Brother Knows Best (Tangled 3/5)
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 25,000
Summary: Once upon a time, a king made a deal with a demon and a prince with magic wings was stolen by an angel with no wings. Years later, Dean wants a castle, Crowley needs a new coat, Lucifer's a horrible big brother, and Ruby had a dream, but all of this happens because Castiel needs to see the stars. (Tangled AU, with less hair and more wings)
Notes: Liberties taken with Tangled’s plot, but the good stuff is still there. Part titles taken from the Tangled Soundtrack!
Warnings: Abuse of a younger sibling, some violence, bad words, and sexual content.
Artwork by: cafe-de-labeill
Master Post
Chapter Note: cafe_de_labeill made beautiful art for a scene in this chapter, but my layout wants it to go die in a fire, because my layout is stupid. You can see it here in her art masterpost.
When Castiel woke up, his head was on something soft and warm, and there was a bear above him.
No, that wasn’t right. He tried to open his eyes, but found that they were too heavy. So he focused his senses. It definitely wasn’t a bear making those noises, but it had to be something big and dangerous. He took a deep breath and forced his eyes open. To his surprise, it was dark out except for the warm glow of a fire, and his head was on Dean’s lap. And it was Dean making the deep, growling noises, not a bear. Castiel smiled. Dean was snoring.
He slid a cautious hand down his stomach, poking and prodding at the skin to see if the wound had healed. It had. He exhaled slowly. Although Lucifer had been adamant that angel’s bodies could heal from wounds as long as there wasn’t anything Enochian stuck in them, Castiel hadn’t been sure. He could have died right here in the grass without ever seeing the stars, but Dean hadn’t let him.
Castiel pressed his nose against Dean’s thigh for a second, then tilted his head to look up at the man who had saved his life today. He smiled thoughtfully, watching the way Dean’s face looked much more relaxed and childlike in sleep. When Castiel looked at Dean, he always saw a man who had seen too much. Now he saw the tenderness of youth that had been chased away from Dean’s face however many years ago. Castiel remembered something the girl from the Roadhouse had said, Jo. She’d said “like Dean used to, before he decided stealing things made better money.”
Dean had saved people, or at least protected them once. Castiel had read stories about people like that, although he’d never met anyone aside from Lucifer. Dean seemed to fit the description. He was certainly brave, and cunning, and handsome. The thought made a smile tug at the corners of Castiel’s lips. A handsome man had fallen into his tower. There was something poetic about it, like a storybook.
He was still thinking, idly skimming his fingers over the back of Dean’s hand when he realized that the snoring had stopped.
“Hey,” Dean said, and Castiel tipped his head back to look up at him.
“Hello,” he answered seriously.
“Y’know, I thought you lied to me. I thought an angel was gonna die in my arms.”
There was some strange connotation in the words that Castiel couldn’t place. There was something more tender behind them, more gentle than the way Dean had spoken to him before. He frowned and was surprised when Dean’s palm brushed across his forhead.
“Don’t worry,” Dean laughed, “you’re alive.”
And then, because apparently Dean was done being tender and gentle, Castiel was shoved abruptly off his lap. “I’m gonna go get some firewood, now that you’re awake. I was going to have you look at the arrow, maybe see what those sigils meant, but it was covered in blood so I threw it in the fire and let it burn.”
Castiel nodded mutely and sat up, watching Dean’s back as he walked away. Castiel scooted back until his back hit the log Dean had been leaning on. He fanned the fire idly with his wings and let his head tip back so he could stare at the stars.
But Dean wasn’t gone for long. He came back with more firewood as promised, and Castiel watched silently as he threw the logs on the fire. He frowned when he realized Dean was holding a hand to his side.
“Are you injured?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Dean said gruffly, pulling up his shirt to reveal a hastily wrapped wound across his ribs. “But angel powers only heal angels, so I’ll live.”
Castiel bit his lip and looked over his shoulder at his wings. “It’s true,” he said finally, “that most angels cannot heal another being’s wounds, but…” he trailed off and patted the ground next to him. “Come sit,” he said.
To his surprise, Dean did as Castiel asked. Castiel watched with a critical eye as Dean walked, swaying just a little bit. They had both walked away from that battle with wounds, and Castiel hadn’t noticed because he’d been too busy enjoying the way Dean’s hand had felt while it rested between his wings. But now that Dean had gone and come back, Castiel could see the way the man was clearly favoring his left side.
Dean dropped down next to Castiel, and Castiel stuck his wing out in front of Dean. “Here,” he said, “Touch it.”
Castiel didn’t like his wings being touched. Well, he hadn’t had much experience with it, Lucifer was the only one who ever touched Castiel’s wings, and Castiel hated that. Lucifer was always rough, tugging on the feathers hard enough to hurt, sometimes pulling them out.
But Dean’s hands, when they pressed against the feathers were gentle. Castiel flinched a little out of habit as Dean’s hand stroked through the black down, but Dean was gentle and persistent, and Castiel relaxed. He focused, just as Lucifer had taught him to, and closed his eyes.
He spoke quietly in Enochian, the words falling into the air and wrapping around the pair in the clearing, the only other sound was the crackle of the fire. When he opened his eyes, Dean was staring at his hands with wide eyes.
“Your wings. Your black wings, they-”
“Please don’t be frightened,” Castiel said hastily.
“No, I’m not. It’s just your wings just healed my potentially fatal wound. How…how long have your wings been…magical?”
