Mini Big Bang: The Diabolical Dragon Plot {Dean/Castiel, PG-13} - 1/2
Title: The Diabolical Dragon Plot
Author: slartibartfast
Fandom/Genre: Supernatural
Pairing (s): Dean/Castiel
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~13,000
Warnings: Utter crack: contains dragons, fairies, and the Impala as a horse.
Summary: In a world where humans and magical creatures do not mix, Sam and Dean Winchester were brought up by their legendary dragon-hunting father to be the best in the familiar business. Their simple life is disrupted when Dean is rescued by a dragon-slaying fairy prince. The fairy, Castiel, drags Dean and his brother into a world of prophecy and fate and if all goes to plan, human and fairy will stand together as they did in ancient times. In more ways than one.
Artist: daggomus_prime
Art post: Click here.
Beta: the lovely thunder_nari - thank you! ♥
It started with fire that burned through the afternoon as unrelenting as the midsummer sun. The people of the village gathered and fought and they failed while John Winchester held the hands of each of his sons and watched their world fall apart.
"The dragons are getting more fearless by the day," a preacher said quietly. He was the only other motionless person in a sea of desperate movements, the only soft voice beneath the roar of the fire. "They come to unprotected villages and towns far from their own lands in the mountains."
John stared at the preacher's impassive face. "My wife was in there. I don't give a damn about dragon politics."
"They say someone is organizing the dragons, bringing their fire to us," the preacher continued as if John had not spoken.
From somewhere around his father's knee, Dean squinted up at the black-cloaked old man. Sammy was screaming and there were tears reddening his father's smoke-gray face and the preacher was talking like nothing had happened at all. Something cold and angry bubbled up inside Dean's tiny chest and he tugged his father's hand until they were far from the preacher.
The fire was beginning to die down but Dean knew he would never see his mom again. He would have to be strong now. The dragons would get them if they showed any weakness at all, Dean knew, and he was ready to follow his father into the fight before John said a word.
From the fire and the glint in the preacher's eye, an obsession was born.
---
Seventeen years later, Dean still lived with that day heavy on his shoulders every moment of his life. The fixation had become John strength; he grew to be the greatest dragon hunter in the South and his sons were shadows cast by his imposing figure.
That changed when John's broken body drifted upstream to Pontiac, a little town near the mountains. The dragon had left his face clear of burns so all would see that the greatest hunter was dead but where one was cut down, two took his place; Dean and Sam made their names as infamous as their father's had been.
Sometimes the hunt got a little too close to the bone. Literally. This time Dean's insides almost became his outsides and the cut was deeper than he'd suffered before. Sam had stitched him back together and they had found a nearby village to rest in, but Dean knew it was going to be a pain in the ass to recover from this. It would be weeks at least until he could get back on a horse, months until he could fight another dragon.
"You need to get back out there," Dean said after a week of Sam pacing across the dim borrowed room restlessly. "There are still dragons to hunt, you can't stay here just 'cause I'm out of action."
Sam stared at Dean like he'd just spat fire and, after a tense pause, left the room. That was not exactly what Dean had meant, but before he could work up a proper anger about it, Sam was back with two cups of hot tea and a couple of plates of food on a tray. They were staying in Bobby Singer's old room, a man well-versed in dragon lore since his wife went the same way John Winchester's did. His obsession remained mainly theoretical and that was something that Sam approved of loudly and frequently. Dean preferred the more hands-on approach.
"I don't think we should do this again," Sam said. It was the first time he said it out loud. Dean had seen it simmering beneath Sam's skin, that little niggling doubt growing into certainty. This day had been coming for a long time but Dean turned his head and pretended not to hear him.
And then he recovered with a bright red scar to impress the ladies and they were back on the road to the steady pace of their horses' hooves.
---
It got worse. Every time they stopped somewhere Sam would point out how nice it was, how friendly everyone was, how cheap it would be to get them a house. Hell, so many people owed them their lives that the Winchester boys could get a house in pretty much any town. Who didn't want a couple of dragon hunters protecting them? Even retired ones.
"We're not retiring," Dean said. His hand dropped to his stomach. It never hurt anymore but the indentation was there and he could still imagine the tear of his skin beneath the curved dragon claw. "Sam, drop it, okay?"
Usually, Sam did. Not tonight.
"Dad's been dead for three years today, Dean," Sam said quietly.
Dean scowled over his pewter mug. "Shut up, Sammy."
"You don't have to do this anymore," the youngest Winchester insisted, sincere as anything with that stupid over-brushed hair. He leaned forwards, elbows on the table. "You're good with horses and you could work with them. This is a good town, we could stay here. We don't have to go back to the mountains anymore, this is a good time to stop, we can stop."
It would have been a more effective argument if Dean hadn't heard it a hundred times before. He drank down the rest of his bitter ale, wiped his mouth with his fingers, and got to his feet. "I'm gonna get some sleep. We've got an early start. Don't stay up too late, okay? And if you do at least make it fun."
"Dean. Wait."
"Why?" Dean snapped a little too loudly. A few curious eyes turned their way. "Damn it Sam, there are people getting captured and killed by those sons-a-bitches all the time and we're supposed to do nothing? Just stop?"
The bar fell quiet; an impressive feat for such a disreputable bar. Sam ducked his head but no dark looks would deter Dean. "Go to bed," he said sharply. "I'll see you at dawn."
"No you won't," Sam said, softly enough but every man and woman in the bar heard it as loud as a thunderclap. Sam stared out from behind his shaggy hair at their audience. The Winchester boys had inherited their dad's reputation. In a town this small, they were big news. "I'm not coming with you this time. It's enough. We've done enough. I'm staying here."
For a moment it seemed as though Dean would hit him and every hand in the house found a weapon to grasp, but the moment eased. "I'll see you at dawn," Dean repeated eventually. He left with a fierce glare at their enrapt onlookers.
Sam quietly finished his drink in one long swallow and stepped out of the inn without a glance back.
In the morning, Sam's horse was gone. Dean saddled his own and cast his eyes to the east. News of a kidnapped princess had reached Eorthe in the last few days ("A princess, Sammy, think of the reward!") and there was no time to lose. Certainly no time to wait for his idiot brother to stop sulking. When the sun reached its highest point and the shadows retreated, Dean took one last look back at the town; he was sure that given five more minutes, Sam would canter up on his big black horse, full of petulant apologies or silent sullen scowls.
Those five minutes passed. Dean gritted his teeth and rode out alone, kicking up dust in his wake.
---
The cave was halfway up Mount Hades, a ragged uneven peak near the main mountain path to Heofen. It was rumored that fairy hunters walked these paths at dusk. Dean rode quickly; he knew many who thought that this increase of dragon activity was orchestrated as the slow start of an underhanded and typically ruthless fairy war and were preparing themselves for it. It didn't matter to Dean why the dragons did what they did, it only mattered that they were stopped, but a fairy would slow him down.
This dragon was one of the most vicious. It kept its prey alive for weeks, sometimes months, enjoying its captor's terror until the unfortunate being became insensate with fear and insanity. No one escaped.
With Impala, his black mare, tethered out of the way at the steep foot of the mountain, Dean made the slow ascent on the opposite side to the cave. His only advantage was surprise so he measured each step perfectly to stay as hidden as he could for as long as possible. The weather was on his side and he was a skilled climber but by the time he reached the ledge, his muscles ached and his lungs burned.
