told us true?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did you complete the spell?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You love this boy?”

“Yes, sir.”

Mary let out a sound mixed between a choked sob and happy laughter.

John stared at Dean long and hard and Dean had absolutely no idea what he was thinking—

Then he was being pulled into another hug, quick and tight and borderline weird.

But it was perfect.

It took Dean what felt like hours to completely tell his family (including Charlie, who had appeared with puffy red eyes and more declarations of if you ever scare me like that again— shortly after Dean first greeted his parents again) the whole story, from beginning to end, from his perspective.

The whole time, Dean felt sort of bad that he was itching to get out of there.

But he needed to see Cas, needed to see he was safe and alive and that what everyone told him was true.

Once the story had been told, Mary simply said, “Go to him.” He didn’t need to be told twice.

But he kinda wished he could be around for the inevitable part in which Mary and John grilled Sam about his crush on Jess.

His legs carried him down to the medical wing without him having to instruct them to, and when he got there, he’d barely said a word before a sweet woman near the front led him to “his boyfriend”—her words, not his. (Not that he was complaining.)

He was brought down a long hallway filled with warm light, the walls made of dark wood instead of impersonal white plaster. It was nice, very nice, but all he cared about was the door that swung open for him, the bed inside that held Castiel.

He wasn’t as pale as he had been, but he looked small in the big room. Various herbs and medicines were sorted neatly on a table beside him and bandages were wound around the entire right side of his torso from what he could see but—but, suns, his chest was rising and falling and he was alive.

“You came at just the right time. We’ve lowered his dosage of sleeping herbs, so he should be waking up soon.”

“Thank you,” he breathed, and then he was pulling a chair up beside the bed so he could hold Castiel’s hand.

He stayed silent like that for a few moments, waiting to hear the squeak and click of the door swinging shut, before turning to look at him.

Suns, he was gorgeous.

Dean didn’t know how he’d gotten so lucky.

(He’d feel luckier if Castiel would wake up.)

“I told you everything would be fine,” he whispered.

It was almost an hour before Castiel woke up.

Dean filled the silence with even more stories about his family and friends here, promises to introduce him to each and every one of them.

He was in a lapse of silence, thumb absently stroking Castiel’s hand, when he felt him stir.

There was an extra large inhalation of breath, a slight shift, followed by his eyes slowly opening.

It was silent as Castiel’s eyes flicked around, not recognizing where he was, until they fell on Dean beside him.

“Dean.” His voice was rough with sleep.

Dean smiled softly. “Hey,” he whispered.

What he really wanted to do was get up and freaking dance because he was alive and awake, and he wanted to hug him and kiss him and tell him he loved him so many times that he got sick of it.

But he didn’t do any of that, because he was a very manly man who didn’t dance, and who wasn’t the subject of one of Sam’s cranking cheesy romance books, and who definitely didn’t feel the pressure of tears building behind his eyes.

“It worked—I’m—?”

“Yeah, Cas, it worked.”

Castiel grinned and tried to lean up before wincing. He looked adorably irritated at the inability to sit up and said, “Get down here and kiss me.”

Dean complied.

Dean complied for a while.

But when he finally pulled away, laughing a little as Castiel tried to follow his lips, he looked away.

There was a long pause and then, “I thought I lost you, you asshole! Don’t ever do that again.”

“Okay.”

“That’s all? Just ‘okay’?”

Castiel smiled. “’Okay,’ and see if you can get me more painkillers.”

The next few days after that went by in a blur. Charlie, with her magical powers of gossip, ensured that everyone in the kingdom knew what had happened to Dean. Eluo had sent messengers to every corner of the country to spread the news of the return of the missing prince of Caelum and the fall of Lucifer.

Castiel insisted on getting out of bed the next day, arguing that he’d wasted enough of his life sitting still. Dean introduced him to his parents and they positively adored him. To be precise, as soon as Cas was out of earshot, Mary said (with what looked like tears in her eyes), “You hold on to that boy, Dean.”

She started crying when he told her he had every intention to marry him.

Dean and Castiel went to the place where the spell had been performed and gave Lucifer a proper burial there. Dean went along with it because Castiel insisted, just as he insisted that they go to Croatoan—which would, now that Lucifer was no longer in power, be known again as Caelum—to help with the aftermath of the rebellion they’d left behind, and to allow Rachel the queen’s funeral she deserved.

John insisted that Dean and Cas wait until after Dean’s birthday, and for now just sent some of his best men with supplies to help. They came back with Rachel’s body and news. Since Lucifer’s death, no Demons had appeared inside the walls of Caelum. Most of them had scattered across the country, disbanded without a common leader. The citizens had organized a clean-up of the kingdom after the rebellion. Eluo was not the only kingdom to send supplies. Attero, the Harvelle Territory, and even countries from across the ocean in the Venator Realms had sent people and supplies to help.

Dean had no idea how news traveled so fast.

But the important part was that they also returned with Joanna Beth of the Harvelle Territories, who had been helping with the clean-up, along with her wife—

Anna, Castiel’s sister, who had insisted upon traveling as soon as she heard the news.

Everyone was crying except for Dean and Jo, who awkwardly hung back.

“Nice job, Winchester,” Jo offered, watching Cas and Anna hug each other tightly. That was probably the closest thing to a compliment Jo had ever said to him.

Dean covered his grin with his hand.

(Later, they would all bury Rachel in the cemetery in Caelum, beside her husband. All of Caelum would attend in her honor.)

Castiel healed at what the doctors deemed an “abnormally fast pace.” Dean didn’t know if there was some sort of leftover dragon mojo helping out, only that Cas’s bandages came off barely a few days after they first went on.