“For as long as I can remember,” Castiel said quietly. “Lucifer says that I have unique wings. You seem to agree, as did the demon at Ellen’s bar-Crowley? As far as I have read I have never found another angel who has black wings,” Castiel frowned. “And I am the only angel who can heal other beings. People, men and demons, would take advantage of my gift, that’s why Lucifer never let me…” Castiel trailed off and pulled his wings back against his body, staring down at his hands.
“That’s why your brother never let you leave the tower. You’ve never left that tower.” Dean finished quietly. “But you’re still…you’re going to go back?”
“No!” Castiel paused, “Well yes. I don’t know, it’s complicated.” He ran a hand through his hair and smiled at Dean blankly. “So,” he said softly, “Dean Winchester, with a brother and a father, who is a thief.”
Dean rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. “I’ll spare you that sob story,” he laughed.
Castiel shook his head, “I’d like to hear it, if you would tell it to me.”
Dean sighed, “My mom died when I was four. A demon snuck out of Hell and killed her. This was back before they started leaving in big groups, before they started attacking everyone. My dad decided to try and find the demon, to try and stop all the bad things that come out of Hell. He protected Heaven and Earth. But Heaven had also suffered losses from Demons, their entire royal family, and they blamed men for that as well. So Sam, that’s my brother, and I traveled around with my dad. Helping people, saving them. It was a horrible life for a kid, and when my dad died, I realized I knew enough to be a thief. So I started thieving. But I do it for Sam, y’know? So the kid can have a better life, maybe go to school.”
“That is brave of you, Dean,” Castiel said seriously, “You are a good man.”
“Yeah well,” Dean rubbed the back of his neck again, “Just don’t tell anyone, ok? I have a reputation to protect.”
Castiel nodded and they fell into silence, just staring at one another. Castiel counted the different shades of color in Dean’s eyes, looked at the freckles on his nose. They were leaning closer and closer in.
Abruptly, Dean shot up. “More firewood,” he mumbled, and practically ran out of the clearing.
Castiel frowned to himself and looked down at his hands again, thinking about Dean Winchester and his road of good intentions.
“Oh thank, God,” rang out a voice behind Castiel, “I thought that filthy human would never leave.”
Castiel jumped and spun around, “Lucifer,” he said, his eyes wide. “What are you doing here?”
Lucifer stepped out from behind a tree and walked over to Castiel. He pulled his younger brother to his feet, and then Castiel was encased in a vicious hug, his nose pressed against Lucifer’s shoulder, and his wings crushed in his older brother’s too tight grip. “It was easy to find you, little brother,” Lucifer said in the silky smooth voice of his, “All I had to do was listen to the sound of disobedience and betrayal, and there you were,” finally, Lucifer let go and stepped back.
Castiel swallowed hard and looked at his older brother in fear. “Lucifer, I-”
“I don’t want to hear it, Castiel. We’re returning home-now.”
He grabbed Castiel’s arm and yanked him out of the warm circle of the fire and back into the forest. Castiel pulled back, shaking his head and digging his feet in. “Lucifer, Lucifer please, wait!”
Lucifer didn’t listen, he just kept walking and dragging Castiel through the trees. Castiel flapped his wings back and braced his legs, then wrenched his arm out of Lucifer’s grip. “No! he shouted.
“No?” Lucifer repeated. “Oh. I see. You’ve learned the ways of the world now have you, Castiel? You fought the monsters, you had a beer, and you met someone. Is that it?”
“Yes,” Castiel said, “Lucifer, I think he might have feelings for me, I-”
“How naïve of you,” Lucifer said. “I know the hearts of men, Castiel, better than anyone. Certainly better than you. You have trusted me all your life, little brother, trust me now. Dean Winchester has no interest in you, he cares for one thing and one thing only: this,” Lucifer held out the satchel with the strange circle of blue and white.
Castiel wanted to argue. He wanted to tell his brother about Sam and Jo, Ellen and Bobby, the people in Dean’s life who he tried to protect. He wanted to tell Lucifer that Dean had saved him, but all that he could say was, “How did you get that?”
“Give him this, Castiel,” Lucifer said. He snapped his fingers, “That’s how fast he’ll leave you, but go ahead, little brother, give him his satchel.”
“I will!” Castiel said fiercely.
“When I’m right, I won’t say I told you so, but don’t come crying and looking for comfort, Castiel.”
And then his brother was gone, disappearing back into the darkness.
~~
Castiel shoved something behind his back the second Dean stepped back into the clearing, but it could have just been his hands. Dean wasn’t sure. He’d made a rather dramatic exit, and he supposed Castiel deserved some secrets this early in the game. He was surprised to realize that he didn’t need to know what Castiel was hiding from him. He was surprised to realize that he trusted the angel who had spent his entire life locked up in a tower.
“You’re pretty smart, for someone who spent all their time in a tower,” Dean admitted.
Castiel’s shoulders stiffened, and Dean gave himself a mental high five for being the world’s biggest dick. “Yes,” Castiel said, “I read a lot.”
Dean nodded like that answered everything, mostly because he didn’t want to have the conversation anymore. Anything he said would probably be offensive because Dean was on the defensive. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do here. Dean didn’t have a good history with friends. Girls, sure, he’d known some girls. They died. Or hated him. Sometimes both. It had been Dean and Sam and sometimes Bobby for a long time, he realized that somehow Castiel had gotten past all of Dean’s defenses. Well, except for Dean’s spectacular ability to act like a douchebag, and his latent offense of fucking everything up in the end.
“Well, good night, then,” Dean announced. It was awkward, he knew it was awkward, but there wasn’t anything to do about it. Dean had put his foot in his mouth enough times that night, thank you very much. He dropped down onto the grass near the fire and turned his back to Castiel. After a few minutes, he heard the angel settle down as well.