Dragons like this one rarely left their caves, so when Dean saw the empty mouth with fire flickering inside he feared he was too late. The dragon was already seeking its next victim.
But wide eyes met his as he stepped tentatively into the cave. It was surprisingly small, the curve of the roof low and uneven, though it could easily house the dragon and its prey. The fire pit in the center cast flickering orange light across the walls and past the flames, a young woman sat with her knees drawn up and a ragged gag across her mouth. Her long blonde hair had come partially loose, falling over her face in sweaty strands. Dean looked back over his shoulder and scanned the clear horizon.
With no flames at his heels, he quickly stepped across to the bound princess. "It's okay, we're gonna get you out of here," Dean said as he grabbed his knife. She jerked back but he shook his head and cut through the ropes at her ankles quickly. Her thick blue skirts were torn and covered in mud. "It's okay. I'm not gonna hurt you."
She was making desperate noises behind her gag and Dean's fingers kept slipping at the tight knot. How did the goddamn dragon tie her up without opposable thumbs?
"Stop, stop, get out of here," she said as soon as she could. She came barely to Dean's shoulder but packed a whole lot of intimidation in her stance. Beneath her sleeves her arms were strong, her skin was sun-dark and old scars lingered beneath new ones, red against white as she rolled up the lace. "I bet you fall for this trick every time. Get out of here."
"Who the hell are you?" Dean snapped, drawing his sword. If this woman was a princess, he'd eat his damn horse.
"Jo Harvelle, otherwise known as a decoy. Get the hell out of here, Dean Winchester, how many times do I have to yell at you before it gets through your thick skull?"
It occurred to Dean as the small but suspiciously strong young woman pushed him out of the mouth of the cave that he should have asked exactly which princess was captured. He should have checked somehow that this was a legitimate hunt but that was Sam's job, not Dean's, and Sam had been slacking for a long time. Dean immediately began surveying the paths down, looking for the most sheltered, eyes catching Jo's for a brief moment. "Where's the dragon?"
Jo's face paled as she looked somewhere over Dean's shoulder. Dean's stomach turned to lead. "It's there."
Dean turned around slowly in time for claws as long as his arm and as hard as steel to crash him to the ground.
---
Dean lifted his head and instantly regretted it. He felt heavy, sodden down with sweat and blood but he was alive. Another tilt of his head had him biting back a groan of pain. Opening his eyes was an ordeal that took far too long and by the time his dry eyes could take in his surroundings he wanted to close them again. He must have hit his head pretty hard because the room swayed and tilted and it took a few slow blinks for him to focus enough to see that the thing casting the shadow through the cave was a huge dragon, golden-glinting and curled up. Its eyes were closed and its tail was still but Dean stayed where he was. If he stumbled and woke the beast, he would be dead in seconds.
At least Jo was gone. Dean hoped she had gotten away.
There was a cut that stretched halfway up Dean's arm, shallow but oozing thick blood. He grimaced but his shirt was too torn to salvage enough to make a bandage. Pressing his hand to it tightly, Dean looked around the dim cave for anything at all he could use to defend himself.
The dragon opened its pitch black eyes. "Hello Dean," it said with its low rumble.
Dean had no urge to speak to the creature so he pushed himself up, first to his knees and then to his feet. He wasn't tied. The ropes lay cut where Jo had been bound but Dean was free to walk. The sheath at his belt was empty of his sword and as he looked around the cave desperately, the dragon began to laugh.
"Do you think I would leave a sword with you, Winchester? I know you. Shame your brother isn't here to save you this time."
The words stopped Dean for a moment. There were few dragons that Sam and Dean had failed to kill, even fewer who would have gotten a look at either of them. It narrowed it down a lot and Dean's eyes flicked to the dragon's tail. It flicked and the slick silver scar shone in the moonlight beyond.
"Alastair," Dean said. It had been a close escape last time and shit, Dean would not have come here if he had known. He had known that the dragon in this area had a reputation for cruelty that extended far beyond the norm for his breed but Alastair's lair was fifteen miles away from here. He had moved, thrown Dean off scent, and now Dean was caught again. He groaned loudly and considered thumping his head again to knock himself out. Blackness and oblivion would be better than that white gaze.
"You recognize me," Alastair said, faux-delight dripping from his forked tongue. "That will make this so much more fun."
"What do you want with me?"
Dean's head was beginning to thump with pain again and when Alastair spoke, the words washed over him uselessly. The dragon's tone became sharper and Dean focused harder. "You will be here a while, Dean, so listen to me. You will be mine and you will be a dragon. Have you heard the myth that dragons can catch a man's soul and shape it to become a dragon? That's what I want with you, boy." Golden lips pulled back on sharp teeth into a mockery of a smile. "Of course, I'll drive you a little crazy first, it's more fun that way. I don't believe it will take too long, do you?"
They were nothing but words. Dean wrapped his hands around his chest and lowered himself to the floor on stiff, bruised knees and turned his head from the dragon. There was no way it was possible to catch a soul when a man died, no dragon could ever do that. Nothing could.
But there had been so many new dragons lately, coinciding with the largest rise of dragon-killed citizens in a thousand years. Something had to be going on and Dean had apparently got to the bottom of it.
"You may as well settle down," Alastair drawled. He stretched luxuriously, content shudders pulsing beneath his scales, ending in a flick of the dangerously-spiked tail. Dean caught an infuriatingly tempting glimpse of black sky beyond and then the cave fell to darkness.
"I hate my life," Dean announced. He pretended not to hear the dragon's dark chuckle. Dean had never met a dragon that laughed but then, he had never given them much of a chance.
There was nothing Dean could do but wait. He closed his eyes and waited for his head to stop spinning. He passed out before that happened.
---
Dean's time to strike came sometime the next day. There was no way to know for sure how long it had been. When Dean lay unconscious with his head against the hard wall it could have been anywhere from three minutes to three hours. It could be blinding sunlight out there but with the shadow of the motionless dragon Dean still shivered until he had to bundle up closer to the embers of the dying fire.
Through Dean's childhood, every breath he took was carefully measured to keep him alert enough to learn the art of dragon hunting. Sam may have gone along with it to humor their father but Dean lived it with every fiber of his being and now it was being tested and he would win. There had to be a way out of this. If he could just think through the concussed haze in his mind -
And then the dragon's tail swished into the cave, kicking up a thin sheen of dust that sparkled in the sunlight that shone through. Dean held his breath. The gap was easily big enough to walk through and he wouldn't need to step over the dragon to get to it.
Dean got to his feet. Luckily he could walk lightly and the ground didn't crunch beneath his boots. He approached in almost silence, nothing but the deafening thud of his heart disturbing it. He could do it. A few more steps and he would be out of there. The dragon would never know where he went. He could get free and find his brother and say Sam was right, this is a stupid goddamn job.
Then Dean heard a low metallic click like steel against stone. The sound of a dragon's fire igniting in its throat.
It was a sound that meant get the hell out of there, quick. It was a sound that meant Dean was about to die a horrible death and he would never step in sunlight again. It was a sound that meant Dean would never get back to his brother.