Dean was worried at Castiel’s mental state after losing Rachel and Lucifer, but he was surprisingly happy. When Dean asked, Castiel looked at him pointedly like he should know exactly why he was so happy, and then kissed him hard.

Dean was pleased to say that he was getting used to kissing Cas, although never tired of it. He could definitely get used to sharing his bed with Castiel every night and cuddling in the manliest way possible.

He liked the heavy weight of Castiel’s head on his chest. He kind of wanted it every night for the rest of his life.

They had a lot of shit to figure out after everything, but laying like this, Dean decided it could wait.

The day of Dean’s twenty-first birthday.

On the third day that Dean woke up to Castiel’s warm, fully human body curled up next to him, Castiel was already awake.

“Were you watching me sleep?”

“Yes,” he seemed to be fighting a smile and losing.

“Okay,” Dean sighed, nosing at Castiel’s cheek.

Suns, he loved this.

“Happy birthday, my prince,” Castiel said, practically purring.

Dean pulled back suddenly.

“Marry me,” he said seriously.

Which, fuck, he hadn’t meant to say. But he wasn’t gonna take it back.

Castiel didn’t look as surprised as he probably should have.

“I’m serious. I love you and I love us together and I think we should stay that way.”

Castiel linked their hands together.

“Yes.”

As tradition goes, Dean gave Castiel his father’s wedding ring, threading a black cord through it and placing it around Castiel’s neck. Even though he hadn’t planned on asking Castiel in that manner, he had planned on asking him and had the ring prepared and hidden in his sock drawer.

Castiel didn’t have his father’s ring to give, but he had apparently already bought a plain silver band from Eluo’s marketplace for Dean as soon as he’d had some time alone, “just in case you didn’t get yourself together and ask me.”

Dean was ninety percent sure he was glowing as he kissed Castiel breathless.

It was a while before they made it downstairs, but not one person minded when they saw the ring necklaces they were proudly bearing. Dean couldn’t wait until they were officially married so that he could transfer the ring to his finger.

Anna, whom John had invited along with Jo to stay in for as long as she wanted, started crying again as soon as she saw and hugged both of them.

While hugging Dean, she whispered, “Take care of him, will you? He’s an idiot sometimes.”

Jess arrived and Dean smiled when Sam pulled her right into a kiss before pulling away and blushing madly.

Dean should have expected it when Sam proposed to Jess that same day.

History would say that the kingdom rejoiced at both announcements. Dean didn’t care much what history was saying, only that everything was working out.

(Almost everything.)

After Dean’s twenty-first birthday.

“You want to go with him,” Mary observed.

It was the day after and already Castiel was making plans for the both of them to go back to Caelum to help in returning it to it’s former beauty. It was, after all, rightfully Castiel’s kingdom.

Dean knew Castiel would be a good leader. A great one.

“Of course I do.”

But he was the eldest son, wasn’t he? So really, he should be ruling Eluo.

“Sam said he wants you to be happy, Dean. He’s fine with it.”

“What do you mean?”

“You want to go with Castiel to help Caelum. Sam would be a great leader here, just as you would there.”

“What about Jess?”

“Just as she would have if she’d married you instead, she would come here to rule alongside Sam while her brother rules Attero.”

“But what about—”

“They need you there, Dean. Castiel needs you there. I’ll miss you terribly, we all will, and you know that. But you have to stop making up reasons to not go.” Mary’s voice was soft in tone but her words were firm. She knew that that was what Dean wanted—to be king alongside Castiel, king of Caelum.

“I love you, Mom.”

But they didn’t need him here like they did there.

There was complete silence across the kingdom as every single citizen watched the two men walk through the gates, hand in hand.

It was Caelum.

One word wrong and they could totally fuck up the future of the whole kingdom.

But, yeah, no pressure.

The silence seemed like it would stretch on forever—

And then it was thunderous, the sound of thousands cheering as people made their way toward the pair.

“It’s so good to know you’re alive and well—”

“For so long we were starving but we all see hope now—”

“There’s a light at the end of the tunnel and the light is you—”

“Will you return to us as king—”

“We’re so sorry about your mother but we know you didn’t do it—”

“Thank you so much! My daughter would have died if—”

“You’ve given us hope again—”

“Will it be as it was before—”

“You too, prince of Eluo, you’ve saved us—”

Dean couldn’t focus on any single person for long.

All he could focus on was Castiel’s smile.

‘Guess they didn’t need to worry about if they’d like them or not.

Dean wouldn’t kid himself into thinking that there would be a little montage of hard work and the kingdom would be up and running within the week. He and Castiel were both prepared for hard work to get the kingdom back in order, to get the citizens to trust their kings.

It would take time and energy to bring Caelum back to the paradise it had once been known to be. But Dean and Cas weren’t alone. They had thousands of people smiling just knowing Castiel was alive.

Dean squeezed Castiel’s hand and watched as he began to speak.

Some mornings, Dean woke up to see Castiel doing yoga.

Sometimes he brought home those sandwiches from the first day just to see Cas smile.

Castiel made Dean read those fantasy books he borrowed from Sam so long ago.

Dean had heard a lot of stories before about life and death, love and hate, joy and sorrow—princes and their kingdoms—but despite everything he’d had to go through to get here, he thought that this one, right here, was his favorite one yet.

And yes, they lived happily ever after.

The End.

(Bonus:

“Dean Winchester, we are not getting married in a cave.”

“Hey, lots of people have their weddings where they first met!”

“Yeah, but those people meet at a park or in a town square or somewhere romantic.”

“Caves are totally romantic.”

“Do you forget that the first time we met, you were going to kill me?”

“I try to forget, but you never let me.”

“Suns, I love you.”

“I love you, too, idiot.”)

Really The End.