The night was long and strangely loud. Dean’s sleep was restless. He tossed and turned, shifting and pressing his head against the grass to stifle the sounds. Dean could just see Castiel, looking small and fragile underneath the tent of his wings. Eventually, Dean drifted off, feeling strangely cold and alone.
Morning came as it always did, though, and Dean’s first thought was that he was glad it was such a lovely day. His second thought was that there was something wet on his face. His third thought was that he hoped the something wet wasn’t angel drool, and then he opened his eyes because there was no way that Castiel could be sleeping close enough to drool on him.
But of course, the angel was. He was pressed up against Dean’s side, his eyes closed in the perfect picture of innocence. Dean watched him for a second, reaching a hand out to run his fingers through Castiel’s hair-
“What the hell am I doing?” he muttered, jerking his hand away and going to stand up. Dean didn’t get far, in fact, he didn’t get up. He was pulled back several feet by something that was grabbing his foot and yanking. “What? No!” he said, grabbing at grass and trying to see what was going on.
Dean’s eyes moved in frantic circles, trying to get a grip on the situation. His ankle hurt, throbbed actually, and no matter how many fistfuls of grass he grabbed up to secure himself he just kept getting pulled back. He flailed a little frantically, his fingertips smacking hard against Castiel’s wings.
“Dean?” Castiel sat up. “Dean!”
The angel reached out, his long fingers surprisingly warm as they locked hard around Dean’s wrist. He had the distinct feeling that he was being ripped in two. On one side, a strong, impossible and invisible force clamped tight around his ankle, pulling; on the other side was an angel, just as strong and equally impossible, but also warm and alive and real, and Dean couldn’t un-see those blue eyes even if he’d wanted to.
The whole experience was surreal, and it took Dean a moment to realize that Castiel was saying words that weren’t just his name. “Let go of him,” the angel said. The power in his voice was almost frightening. There was something about the way Castiel spoke. It was strong, it was evocative. It was regal.
“Ow,” Dean grumbled as, at once, the invisible force and the angel both let go of him. He landed on the ground, stretched out and abused, but finally he sat up. What he saw was an alarming amount of nothingness. No angel. No monster. Just the quiet forest all around him.
“Castiel?” Dean hissed, moving up into a crouch. He grabbed a branch for a weapon and followed the sound of Castiel’s voice.
“No one appreciates you, do they?” he could hear Castiel saying. The voice came from behind some bushes, so Dean advanced that way. “You work so hard, don’t you? You saved us back there, you know. Dean would have died without you. I may not have made it out of the fight,” Castiel’s voice paused, and when Dean pushed aside a branch, he saw the angel fluff his wings out and compose himself. “I’m grateful for that,” Castiel whispered. “Thank you.”
The words were solemn and so was Castiel, but the image behind the trees was comical. Castiel was standing there with his long black wings fluttering soothingly against a tall black horse. He looked as regal as he had sounded only moments ago, except for Dean’s brown boot, which flopped lifelessly in Castiel’s hand.
What was Castiel talking about? How had he been saved?
He considered Impala, for it was certainly Impala. No other horse could be as huge and beautiful, as deadly and graceful as that black horse. Dean remembered a story his mother had told him once, what felt like a lifetime ago. She told him about a couple who bought a pair of horses that had only one foal. A beautiful black foal with so much promise. She told him that the foal was magic, although he suspected that was part of the story. She told him that foal was her daughter just as much as he was her son, that he and the horse had been siblings.
But angels had come in the night, she said, and stolen the beautiful foal away.
Dean hadn’t thought about that story in years, but when he thought about it now, Impala looked like he’d always imagined that foal.
And according to Castiel, Impala had saved him. Twice now, the horse had come to his rescue. That wasn’t the kind of thing that people (or horses) did just for shits and giggles. Impala had always known when he was in danger. She’d saved him when Jehovah and the Brothers almost caught him. And the second time…she’d pushed Dean off a cliff, where Castiel had scooped him up. At the time, Dean had thought Castiel had great reflexes, but now he wondered.
Dean considered Impala, this horse who seemed so much like a part of his family, although they’d never really met. “You’re awesome,” he said to the animal, and it wasn’t enough-not nearly enough, but the horse snuffed against Dean’s palm and seemed to accept it. He smiled at her, running a hand down her smooth muzzle. “Good girl,” he said quietly.
Behind him, Castiel laughed. It was a surprisingly good sound to hear.
Dean Winchester was alone in the world except for his brother, but he didn’t talk about that much. He was alone in the world-except now he wasn’t.
Suddenly Dean Winchester was friends with an angel and an Impala.
It wasn’t as abhorrent an idea as he would’ve thought.
~~
It was the most beautiful thing Castiel had ever seen.
He pulled away from Dean’s side, walking up ahead of everyone else to stare at the huge city before them. It started at the base of a hill, then wound up and up into the sky. The capital City of Heaven. Even though Castiel had never been here in his life, it felt like coming home.
He tried to take in everything at once; the cobblestones on the bridge, the elaborate gold gates, the statues of angels that decorated the pathway leading into the city. He could have stopped there and stared all day, wrapped in the beauty and calm of the walk in, but a hand pressed against his arm.
“Wait a second,” Dean was saying. Castiel spun around, disappointment etched onto his face. They’d had a deal, but maybe Dean had found the satchel, maybe he knew. Maybe he was going to leave Castiel at the gates of this city and run away. Castiel thought that he could probably get home, but he wasn’t certain. He’d have to go home eventually, but then Lucifer would know.
“Dean-” he started, and then stopped. Dean was motioning to a group of young girls playing with large pieces of fabric.