There was a horrible pause, then a rumble that shook the rock beneath Dean's feet. The air itself seemed to set on fire and Dean could smell his scorched flesh before he felt it and he hoped that at least the dragon would miss his soul. He couldn't become a dragon. Death was one thing but that...
A scream ripped free of Dean's throat and he fell to the ground. His legs were useless beneath him, motionless and charred. His skin was burned away in patches, blackened flesh curled against red and tiny flames died down on his ruined clothes. The pain was all-consuming and when another scream coiled around his own, Dean barely noticed. He didn't notice the scrape of claws against stone or the thud of a heavy skull against the floor. He didn't notice the dragon's silver blood pouring down across the floor until it almost reached him and he rolled away, confused. It was nothing short of a miracle that Dean managed to scuffle backwards into the shadows.
What he saw could never have been expected. The dragon lay half out of its den, limbs contorted towards its throat where a long silver sword lay embedded. An imposing figure in a long tan coat pulled at the hilt and wiped the thick blood against his coat, though a second later there was no stain.
Dean's vision blurred, but he knew what he was seeing.
---
No human had a look that deep in his eye. No human cast the shadows of wings in the flickering firelight. No human could slay a dragon with a blade that small without breaking a sweat. A fairy. Dean was facing a fairy.
As if the dragon hadn't been bad enough.
"This is not a good week," Dean muttered. His useless legs wouldn't work even now, even with adrenalin pumping away the pain, so all he could do was squirm back until the cave wall rose behind him, impenetrable. No escape.
The fairy frowned. It was quite an impressive frown that managed to get across quite a lot of confusion and generalised disapproval in quite a small space. "You," the fairy intoned, "are not a princess."
"No shit," Dean replied. "What, fairies are into rescuing helpless princesses now?"
"I doubt any princess is entirely helpless."
"Then you've never met a princess," Dean snapped.
The fairy stepped closer and sheathed his sword. "I am a prince in a large family. I've met many."
Great. A fairy prince and Dean just happily insulted all his sisters. This was usually where Sam would be glaring at him to shut the hell up.
"You may not be a princess but I shall still rescue you."
"I don't need rescuing."
The fairy stared down at Dean's tattered britches and the mottled, blackened skin beneath. "I won't hurt you."
"Yeah, right," Dean said, but he didn't protest when he was pulled to his feet easily. His legs worked with a little assistance and he grimaced against the pain, though at least that meant the burns weren't too serious.
The fairy was strong and took most of his weight easily. "I am Prince Castiel," he said once they were out of the range of the fierce burned smell of the deceased dragon.
"Dean," he replied blandly, and ignored the lingering stare that his short reply got him. "Where are you taking me?"
"To safety."
"Yours or mine?"
Castiel regarded him coldly. "If it were mine, I would be flying."
They walked some way in silence. The slope was easier on this side, though Dean's damaged legs creaked and burned at every step. It was easier than it could have been with the help of the fairy. Time was passing swiftly and the sun had settled low and heavy in the sky by the time they had limped to a ledge halfway down the slope. "Where I'm from there is a prophecy about a man born who will bring about the unity of Eorthe and Heofen," Castiel said, completely failing to sound casual.
Dean sat himself on a flat rock with a groan and waited for the thudding in his ears. "Really."
"Yes. It is said that his name will be Dean Winchester."
For a brief second, Dean froze. It had to be some kind of trick, some telepathic fairy thing. Fairies were known to be ruthless and manipulative when they needed something but what could this fairy prince need from Dean? All Dean was good for was hunting dragons and Castiel already had that down. "Too bad my name's Smith," he said as smoothly as he could.
"Yes," Castiel said, not looking away for a second. "Too bad."
---
By the time they stopped at the foot of the mountains, Dean was almost unconscious. The pain was intense. Castiel tried telling him that was good, that meant the damage was not too severe, and Dean had to take a few deep breaths and remind himself that for whatever reason, this fairy was trying to help and Dean would be screwed if he was left halfway up a mountain with useless legs. "Can you even feel pain?"
"Not exactly," Castiel replied.
"Then shut the hell up telling me it's not serious."
Castiel stared at him and Dean really hoped that silence didn't mean he had gone too far. Dean had a lot of time to wonder why he was tempted to push further still; Castiel didn't say another word.
When Dean's knees buckled at last, Castiel set up camp beneath a low overhanging rock. The storm clouds on the horizon would reach them by morning, he said, and it was best to be sure of shelter. The floor was uneven and rough but Dean lay down on it without hesitation, groaning as the pain shot through him once more. It was a relief to be still for long enough to breathe; Castiel moved with fast strides and a relentless pace that was only just this side of bearable.
At least now they could rest. Castiel set up a fire which Dean eyed with distaste, remembering the flickering burn of it through his flesh, though the heat of it was welcome in the cold mountain nights.
"Sleep," Castiel said simply, and though Dean glared he couldn't bring himself to protest. He rolled out his blanket, arranged himself to not knock his legs too much in the night, and even the haze of pain did little to keep him awake.
---
Dean's legs were cold. So cold. He drew them in close to the rest of his body and cringed at the stretch and split of broken skin and then his knees hit something close. It was dark but Dean could see the outline of a creature ducked beside him in the moonlight and after a few seconds Dean could see the increasingly familiar lines of the fairy's ridiculous tan coat.
"Go back to sleep," Castiel said. "You need rest."
"What are you doing?"
Though he tried to sit up, Castiel had a lot more strength and kept Dean lying down with a hand to his chest. "You are safe with me, Dean. You know fairies keep to their word. I give you mine that you will always be safe with me."
Always. Dean felt a strange tug in his chest and swallowed hard. It was just gratefulness, he told himself firmly.
"You will get cold," Castiel said as he lay down beside Dean. "I don't feel it but you may use my body heat. I'm afraid these blankets do little to keep out the chill."
But if it was the night air causing this strange tingling chill, why was it focused solely on Dean's legs? He couldn't find his voice to protest. At the touch of Castiel's hand upon his waist Dean began to feel drowsy once more and peace flooded through him. Comforting warmth followed, and if his legs still felt strangely chilled then at least they didn't hurt anymore.
Dean fell asleep with Castiel's breath ruffling his hair and sparks of Castiel's slow magic rebuilding him.
---
With the heat of the day warming Dean, Castiel moved away, making sure not to disturb the sleeping man. So when Dean awoke at last he was alone beneath the blanket, stretching out his limbs slowly into the empty space. He was a little sore from lying so long on the rock but compared to the night before, he felt amazing.
Mostly, Dean felt safe. He could hear Castiel moving quietly around, the soft whisper of his coat loud in the humid air, and though the presence of a fairy should be less than comforting Dean found himself relaxed. Castiel had had plenty of time to kill him and yet Dean still breathed. Dean opened his eyes; the sky was thick with dark clouds, the heat of the storm was palpable and Castiel was staring at Dean.
Uncertainty had Dean sitting up but Castiel didn't blink or look away. Dean held the strange intense gaze until a soft snort caught his attention and he glanced to the side. It came from Impala, his beautiful black mare who stood nearby nibbling grass contentedly. She hadn't been there when Dean went to sleep. To break the tense silence, Dean asked, "How did you find her?"
"She came to us," Castiel said. "Your horse has great affection for you."
Dean raised an eyebrow. "You fairies can talk to horses?"
Castiel shook his head. "No." He pushed something into his pocket and didn't look away from Dean. "Not many horses would brave a dragon-riddled valley alone for anyone."
Impala huffed again and surveyed them calmly. Dean loved his horse more than anything but Sammy; she was loyal, fast, and agile despite her age. She had been a gift from his father many years ago and had carried Dean without fuss into a hundred fights. Dean was grateful to see her alive and well, though that did little to negate his suspicion. "If she came here alone," he asked after a second, "how did she get free of her rope?"
No reply. When Dean turned, Castiel was offering him a silver canteen, which Dean took gladly. The water was fresh and clean.
"How are you feeling?" Castiel asked.
With a mouthful of water, Dean froze. He looked down at his legs and quickly back at Castiel. They were completely intact. The skin was a little mottled and entirely hairless but they looked as though the burn had been months ago, not hours. The only sign that time hadn't skipped so far was Dean's clothes; they were still in tatters. He smoothed a hand along the strangely-textured skin and swallowed. "What the hell did you do?"
"In your injured state it would have been unwise for you to ride," he explained. "There has been no lasting damage."
If Castiel could do that, what else could he do? Magic was dangerous. Everyone knew that, and everyone avoided the fairies because of it. Dean should have followed suit. "And I'm supposed to trust you on that?" Dean snapped.
Castiel sighed and cast his sullen gaze across the mountain peaks, speaking as though he hadn't heard Dean. "We must find your brother. If this prophecy has begun, he will play a large part. I was under the impression that the two of you rode together. It is unfortunate we must leave the mountains to find him."
"What are you talking about?" Dean got to his feet and Impala paced over to him placidly, hooves clipping on the uneven ground. "I don't -"
"Don't lie to me, Dean Winchester," the fairy said. The intensity in his sudden gaze startled Dean. "I have healed you but I can just as easily harm you. I have rescued you but I could just as easily leave you here. I am a prince and I am on your side so show me some respect." His voice softened then, though his eyes did not. "We will find your brother and then we'll return. If this is the true reason I was sent to these mountains then I accept the task gladly. You would do well to do the same."
"I'll come with you to find Sam but you're wasting your time," Dean said. He mounted his horse and stared down at Castiel. Even from this height he was intimidated. "I'm not getting caught up in some goddamn Fae plot, prophecy or whatever, okay?"
"It is unlikely you'll have a choice," Castiel said. He continued quickly, stampeding over Dean's indignant reply. "Ride towards Eorthe but don't use the main road. There will be others looking for you. I will wait for you in Pontiac."
There was a quiet flutter of wings and Castiel was gone.
Dean stared. "Those fuckers are fast," he said. Impala whinnied as if in reply and the two of them set off reluctantly through the mountain roads.
---
The smaller paths were uneven and made for a difficult ride, but Dean still felt refreshed and comfortable thanks to whatever the fairy had done to him. It took him many hours of rough terrain before he began to tire and even then, his horse didn't falter at all. She continued as if the jagged rocks beneath her feet were as soft as clouds.
By the time they reached the closed gates of Pontiac, it was long past sunset. As the closest town to the mountains, nestled in the foothills beside a notoriously dangerous road, the sentries were cautious. Dean's ragged look and sword at his belt made them suspicious as he tapped on the tall oak gate.
"Who goes there?"
"Dean Chaucer," he replied with his most winning smile. It was lost beneath the sweat and grime.
"And your business?" An ancient eye closed over the narrow peephole, eyelid drooping.
"Rest. I've ridden hard."
"Why did you come from the mountains?"
Dean knew he should have swung around and approached from the other direction, but his energy was waning fast. He reeled off the old familiar lie with a sigh. "I've been searching for my lost sister. She was taken three weeks ago."
"Then she is dead," the grizzled old sentry woman said from behind a wild bundle of hair. At least she had opened the gate, though her squint was no less wary. "You did well to give up."
Dean rolled his eyes when she turned her back. The people of the foothills were rarely beams of light but with the dragons at their backs he supposed they had no reason to be.
Selecting the nearest slightly inhabitable inn, a lopsided building with the low-roofed stables slanting off to one side, Dean pulled out his mostly-intact pocket of coins. The Roadhouse. Impala gave her quiet approval when a handful of oats was presented as a welcome and Dean headed immediately for the room he was given.
It was small and musty with no window, but it was clean enough. Dean had hardly settled on the bed when there was a sharp knock on the door. Assuming that there was a problem with Impala, who tended to steamroll anyone who showed even the slightest weakness, usually ending in broken teeth, Dean sighed and opened it.
"Hello, Dean."
Castiel was still wearing the same clothes. Dean was too, but that was hardly through choice, and Dean wondered if fairies ever bothered changing. Probably not. Leaving the door open, Dean backed into the room. "You know, you could give a guy a rest before you start bugging him again."
"You did well to choose this inn," Castiel said after a short pause, clearly deciding not to acknowledge Dean's complaint. "It is a safe spot for many dragon hunters."
"Seriously?" Dean asked in surprise. He supposed it had gotten that way from being so close to the gates; dragon hunters had a tendency to be in dire need of a drink and a bed after a long day, and this place was facing the dragon-filled mountains. "Huh. Well, I'm not staying here long. Gonna get a few hours sleep and then head out. You should rest too."
"I don't need to rest," Castiel replied. "And you should perhaps speak to the owner of this place before you sleep. She has a lot of knowledge but she will not speak to me."
"Why not?"
"I don't believe she trusts me."
Dean snorted. "Can't think why not." It was a surprise the woman hadn't shot Castiel the moment he stepped into view. Most would. "Fairies have a bad rep, Cas. Can you make yourself any less obvious?"
Castiel looked down at himself, then back at Dean with a frown. "No. Can you be any less obviously human?"
"Give me a pair of strap on wings and some fairy dust and I'll see what I can do." Dean sat down on the bed despite Castiel's suggestion, running his hands over the healed skin of his legs with a glance at Castiel. It was hard to believe the guy was a prince. His clothes hung off him awkwardly, like they were hand-me-downs from a few generations ago, and he stood with his shoulders hunched and his eyes always a little downcast unless he was staring creepily at Dean. There was none of the polished royal sheen on him. Dean liked him a little better for that. "I need some sleep. Come back in the morning and maybe I'll see the owner. Can you magic me up some clothes? I'm gonna attract a lot of attention in this."
The way Castiel looked at things made Dean uneasy. He studied everything as if he was searching past the obvious and further down, like he was looking for something more than Dean could see. That scrutinizing stare was cast down over Dean's clothes and eventually, Castiel nodded. "I may be able to find something suitable."
Dean's fingers closed around the necklace that hung over his collarbone; at least that hadn't been damaged with the dragon's fire. It had been a gift from Sam a long time ago. "Close the door behind you," Dean said pointedly, but when Castiel pulled it shut with him still inside the room, Dean sighed. "I meant with you on the other side."
"My mistake," Castiel said and ducked quietly out of the room.
Fairies were strange but Dean had to admit, they were a lot less evil than he had been led to believe. At the very least Dean had expected a diabolical laugh. There was always diabolical laughter in the stories. He hadn't expected a guy somewhere between polite and commanding with seriously bad fashion sense and a tendency to glare.