“They’re seamstresses daughters,” Dean said. “The best way to get free clothes. No one ever lets them make anything, but they’re all good at it from the day they’re born. It’s practically an inheritable trait. And these girls, I bet they make capes for angels all the time. Capes that could hide your wings, Cas.”
It was a clever plan, Castiel realized. Aside from being magical (something that Dean still wasn’t very good at shutting up about) Castiel’s wings were also black. And, as everyone they’d met so far on the road had pointed out, black wings were unique to Castiel.
Dean had been right. The little girls were ecstatic and alternated between petting his wings and draping the cape over his frame to take measurements and trim. Castiel had never had anyone besides Lucifer touch his wings (and Dean too, he supposed), and the sensation was strangely pleasant. It was one of the calmest hours of Castiel’s life, and he plucked a long black feather for each girl as payment when they were through.
“Thank you,” he said seriously, crouching down and meeting each pair of wide human eyes. “You are talented seamstresses.”
The girls giggled and blushed. “All right, Romeo, let’s get a move on or we’ll be late,” Dean said, nudging Castiel’s shoulder. The gesture had been repeated several times over the day, and Castiel was beginning to think it was Dean’s way of showing affection. He smiled faintly, just a little tugging at the corners of his lips.
“What’s so funny?” Dean asked and Castiel could feel Dean’s gaze on him.
He shrugged, “Nothing, I just-” Castiel paused, trying to find the right words. “I’m thankful. Thank you for this, for taking me out of the tower and introducing me to Ellen and Jo, and for finding a cape so I could walk through the city unhindered.”
The gratitude seemed to make Dean uncomfortable. He reached up a hand and scrubbed at the back of his neck. “Yeah, it’s no problem, man. I just need that satchel back, y’know?”
The smile slipped off Castiel’s face and he nodded. “Yes,” he agreed quietly, his hand brushing against the satchel hidden under his cape, “I know.”
~
“What are we doing?” Castiel asked, and Dean looked over his shoulder at the reluctant angel. The cape looked good on him, the blue velvet made his eyes stand out even more than they already did. Dean thought of the blue gemstones on the stolen crown-but Castiel’s eyes were prettier than the stones that mimicked those of a long dead (probably) prince, and so he smiled.
“We’re going to see the stars,” Dean said. “And I’m going to tell you about what they really are.” He held a hand out and helped Castiel down into the boat.
“I’ve never been on a boat before,” Castiel said, and Dean was surprised to detect a level of fear in Castiel’s voice. It wasn’t something he associated with the angel. Dean watched, bemused, as the cape shifted uncertainly around Castiel’s shoulders-Castiel was trying to shift his wings to shield himself, and the fabric was getting in the way. Dean realized that he missed looking at the silky, ink black feathers. The cape was pretty, but Castiel’s wings were beautiful.
Wait, what?
Dean didn’t use words like beautiful. Not to describe women, and definitely not to describe men. He shook his head and then realized he was still holding Castiel’s hand.
He dropped it.
“They aren’t stars,” Dean said. “They’re feathers. There’s this missing prince-he’s probably dead-who the angels are always looking for. I guess they think that if they can get their prince back that everything will be fine. Angels are big believers in fate and prophecy. They think that things should go exactly as they would have from the start, so when stuff interferes,” Dean shrugged, “They cling to old hopes and dreams. Anyway, they burn the feathers to guide him home.”
Castiel was uncharacteristically silent, so Dean turned away. He thought it was a nice story. His mom used to tell it to him before she died. He’d told it to Sammy, too. Maybe to angels it was touchier, even to angels who had never really been around other angels.
He pushed the boat off the dock and waved at Impala, who was happily munching on some apples she’d stolen. She stomped a hoof in farewell, and Dean laughed.
They sailed out onto the lake, “I wanted you to have a good seat,” he explained to the still silent Castiel. “You should have the best seat in the joint.”
Castiel didn’t say anything, just looked down at his hands.
“Cas?” Dean said eventually, scooting closer to the angel and letting the boat float along in the middle of the giant lake. “You all right?”
“I’m frightened,” Castiel said. For the second time that night, Dean became aware that an angel, his angel, could feel fear. Once, the knowledge might have been reassuring. Now, it settled itself, an uncomfortable weight, deep in Dean’s gut. He pressed a hand to Castiel’s shoulder in silent comfort, and waited for the angel to explain. “I’ve been waiting for this my entire life,” Castiel said softly, “Longer than your life, longer than the lives of your parents. What if I am wrong to be excited? What if my brother is right, and this is foolish. What if the sta-the feathers-are not what I have dreamed them to be?”
“They’ll be everything you thought they would,” Dean promised him, “Or we’ll go find some better stars, all right?”
Castiel smiled, just barely, and Dean smiled back.
“Thank you, Dean,” he said softly, and pressed his hand against Dean’s arm. There was a warmth to the touch that didn’t feel human, but then again, Castiel wasn’t a human.
~
That night, deep inside the walls of the angels’ castle, two conversations were held. One was between two guardians who clasped hands for the first time in nearly two centuries. The second was between three foes, who had a common goal. The first conversation was full of hope. The second was full of hate.
An angelic soldier, called Balthazaar, saw the shadows. He did not alert the rest of the guard, but watched instead as a shadowy angel with red hair pressed her fingers to her lips and breathed hope and dissension into the air. Then she turned and touched her brother’s cheek, and the light of her eyes quelled the coward’s fear that had made him run. That night, the two guardians crept up to the highest tower, hidden from view. They sent their burning feathers into the sky and announced their return.
The powers of Heaven trembled and remembered what they had done.