The exhaustion from the long ride caught up with Dean. Lying above the covers with the lumpy pillows beneath his head, Dean fell asleep.
---
Part two
Author: slartibartfast
Fandom/Genre: Supernatural
Pairing (s): Dean/Castiel
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~13,000
Warnings: Utter crack: contains dragons, fairies, and the Impala as a horse.
Summary: In a world where humans and magical creatures do not mix, Sam and Dean Winchester were brought up by their legendary dragon-hunting father to be the best in the familiar business. Their simple life is disrupted when Dean is rescued by a dragon-slaying fairy prince. The fairy, Castiel, drags Dean and his brother into a world of prophecy and fate and if all goes to plan, human and fairy will stand together as they did in ancient times. In more ways than one.
Artist: daggomus_prime
Art post: Click here.
Beta: the lovely thunder_nari - thank you! ♥
It started with fire that burned through the afternoon as unrelenting as the midsummer sun. The people of the village gathered and fought and they failed while John Winchester held the hands of each of his sons and watched their world fall apart.
"The dragons are getting more fearless by the day," a preacher said quietly. He was the only other motionless person in a sea of desperate movements, the only soft voice beneath the roar of the fire. "They come to unprotected villages and towns far from their own lands in the mountains."
John stared at the preacher's impassive face. "My wife was in there. I don't give a damn about dragon politics."
"They say someone is organizing the dragons, bringing their fire to us," the preacher continued as if John had not spoken.
From somewhere around his father's knee, Dean squinted up at the black-cloaked old man. Sammy was screaming and there were tears reddening his father's smoke-gray face and the preacher was talking like nothing had happened at all. Something cold and angry bubbled up inside Dean's tiny chest and he tugged his father's hand until they were far from the preacher.
The fire was beginning to die down but Dean knew he would never see his mom again. He would have to be strong now. The dragons would get them if they showed any weakness at all, Dean knew, and he was ready to follow his father into the fight before John said a word.
From the fire and the glint in the preacher's eye, an obsession was born.
---
Seventeen years later, Dean still lived with that day heavy on his shoulders every moment of his life. The fixation had become John strength; he grew to be the greatest dragon hunter in the South and his sons were shadows cast by his imposing figure.
That changed when John's broken body drifted upstream to Pontiac, a little town near the mountains. The dragon had left his face clear of burns so all would see that the greatest hunter was dead but where one was cut down, two took his place; Dean and Sam made their names as infamous as their father's had been.
Sometimes the hunt got a little too close to the bone. Literally. This time Dean's insides almost became his outsides and the cut was deeper than he'd suffered before. Sam had stitched him back together and they had found a nearby village to rest in, but Dean knew it was going to be a pain in the ass to recover from this. It would be weeks at least until he could get back on a horse, months until he could fight another dragon.
"You need to get back out there," Dean said after a week of Sam pacing across the dim borrowed room restlessly. "There are still dragons to hunt, you can't stay here just 'cause I'm out of action."
Sam stared at Dean like he'd just spat fire and, after a tense pause, left the room. That was not exactly what Dean had meant, but before he could work up a proper anger about it, Sam was back with two cups of hot tea and a couple of plates of food on a tray. They were staying in Bobby Singer's old room, a man well-versed in dragon lore since his wife went the same way John Winchester's did. His obsession remained mainly theoretical and that was something that Sam approved of loudly and frequently. Dean preferred the more hands-on approach.
"I don't think we should do this again," Sam said. It was the first time he said it out loud. Dean had seen it simmering beneath Sam's skin, that little niggling doubt growing into certainty. This day had been coming for a long time but Dean turned his head and pretended not to hear him.
And then he recovered with a bright red scar to impress the ladies and they were back on the road to the steady pace of their horses' hooves.
---
It got worse. Every time they stopped somewhere Sam would point out how nice it was, how friendly everyone was, how cheap it would be to get them a house. Hell, so many people owed them their lives that the Winchester boys could get a house in pretty much any town. Who didn't want a couple of dragon hunters protecting them? Even retired ones.
"We're not retiring," Dean said. His hand dropped to his stomach. It never hurt anymore but the indentation was there and he could still imagine the tear of his skin beneath the curved dragon claw. "Sam, drop it, okay?"
Usually, Sam did. Not tonight.
"Dad's been dead for three years today, Dean," Sam said quietly.
Dean scowled over his pewter mug. "Shut up, Sammy."
"You don't have to do this anymore," the youngest Winchester insisted, sincere as anything with that stupid over-brushed hair. He leaned forwards, elbows on the table. "You're good with horses and you could work with them. This is a good town, we could stay here. We don't have to go back to the mountains anymore, this is a good time to stop, we can stop."
It would have been a more effective argument if Dean hadn't heard it a hundred times before. He drank down the rest of his bitter ale, wiped his mouth with his fingers, and got to his feet. "I'm gonna get some sleep. We've got an early start. Don't stay up too late, okay? And if you do at least make it fun."
"Dean. Wait."
"Why?" Dean snapped a little too loudly. A few curious eyes turned their way. "Damn it Sam, there are people getting captured and killed by those sons-a-bitches all the time and we're supposed to do nothing? Just stop?"
The bar fell quiet; an impressive feat for such a disreputable bar. Sam ducked his head but no dark looks would deter Dean. "Go to bed," he said sharply. "I'll see you at dawn."
"No you won't," Sam said, softly enough but every man and woman in the bar heard it as loud as a thunderclap. Sam stared out from behind his shaggy hair at their audience. The Winchester boys had inherited their dad's reputation. In a town this small, they were big news. "I'm not coming with you this time. It's enough. We've done enough. I'm staying here."
For a moment it seemed as though Dean would hit him and every hand in the house found a weapon to grasp, but the moment eased. "I'll see you at dawn," Dean repeated eventually. He left with a fierce glare at their enrapt onlookers.
Sam quietly finished his drink in one long swallow and stepped out of the inn without a glance back.
In the morning, Sam's horse was gone. Dean saddled his own and cast his eyes to the east. News of a kidnapped princess had reached Eorthe in the last few days ("A princess, Sammy, think of the reward!") and there was no time to lose. Certainly no time to wait for his idiot brother to stop sulking. When the sun reached its highest point and the shadows retreated, Dean took one last look back at the town; he was sure that given five more minutes, Sam would canter up on his big black horse, full of petulant apologies or silent sullen scowls.
Those five minutes passed. Dean gritted his teeth and rode out alone, kicking up dust in his wake.
---
The cave was halfway up Mount Hades, a ragged uneven peak near the main mountain path to Heofen. It was rumored that fairy hunters walked these paths at dusk. Dean rode quickly; he knew many who thought that this increase of dragon activity was orchestrated as the slow start of an underhanded and typically ruthless fairy war and were preparing themselves for it. It didn't matter to Dean why the dragons did what they did, it only mattered that they were stopped, but a fairy would slow him down.
This dragon was one of the most vicious. It kept its prey alive for weeks, sometimes months, enjoying its captor's terror until the unfortunate being became insensate with fear and insanity. No one escaped.
With Impala, his black mare, tethered out of the way at the steep foot of the mountain, Dean made the slow ascent on the opposite side to the cave. His only advantage was surprise so he measured each step perfectly to stay as hidden as he could for as long as possible. The weather was on his side and he was a skilled climber but by the time he reached the ledge, his muscles ached and his lungs burned.