They prepared to wage a war.
Next…
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 25,000
Summary: Once upon a time, a king made a deal with a demon and a prince with magic wings was stolen by an angel with no wings. Years later, Dean wants a castle, Crowley needs a new coat, Lucifer's a horrible big brother, and Ruby had a dream, but all of this happens because Castiel needs to see the stars. (Tangled AU, with less hair and more wings)
Notes: Liberties taken with Tangled’s plot, but the good stuff is still there. Part titles taken from the Tangled Soundtrack!
Warnings: Abuse of a younger sibling, some violence, bad words, and sexual content.
Artwork by: cafe-de-labeill
Master Post
Chapter Note: cafe_de_labeill made beautiful art for a scene in this chapter, but my layout wants it to go die in a fire, because my layout is stupid. You can see it here in her art masterpost.
When Castiel woke up, his head was on something soft and warm, and there was a bear above him.
No, that wasn’t right. He tried to open his eyes, but found that they were too heavy. So he focused his senses. It definitely wasn’t a bear making those noises, but it had to be something big and dangerous. He took a deep breath and forced his eyes open. To his surprise, it was dark out except for the warm glow of a fire, and his head was on Dean’s lap. And it was Dean making the deep, growling noises, not a bear. Castiel smiled. Dean was snoring.
He slid a cautious hand down his stomach, poking and prodding at the skin to see if the wound had healed. It had. He exhaled slowly. Although Lucifer had been adamant that angel’s bodies could heal from wounds as long as there wasn’t anything Enochian stuck in them, Castiel hadn’t been sure. He could have died right here in the grass without ever seeing the stars, but Dean hadn’t let him.
Castiel pressed his nose against Dean’s thigh for a second, then tilted his head to look up at the man who had saved his life today. He smiled thoughtfully, watching the way Dean’s face looked much more relaxed and childlike in sleep. When Castiel looked at Dean, he always saw a man who had seen too much. Now he saw the tenderness of youth that had been chased away from Dean’s face however many years ago. Castiel remembered something the girl from the Roadhouse had said, Jo. She’d said “like Dean used to, before he decided stealing things made better money.”
Dean had saved people, or at least protected them once. Castiel had read stories about people like that, although he’d never met anyone aside from Lucifer. Dean seemed to fit the description. He was certainly brave, and cunning, and handsome. The thought made a smile tug at the corners of Castiel’s lips. A handsome man had fallen into his tower. There was something poetic about it, like a storybook.
He was still thinking, idly skimming his fingers over the back of Dean’s hand when he realized that the snoring had stopped.
“Hey,” Dean said, and Castiel tipped his head back to look up at him.
“Hello,” he answered seriously.
“Y’know, I thought you lied to me. I thought an angel was gonna die in my arms.”
There was some strange connotation in the words that Castiel couldn’t place. There was something more tender behind them, more gentle than the way Dean had spoken to him before. He frowned and was surprised when Dean’s palm brushed across his forhead.
“Don’t worry,” Dean laughed, “you’re alive.”
And then, because apparently Dean was done being tender and gentle, Castiel was shoved abruptly off his lap. “I’m gonna go get some firewood, now that you’re awake. I was going to have you look at the arrow, maybe see what those sigils meant, but it was covered in blood so I threw it in the fire and let it burn.”
Castiel nodded mutely and sat up, watching Dean’s back as he walked away. Castiel scooted back until his back hit the log Dean had been leaning on. He fanned the fire idly with his wings and let his head tip back so he could stare at the stars.
But Dean wasn’t gone for long. He came back with more firewood as promised, and Castiel watched silently as he threw the logs on the fire. He frowned when he realized Dean was holding a hand to his side.
“Are you injured?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Dean said gruffly, pulling up his shirt to reveal a hastily wrapped wound across his ribs. “But angel powers only heal angels, so I’ll live.”
Castiel bit his lip and looked over his shoulder at his wings. “It’s true,” he said finally, “that most angels cannot heal another being’s wounds, but…” he trailed off and patted the ground next to him. “Come sit,” he said.
To his surprise, Dean did as Castiel asked. Castiel watched with a critical eye as Dean walked, swaying just a little bit. They had both walked away from that battle with wounds, and Castiel hadn’t noticed because he’d been too busy enjoying the way Dean’s hand had felt while it rested between his wings. But now that Dean had gone and come back, Castiel could see the way the man was clearly favoring his left side.
Dean dropped down next to Castiel, and Castiel stuck his wing out in front of Dean. “Here,” he said, “Touch it.”
Castiel didn’t like his wings being touched. Well, he hadn’t had much experience with it, Lucifer was the only one who ever touched Castiel’s wings, and Castiel hated that. Lucifer was always rough, tugging on the feathers hard enough to hurt, sometimes pulling them out.
But Dean’s hands, when they pressed against the feathers were gentle. Castiel flinched a little out of habit as Dean’s hand stroked through the black down, but Dean was gentle and persistent, and Castiel relaxed. He focused, just as Lucifer had taught him to, and closed his eyes.
He spoke quietly in Enochian, the words falling into the air and wrapping around the pair in the clearing, the only other sound was the crackle of the fire. When he opened his eyes, Dean was staring at his hands with wide eyes.
“Your wings. Your black wings, they-”
“Please don’t be frightened,” Castiel said hastily.
“No, I’m not. It’s just your wings just healed my potentially fatal wound. How…how long have your wings been…magical?”
“For as long as I can remember,” Castiel said quietly. “Lucifer says that I have unique wings. You seem to agree, as did the demon at Ellen’s bar-Crowley? As far as I have read I have never found another angel who has black wings,” Castiel frowned. “And I am the only angel who can heal other beings. People, men and demons, would take advantage of my gift, that’s why Lucifer never let me…” Castiel trailed off and pulled his wings back against his body, staring down at his hands.