Dragons like this one rarely left their caves, so when Dean saw the empty mouth with fire flickering inside he feared he was too late. The dragon was already seeking its next victim.
But wide eyes met his as he stepped tentatively into the cave. It was surprisingly small, the curve of the roof low and uneven, though it could easily house the dragon and its prey. The fire pit in the center cast flickering orange light across the walls and past the flames, a young woman sat with her knees drawn up and a ragged gag across her mouth. Her long blonde hair had come partially loose, falling over her face in sweaty strands. Dean looked back over his shoulder and scanned the clear horizon.
With no flames at his heels, he quickly stepped across to the bound princess. "It's okay, we're gonna get you out of here," Dean said as he grabbed his knife. She jerked back but he shook his head and cut through the ropes at her ankles quickly. Her thick blue skirts were torn and covered in mud. "It's okay. I'm not gonna hurt you."
She was making desperate noises behind her gag and Dean's fingers kept slipping at the tight knot. How did the goddamn dragon tie her up without opposable thumbs?
"Stop, stop, get out of here," she said as soon as she could. She came barely to Dean's shoulder but packed a whole lot of intimidation in her stance. Beneath her sleeves her arms were strong, her skin was sun-dark and old scars lingered beneath new ones, red against white as she rolled up the lace. "I bet you fall for this trick every time. Get out of here."
"Who the hell are you?" Dean snapped, drawing his sword. If this woman was a princess, he'd eat his damn horse.
"Jo Harvelle, otherwise known as a decoy. Get the hell out of here, Dean Winchester, how many times do I have to yell at you before it gets through your thick skull?"
It occurred to Dean as the small but suspiciously strong young woman pushed him out of the mouth of the cave that he should have asked exactly which princess was captured. He should have checked somehow that this was a legitimate hunt but that was Sam's job, not Dean's, and Sam had been slacking for a long time. Dean immediately began surveying the paths down, looking for the most sheltered, eyes catching Jo's for a brief moment. "Where's the dragon?"
Jo's face paled as she looked somewhere over Dean's shoulder. Dean's stomach turned to lead. "It's there."
Dean turned around slowly in time for claws as long as his arm and as hard as steel to crash him to the ground.
---
Dean lifted his head and instantly regretted it. He felt heavy, sodden down with sweat and blood but he was alive. Another tilt of his head had him biting back a groan of pain. Opening his eyes was an ordeal that took far too long and by the time his dry eyes could take in his surroundings he wanted to close them again. He must have hit his head pretty hard because the room swayed and tilted and it took a few slow blinks for him to focus enough to see that the thing casting the shadow through the cave was a huge dragon, golden-glinting and curled up. Its eyes were closed and its tail was still but Dean stayed where he was. If he stumbled and woke the beast, he would be dead in seconds.
At least Jo was gone. Dean hoped she had gotten away.
There was a cut that stretched halfway up Dean's arm, shallow but oozing thick blood. He grimaced but his shirt was too torn to salvage enough to make a bandage. Pressing his hand to it tightly, Dean looked around the dim cave for anything at all he could use to defend himself.
The dragon opened its pitch black eyes. "Hello Dean," it said with its low rumble.
Dean had no urge to speak to the creature so he pushed himself up, first to his knees and then to his feet. He wasn't tied. The ropes lay cut where Jo had been bound but Dean was free to walk. The sheath at his belt was empty of his sword and as he looked around the cave desperately, the dragon began to laugh.
"Do you think I would leave a sword with you, Winchester? I know you. Shame your brother isn't here to save you this time."
The words stopped Dean for a moment. There were few dragons that Sam and Dean had failed to kill, even fewer who would have gotten a look at either of them. It narrowed it down a lot and Dean's eyes flicked to the dragon's tail. It flicked and the slick silver scar shone in the moonlight beyond.
"Alastair," Dean said. It had been a close escape last time and shit, Dean would not have come here if he had known. He had known that the dragon in this area had a reputation for cruelty that extended far beyond the norm for his breed but Alastair's lair was fifteen miles away from here. He had moved, thrown Dean off scent, and now Dean was caught again. He groaned loudly and considered thumping his head again to knock himself out. Blackness and oblivion would be better than that white gaze.
"You recognize me," Alastair said, faux-delight dripping from his forked tongue. "That will make this so much more fun."
"What do you want with me?"
Dean's head was beginning to thump with pain again and when Alastair spoke, the words washed over him uselessly. The dragon's tone became sharper and Dean focused harder. "You will be here a while, Dean, so listen to me. You will be mine and you will be a dragon. Have you heard the myth that dragons can catch a man's soul and shape it to become a dragon? That's what I want with you, boy." Golden lips pulled back on sharp teeth into a mockery of a smile. "Of course, I'll drive you a little crazy first, it's more fun that way. I don't believe it will take too long, do you?"
They were nothing but words. Dean wrapped his hands around his chest and lowered himself to the floor on stiff, bruised knees and turned his head from the dragon. There was no way it was possible to catch a soul when a man died, no dragon could ever do that. Nothing could.
But there had been so many new dragons lately, coinciding with the largest rise of dragon-killed citizens in a thousand years. Something had to be going on and Dean had apparently got to the bottom of it.
"You may as well settle down," Alastair drawled. He stretched luxuriously, content shudders pulsing beneath his scales, ending in a flick of the dangerously-spiked tail. Dean caught an infuriatingly tempting glimpse of black sky beyond and then the cave fell to darkness.
"I hate my life," Dean announced. He pretended not to hear the dragon's dark chuckle. Dean had never met a dragon that laughed but then, he had never given them much of a chance.
There was nothing Dean could do but wait. He closed his eyes and waited for his head to stop spinning. He passed out before that happened.
---
Dean's time to strike came sometime the next day. There was no way to know for sure how long it had been. When Dean lay unconscious with his head against the hard wall it could have been anywhere from three minutes to three hours. It could be blinding sunlight out there but with the shadow of the motionless dragon Dean still shivered until he had to bundle up closer to the embers of the dying fire.
Through Dean's childhood, every breath he took was carefully measured to keep him alert enough to learn the art of dragon hunting. Sam may have gone along with it to humor their father but Dean lived it with every fiber of his being and now it was being tested and he would win. There had to be a way out of this. If he could just think through the concussed haze in his mind -
And then the dragon's tail swished into the cave, kicking up a thin sheen of dust that sparkled in the sunlight that shone through. Dean held his breath. The gap was easily big enough to walk through and he wouldn't need to step over the dragon to get to it.
Dean got to his feet. Luckily he could walk lightly and the ground didn't crunch beneath his boots. He approached in almost silence, nothing but the deafening thud of his heart disturbing it. He could do it. A few more steps and he would be out of there. The dragon would never know where he went. He could get free and find his brother and say Sam was right, this is a stupid goddamn job.
Then Dean heard a low metallic click like steel against stone. The sound of a dragon's fire igniting in its throat.
It was a sound that meant get the hell out of there, quick. It was a sound that meant Dean was about to die a horrible death and he would never step in sunlight again. It was a sound that meant Dean would never get back to his brother.