“That’s why your brother never let you leave the tower. You’ve never left that tower.” Dean finished quietly. “But you’re still…you’re going to go back?”
“No!” Castiel paused, “Well yes. I don’t know, it’s complicated.” He ran a hand through his hair and smiled at Dean blankly. “So,” he said softly, “Dean Winchester, with a brother and a father, who is a thief.”
Dean rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. “I’ll spare you that sob story,” he laughed.
Castiel shook his head, “I’d like to hear it, if you would tell it to me.”
Dean sighed, “My mom died when I was four. A demon snuck out of Hell and killed her. This was back before they started leaving in big groups, before they started attacking everyone. My dad decided to try and find the demon, to try and stop all the bad things that come out of Hell. He protected Heaven and Earth. But Heaven had also suffered losses from Demons, their entire royal family, and they blamed men for that as well. So Sam, that’s my brother, and I traveled around with my dad. Helping people, saving them. It was a horrible life for a kid, and when my dad died, I realized I knew enough to be a thief. So I started thieving. But I do it for Sam, y’know? So the kid can have a better life, maybe go to school.”
“That is brave of you, Dean,” Castiel said seriously, “You are a good man.”
“Yeah well,” Dean rubbed the back of his neck again, “Just don’t tell anyone, ok? I have a reputation to protect.”
Castiel nodded and they fell into silence, just staring at one another. Castiel counted the different shades of color in Dean’s eyes, looked at the freckles on his nose. They were leaning closer and closer in.
Abruptly, Dean shot up. “More firewood,” he mumbled, and practically ran out of the clearing.
Castiel frowned to himself and looked down at his hands again, thinking about Dean Winchester and his road of good intentions.
“Oh thank, God,” rang out a voice behind Castiel, “I thought that filthy human would never leave.”
Castiel jumped and spun around, “Lucifer,” he said, his eyes wide. “What are you doing here?”
Lucifer stepped out from behind a tree and walked over to Castiel. He pulled his younger brother to his feet, and then Castiel was encased in a vicious hug, his nose pressed against Lucifer’s shoulder, and his wings crushed in his older brother’s too tight grip. “It was easy to find you, little brother,” Lucifer said in the silky smooth voice of his, “All I had to do was listen to the sound of disobedience and betrayal, and there you were,” finally, Lucifer let go and stepped back.
Castiel swallowed hard and looked at his older brother in fear. “Lucifer, I-”
“I don’t want to hear it, Castiel. We’re returning home-now.”
He grabbed Castiel’s arm and yanked him out of the warm circle of the fire and back into the forest. Castiel pulled back, shaking his head and digging his feet in. “Lucifer, Lucifer please, wait!”
Lucifer didn’t listen, he just kept walking and dragging Castiel through the trees. Castiel flapped his wings back and braced his legs, then wrenched his arm out of Lucifer’s grip. “No! he shouted.
“No?” Lucifer repeated. “Oh. I see. You’ve learned the ways of the world now have you, Castiel? You fought the monsters, you had a beer, and you met someone. Is that it?”
“Yes,” Castiel said, “Lucifer, I think he might have feelings for me, I-”
“How naïve of you,” Lucifer said. “I know the hearts of men, Castiel, better than anyone. Certainly better than you. You have trusted me all your life, little brother, trust me now. Dean Winchester has no interest in you, he cares for one thing and one thing only: this,” Lucifer held out the satchel with the strange circle of blue and white.
Castiel wanted to argue. He wanted to tell his brother about Sam and Jo, Ellen and Bobby, the people in Dean’s life who he tried to protect. He wanted to tell Lucifer that Dean had saved him, but all that he could say was, “How did you get that?”
“Give him this, Castiel,” Lucifer said. He snapped his fingers, “That’s how fast he’ll leave you, but go ahead, little brother, give him his satchel.”
“I will!” Castiel said fiercely.
“When I’m right, I won’t say I told you so, but don’t come crying and looking for comfort, Castiel.”
And then his brother was gone, disappearing back into the darkness.
~~
Castiel shoved something behind his back the second Dean stepped back into the clearing, but it could have just been his hands. Dean wasn’t sure. He’d made a rather dramatic exit, and he supposed Castiel deserved some secrets this early in the game. He was surprised to realize that he didn’t need to know what Castiel was hiding from him. He was surprised to realize that he trusted the angel who had spent his entire life locked up in a tower.
“You’re pretty smart, for someone who spent all their time in a tower,” Dean admitted.
Castiel’s shoulders stiffened, and Dean gave himself a mental high five for being the world’s biggest dick. “Yes,” Castiel said, “I read a lot.”
Dean nodded like that answered everything, mostly because he didn’t want to have the conversation anymore. Anything he said would probably be offensive because Dean was on the defensive. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do here. Dean didn’t have a good history with friends. Girls, sure, he’d known some girls. They died. Or hated him. Sometimes both. It had been Dean and Sam and sometimes Bobby for a long time, he realized that somehow Castiel had gotten past all of Dean’s defenses. Well, except for Dean’s spectacular ability to act like a douchebag, and his latent offense of fucking everything up in the end.
“Well, good night, then,” Dean announced. It was awkward, he knew it was awkward, but there wasn’t anything to do about it. Dean had put his foot in his mouth enough times that night, thank you very much. He dropped down onto the grass near the fire and turned his back to Castiel. After a few minutes, he heard the angel settle down as well.
The night was long and strangely loud. Dean’s sleep was restless. He tossed and turned, shifting and pressing his head against the grass to stifle the sounds. Dean could just see Castiel, looking small and fragile underneath the tent of his wings. Eventually, Dean drifted off, feeling strangely cold and alone.
Morning came as it always did, though, and Dean’s first thought was that he was glad it was such a lovely day. His second thought was that there was something wet on his face. His third thought was that he hoped the something wet wasn’t angel drool, and then he opened his eyes because there was no way that Castiel could be sleeping close enough to drool on him.
But of course, the angel was. He was pressed up against Dean’s side, his eyes closed in the perfect picture of innocence. Dean watched him for a second, reaching a hand out to run his fingers through Castiel’s hair-
“What the hell am I doing?” he muttered, jerking his hand away and going to stand up. Dean didn’t get far, in fact, he didn’t get up. He was pulled back several feet by something that was grabbing his foot and yanking. “What? No!” he said, grabbing at grass and trying to see what was going on.
Dean’s eyes moved in frantic circles, trying to get a grip on the situation. His ankle hurt, throbbed actually, and no matter how many fistfuls of grass he grabbed up to secure himself he just kept getting pulled back. He flailed a little frantically, his fingertips smacking hard against Castiel’s wings.
“Dean?” Castiel sat up. “Dean!”
The angel reached out, his long fingers surprisingly warm as they locked hard around Dean’s wrist. He had the distinct feeling that he was being ripped in two. On one side, a strong, impossible and invisible force clamped tight around his ankle, pulling; on the other side was an angel, just as strong and equally impossible, but also warm and alive and real, and Dean couldn’t un-see those blue eyes even if he’d wanted to.
The whole experience was surreal, and it took Dean a moment to realize that Castiel was saying words that weren’t just his name. “Let go of him,” the angel said. The power in his voice was almost frightening. There was something about the way Castiel spoke. It was strong, it was evocative. It was regal.
“Ow,” Dean grumbled as, at once, the invisible force and the angel both let go of him. He landed on the ground, stretched out and abused, but finally he sat up. What he saw was an alarming amount of nothingness. No angel. No monster. Just the quiet forest all around him.
“Castiel?” Dean hissed, moving up into a crouch. He grabbed a branch for a weapon and followed the sound of Castiel’s voice.
“No one appreciates you, do they?” he could hear Castiel saying. The voice came from behind some bushes, so Dean advanced that way. “You work so hard, don’t you? You saved us back there, you know. Dean would have died without you. I may not have made it out of the fight,” Castiel’s voice paused, and when Dean pushed aside a branch, he saw the angel fluff his wings out and compose himself. “I’m grateful for that,” Castiel whispered. “Thank you.”
The words were solemn and so was Castiel, but the image behind the trees was comical. Castiel was standing there with his long black wings fluttering soothingly against a tall black horse. He looked as regal as he had sounded only moments ago, except for Dean’s brown boot, which flopped lifelessly in Castiel’s hand.
What was Castiel talking about? How had he been saved?
He considered Impala, for it was certainly Impala. No other horse could be as huge and beautiful, as deadly and graceful as that black horse. Dean remembered a story his mother had told him once, what felt like a lifetime ago. She told him about a couple who bought a pair of horses that had only one foal. A beautiful black foal with so much promise. She told him that the foal was magic, although he suspected that was part of the story. She told him that foal was her daughter just as much as he was her son, that he and the horse had been siblings.
But angels had come in the night, she said, and stolen the beautiful foal away.
Dean hadn’t thought about that story in years, but when he thought about it now, Impala looked like he’d always imagined that foal.
And according to Castiel, Impala had saved him. Twice now, the horse had come to his rescue. That wasn’t the kind of thing that people (or horses) did just for shits and giggles. Impala had always known when he was in danger. She’d saved him when Jehovah and the Brothers almost caught him. And the second time…she’d pushed Dean off a cliff, where Castiel had scooped him up. At the time, Dean had thought Castiel had great reflexes, but now he wondered.
Dean considered Impala, this horse who seemed so much like a part of his family, although they’d never really met. “You’re awesome,” he said to the animal, and it wasn’t enough-not nearly enough, but the horse snuffed against Dean’s palm and seemed to accept it. He smiled at her, running a hand down her smooth muzzle. “Good girl,” he said quietly.
Behind him, Castiel laughed. It was a surprisingly good sound to hear.
Dean Winchester was alone in the world except for his brother, but he didn’t talk about that much. He was alone in the world-except now he wasn’t.
Suddenly Dean Winchester was friends with an angel and an Impala.
It wasn’t as abhorrent an idea as he would’ve thought.
~~
It was the most beautiful thing Castiel had ever seen.
He pulled away from Dean’s side, walking up ahead of everyone else to stare at the huge city before them. It started at the base of a hill, then wound up and up into the sky. The capital City of Heaven. Even though Castiel had never been here in his life, it felt like coming home.
He tried to take in everything at once; the cobblestones on the bridge, the elaborate gold gates, the statues of angels that decorated the pathway leading into the city. He could have stopped there and stared all day, wrapped in the beauty and calm of the walk in, but a hand pressed against his arm.
“Wait a second,” Dean was saying. Castiel spun around, disappointment etched onto his face. They’d had a deal, but maybe Dean had found the satchel, maybe he knew. Maybe he was going to leave Castiel at the gates of this city and run away. Castiel thought that he could probably get home, but he wasn’t certain. He’d have to go home eventually, but then Lucifer would know.
“Dean-” he started, and then stopped. Dean was motioning to a group of young girls playing with large pieces of fabric.