There was a horrible pause, then a rumble that shook the rock beneath Dean's feet. The air itself seemed to set on fire and Dean could smell his scorched flesh before he felt it and he hoped that at least the dragon would miss his soul. He couldn't become a dragon. Death was one thing but that...
A scream ripped free of Dean's throat and he fell to the ground. His legs were useless beneath him, motionless and charred. His skin was burned away in patches, blackened flesh curled against red and tiny flames died down on his ruined clothes. The pain was all-consuming and when another scream coiled around his own, Dean barely noticed. He didn't notice the scrape of claws against stone or the thud of a heavy skull against the floor. He didn't notice the dragon's silver blood pouring down across the floor until it almost reached him and he rolled away, confused. It was nothing short of a miracle that Dean managed to scuffle backwards into the shadows.
What he saw could never have been expected. The dragon lay half out of its den, limbs contorted towards its throat where a long silver sword lay embedded. An imposing figure in a long tan coat pulled at the hilt and wiped the thick blood against his coat, though a second later there was no stain.
Dean's vision blurred, but he knew what he was seeing.
---
No human had a look that deep in his eye. No human cast the shadows of wings in the flickering firelight. No human could slay a dragon with a blade that small without breaking a sweat. A fairy. Dean was facing a fairy.
As if the dragon hadn't been bad enough.
"This is not a good week," Dean muttered. His useless legs wouldn't work even now, even with adrenalin pumping away the pain, so all he could do was squirm back until the cave wall rose behind him, impenetrable. No escape.
The fairy frowned. It was quite an impressive frown that managed to get across quite a lot of confusion and generalised disapproval in quite a small space. "You," the fairy intoned, "are not a princess."
"No shit," Dean replied. "What, fairies are into rescuing helpless princesses now?"
"I doubt any princess is entirely helpless."
"Then you've never met a princess," Dean snapped.
The fairy stepped closer and sheathed his sword. "I am a prince in a large family. I've met many."
Great. A fairy prince and Dean just happily insulted all his sisters. This was usually where Sam would be glaring at him to shut the hell up.
"You may not be a princess but I shall still rescue you."
"I don't need rescuing."
The fairy stared down at Dean's tattered britches and the mottled, blackened skin beneath. "I won't hurt you."
"Yeah, right," Dean said, but he didn't protest when he was pulled to his feet easily. His legs worked with a little assistance and he grimaced against the pain, though at least that meant the burns weren't too serious.
The fairy was strong and took most of his weight easily. "I am Prince Castiel," he said once they were out of the range of the fierce burned smell of the deceased dragon.
"Dean," he replied blandly, and ignored the lingering stare that his short reply got him. "Where are you taking me?"
"To safety."
"Yours or mine?"
Castiel regarded him coldly. "If it were mine, I would be flying."
They walked some way in silence. The slope was easier on this side, though Dean's damaged legs creaked and burned at every step. It was easier than it could have been with the help of the fairy. Time was passing swiftly and the sun had settled low and heavy in the sky by the time they had limped to a ledge halfway down the slope. "Where I'm from there is a prophecy about a man born who will bring about the unity of Eorthe and Heofen," Castiel said, completely failing to sound casual.
Dean sat himself on a flat rock with a groan and waited for the thudding in his ears. "Really."
"Yes. It is said that his name will be Dean Winchester."
For a brief second, Dean froze. It had to be some kind of trick, some telepathic fairy thing. Fairies were known to be ruthless and manipulative when they needed something but what could this fairy prince need from Dean? All Dean was good for was hunting dragons and Castiel already had that down. "Too bad my name's Smith," he said as smoothly as he could.
"Yes," Castiel said, not looking away for a second. "Too bad."
---
By the time they stopped at the foot of the mountains, Dean was almost unconscious. The pain was intense. Castiel tried telling him that was good, that meant the damage was not too severe, and Dean had to take a few deep breaths and remind himself that for whatever reason, this fairy was trying to help and Dean would be screwed if he was left halfway up a mountain with useless legs. "Can you even feel pain?"
"Not exactly," Castiel replied.
"Then shut the hell up telling me it's not serious."
Castiel stared at him and Dean really hoped that silence didn't mean he had gone too far. Dean had a lot of time to wonder why he was tempted to push further still; Castiel didn't say another word.
When Dean's knees buckled at last, Castiel set up camp beneath a low overhanging rock. The storm clouds on the horizon would reach them by morning, he said, and it was best to be sure of shelter. The floor was uneven and rough but Dean lay down on it without hesitation, groaning as the pain shot through him once more. It was a relief to be still for long enough to breathe; Castiel moved with fast strides and a relentless pace that was only just this side of bearable.
At least now they could rest. Castiel set up a fire which Dean eyed with distaste, remembering the flickering burn of it through his flesh, though the heat of it was welcome in the cold mountain nights.
"Sleep," Castiel said simply, and though Dean glared he couldn't bring himself to protest. He rolled out his blanket, arranged himself to not knock his legs too much in the night, and even the haze of pain did little to keep him awake.
---
Dean's legs were cold. So cold. He drew them in close to the rest of his body and cringed at the stretch and split of broken skin and then his knees hit something close. It was dark but Dean could see the outline of a creature ducked beside him in the moonlight and after a few seconds Dean could see the increasingly familiar lines of the fairy's ridiculous tan coat.
"Go back to sleep," Castiel said. "You need rest."
"What are you doing?"
Though he tried to sit up, Castiel had a lot more strength and kept Dean lying down with a hand to his chest. "You are safe with me, Dean. You know fairies keep to their word. I give you mine that you will always be safe with me."
Always. Dean felt a strange tug in his chest and swallowed hard. It was just gratefulness, he told himself firmly.
"You will get cold," Castiel said as he lay down beside Dean. "I don't feel it but you may use my body heat. I'm afraid these blankets do little to keep out the chill."
But if it was the night air causing this strange tingling chill, why was it focused solely on Dean's legs? He couldn't find his voice to protest. At the touch of Castiel's hand upon his waist Dean began to feel drowsy once more and peace flooded through him. Comforting warmth followed, and if his legs still felt strangely chilled then at least they didn't hurt anymore.
Dean fell asleep with Castiel's breath ruffling his hair and sparks of Castiel's slow magic rebuilding him.
---
With the heat of the day warming Dean, Castiel moved away, making sure not to disturb the sleeping man. So when Dean awoke at last he was alone beneath the blanket, stretching out his limbs slowly into the empty space. He was a little sore from lying so long on the rock but compared to the night before, he felt amazing.
Mostly, Dean felt safe. He could hear Castiel moving quietly around, the soft whisper of his coat loud in the humid air, and though the presence of a fairy should be less than comforting Dean found himself relaxed. Castiel had had plenty of time to kill him and yet Dean still breathed. Dean opened his eyes; the sky was thick with dark clouds, the heat of the storm was palpable and Castiel was staring at Dean.
Uncertainty had Dean sitting up but Castiel didn't blink or look away. Dean held the strange intense gaze until a soft snort caught his attention and he glanced to the side. It came from Impala, his beautiful black mare who stood nearby nibbling grass contentedly. She hadn't been there when Dean went to sleep. To break the tense silence, Dean asked, "How did you find her?"
"She came to us," Castiel said. "Your horse has great affection for you."
Dean raised an eyebrow. "You fairies can talk to horses?"