“They’re seamstresses daughters,” Dean said. “The best way to get free clothes. No one ever lets them make anything, but they’re all good at it from the day they’re born. It’s practically an inheritable trait. And these girls, I bet they make capes for angels all the time. Capes that could hide your wings, Cas.”
It was a clever plan, Castiel realized. Aside from being magical (something that Dean still wasn’t very good at shutting up about) Castiel’s wings were also black. And, as everyone they’d met so far on the road had pointed out, black wings were unique to Castiel.
Dean had been right. The little girls were ecstatic and alternated between petting his wings and draping the cape over his frame to take measurements and trim. Castiel had never had anyone besides Lucifer touch his wings (and Dean too, he supposed), and the sensation was strangely pleasant. It was one of the calmest hours of Castiel’s life, and he plucked a long black feather for each girl as payment when they were through.
“Thank you,” he said seriously, crouching down and meeting each pair of wide human eyes. “You are talented seamstresses.”
The girls giggled and blushed. “All right, Romeo, let’s get a move on or we’ll be late,” Dean said, nudging Castiel’s shoulder. The gesture had been repeated several times over the day, and Castiel was beginning to think it was Dean’s way of showing affection. He smiled faintly, just a little tugging at the corners of his lips.
“What’s so funny?” Dean asked and Castiel could feel Dean’s gaze on him.
He shrugged, “Nothing, I just-” Castiel paused, trying to find the right words. “I’m thankful. Thank you for this, for taking me out of the tower and introducing me to Ellen and Jo, and for finding a cape so I could walk through the city unhindered.”
The gratitude seemed to make Dean uncomfortable. He reached up a hand and scrubbed at the back of his neck. “Yeah, it’s no problem, man. I just need that satchel back, y’know?”
The smile slipped off Castiel’s face and he nodded. “Yes,” he agreed quietly, his hand brushing against the satchel hidden under his cape, “I know.”
~
“What are we doing?” Castiel asked, and Dean looked over his shoulder at the reluctant angel. The cape looked good on him, the blue velvet made his eyes stand out even more than they already did. Dean thought of the blue gemstones on the stolen crown-but Castiel’s eyes were prettier than the stones that mimicked those of a long dead (probably) prince, and so he smiled.
“We’re going to see the stars,” Dean said. “And I’m going to tell you about what they really are.” He held a hand out and helped Castiel down into the boat.
“I’ve never been on a boat before,” Castiel said, and Dean was surprised to detect a level of fear in Castiel’s voice. It wasn’t something he associated with the angel. Dean watched, bemused, as the cape shifted uncertainly around Castiel’s shoulders-Castiel was trying to shift his wings to shield himself, and the fabric was getting in the way. Dean realized that he missed looking at the silky, ink black feathers. The cape was pretty, but Castiel’s wings were beautiful.
Wait, what?
Dean didn’t use words like beautiful. Not to describe women, and definitely not to describe men. He shook his head and then realized he was still holding Castiel’s hand.
He dropped it.
“They aren’t stars,” Dean said. “They’re feathers. There’s this missing prince-he’s probably dead-who the angels are always looking for. I guess they think that if they can get their prince back that everything will be fine. Angels are big believers in fate and prophecy. They think that things should go exactly as they would have from the start, so when stuff interferes,” Dean shrugged, “They cling to old hopes and dreams. Anyway, they burn the feathers to guide him home.”
Castiel was uncharacteristically silent, so Dean turned away. He thought it was a nice story. His mom used to tell it to him before she died. He’d told it to Sammy, too. Maybe to angels it was touchier, even to angels who had never really been around other angels.
He pushed the boat off the dock and waved at Impala, who was happily munching on some apples she’d stolen. She stomped a hoof in farewell, and Dean laughed.
They sailed out onto the lake, “I wanted you to have a good seat,” he explained to the still silent Castiel. “You should have the best seat in the joint.”
Castiel didn’t say anything, just looked down at his hands.
“Cas?” Dean said eventually, scooting closer to the angel and letting the boat float along in the middle of the giant lake. “You all right?”
“I’m frightened,” Castiel said. For the second time that night, Dean became aware that an angel, his angel, could feel fear. Once, the knowledge might have been reassuring. Now, it settled itself, an uncomfortable weight, deep in Dean’s gut. He pressed a hand to Castiel’s shoulder in silent comfort, and waited for the angel to explain. “I’ve been waiting for this my entire life,” Castiel said softly, “Longer than your life, longer than the lives of your parents. What if I am wrong to be excited? What if my brother is right, and this is foolish. What if the sta-the feathers-are not what I have dreamed them to be?”
“They’ll be everything you thought they would,” Dean promised him, “Or we’ll go find some better stars, all right?”
Castiel smiled, just barely, and Dean smiled back.
“Thank you, Dean,” he said softly, and pressed his hand against Dean’s arm. There was a warmth to the touch that didn’t feel human, but then again, Castiel wasn’t a human.
~
That night, deep inside the walls of the angels’ castle, two conversations were held. One was between two guardians who clasped hands for the first time in nearly two centuries. The second was between three foes, who had a common goal. The first conversation was full of hope. The second was full of hate.
An angelic soldier, called Balthazaar, saw the shadows. He did not alert the rest of the guard, but watched instead as a shadowy angel with red hair pressed her fingers to her lips and breathed hope and dissension into the air. Then she turned and touched her brother’s cheek, and the light of her eyes quelled the coward’s fear that had made him run. That night, the two guardians crept up to the highest tower, hidden from view. They sent their burning feathers into the sky and announced their return.
The powers of Heaven trembled and remembered what they had done.
They prepared to wage a war.
Next…