Castiel shook his head. "No." He pushed something into his pocket and didn't look away from Dean. "Not many horses would brave a dragon-riddled valley alone for anyone."
Impala huffed again and surveyed them calmly. Dean loved his horse more than anything but Sammy; she was loyal, fast, and agile despite her age. She had been a gift from his father many years ago and had carried Dean without fuss into a hundred fights. Dean was grateful to see her alive and well, though that did little to negate his suspicion. "If she came here alone," he asked after a second, "how did she get free of her rope?"
No reply. When Dean turned, Castiel was offering him a silver canteen, which Dean took gladly. The water was fresh and clean.
"How are you feeling?" Castiel asked.
With a mouthful of water, Dean froze. He looked down at his legs and quickly back at Castiel. They were completely intact. The skin was a little mottled and entirely hairless but they looked as though the burn had been months ago, not hours. The only sign that time hadn't skipped so far was Dean's clothes; they were still in tatters. He smoothed a hand along the strangely-textured skin and swallowed. "What the hell did you do?"
"In your injured state it would have been unwise for you to ride," he explained. "There has been no lasting damage."
If Castiel could do that, what else could he do? Magic was dangerous. Everyone knew that, and everyone avoided the fairies because of it. Dean should have followed suit. "And I'm supposed to trust you on that?" Dean snapped.
Castiel sighed and cast his sullen gaze across the mountain peaks, speaking as though he hadn't heard Dean. "We must find your brother. If this prophecy has begun, he will play a large part. I was under the impression that the two of you rode together. It is unfortunate we must leave the mountains to find him."
"What are you talking about?" Dean got to his feet and Impala paced over to him placidly, hooves clipping on the uneven ground. "I don't -"
"Don't lie to me, Dean Winchester," the fairy said. The intensity in his sudden gaze startled Dean. "I have healed you but I can just as easily harm you. I have rescued you but I could just as easily leave you here. I am a prince and I am on your side so show me some respect." His voice softened then, though his eyes did not. "We will find your brother and then we'll return. If this is the true reason I was sent to these mountains then I accept the task gladly. You would do well to do the same."
"I'll come with you to find Sam but you're wasting your time," Dean said. He mounted his horse and stared down at Castiel. Even from this height he was intimidated. "I'm not getting caught up in some goddamn Fae plot, prophecy or whatever, okay?"
"It is unlikely you'll have a choice," Castiel said. He continued quickly, stampeding over Dean's indignant reply. "Ride towards Eorthe but don't use the main road. There will be others looking for you. I will wait for you in Pontiac."
There was a quiet flutter of wings and Castiel was gone.
Dean stared. "Those fuckers are fast," he said. Impala whinnied as if in reply and the two of them set off reluctantly through the mountain roads.
---
The smaller paths were uneven and made for a difficult ride, but Dean still felt refreshed and comfortable thanks to whatever the fairy had done to him. It took him many hours of rough terrain before he began to tire and even then, his horse didn't falter at all. She continued as if the jagged rocks beneath her feet were as soft as clouds.
By the time they reached the closed gates of Pontiac, it was long past sunset. As the closest town to the mountains, nestled in the foothills beside a notoriously dangerous road, the sentries were cautious. Dean's ragged look and sword at his belt made them suspicious as he tapped on the tall oak gate.
"Who goes there?"
"Dean Chaucer," he replied with his most winning smile. It was lost beneath the sweat and grime.
"And your business?" An ancient eye closed over the narrow peephole, eyelid drooping.
"Rest. I've ridden hard."
"Why did you come from the mountains?"
Dean knew he should have swung around and approached from the other direction, but his energy was waning fast. He reeled off the old familiar lie with a sigh. "I've been searching for my lost sister. She was taken three weeks ago."
"Then she is dead," the grizzled old sentry woman said from behind a wild bundle of hair. At least she had opened the gate, though her squint was no less wary. "You did well to give up."
Dean rolled his eyes when she turned her back. The people of the foothills were rarely beams of light but with the dragons at their backs he supposed they had no reason to be.
Selecting the nearest slightly inhabitable inn, a lopsided building with the low-roofed stables slanting off to one side, Dean pulled out his mostly-intact pocket of coins. The Roadhouse. Impala gave her quiet approval when a handful of oats was presented as a welcome and Dean headed immediately for the room he was given.
It was small and musty with no window, but it was clean enough. Dean had hardly settled on the bed when there was a sharp knock on the door. Assuming that there was a problem with Impala, who tended to steamroll anyone who showed even the slightest weakness, usually ending in broken teeth, Dean sighed and opened it.
"Hello, Dean."
Castiel was still wearing the same clothes. Dean was too, but that was hardly through choice, and Dean wondered if fairies ever bothered changing. Probably not. Leaving the door open, Dean backed into the room. "You know, you could give a guy a rest before you start bugging him again."
"You did well to choose this inn," Castiel said after a short pause, clearly deciding not to acknowledge Dean's complaint. "It is a safe spot for many dragon hunters."
"Seriously?" Dean asked in surprise. He supposed it had gotten that way from being so close to the gates; dragon hunters had a tendency to be in dire need of a drink and a bed after a long day, and this place was facing the dragon-filled mountains. "Huh. Well, I'm not staying here long. Gonna get a few hours sleep and then head out. You should rest too."
"I don't need to rest," Castiel replied. "And you should perhaps speak to the owner of this place before you sleep. She has a lot of knowledge but she will not speak to me."
"Why not?"
"I don't believe she trusts me."
Dean snorted. "Can't think why not." It was a surprise the woman hadn't shot Castiel the moment he stepped into view. Most would. "Fairies have a bad rep, Cas. Can you make yourself any less obvious?"
Castiel looked down at himself, then back at Dean with a frown. "No. Can you be any less obviously human?"
"Give me a pair of strap on wings and some fairy dust and I'll see what I can do." Dean sat down on the bed despite Castiel's suggestion, running his hands over the healed skin of his legs with a glance at Castiel. It was hard to believe the guy was a prince. His clothes hung off him awkwardly, like they were hand-me-downs from a few generations ago, and he stood with his shoulders hunched and his eyes always a little downcast unless he was staring creepily at Dean. There was none of the polished royal sheen on him. Dean liked him a little better for that. "I need some sleep. Come back in the morning and maybe I'll see the owner. Can you magic me up some clothes? I'm gonna attract a lot of attention in this."
The way Castiel looked at things made Dean uneasy. He studied everything as if he was searching past the obvious and further down, like he was looking for something more than Dean could see. That scrutinizing stare was cast down over Dean's clothes and eventually, Castiel nodded. "I may be able to find something suitable."
Dean's fingers closed around the necklace that hung over his collarbone; at least that hadn't been damaged with the dragon's fire. It had been a gift from Sam a long time ago. "Close the door behind you," Dean said pointedly, but when Castiel pulled it shut with him still inside the room, Dean sighed. "I meant with you on the other side."
"My mistake," Castiel said and ducked quietly out of the room.
Fairies were strange but Dean had to admit, they were a lot less evil than he had been led to believe. At the very least Dean had expected a diabolical laugh. There was always diabolical laughter in the stories. He hadn't expected a guy somewhere between polite and commanding with seriously bad fashion sense and a tendency to glare.
The exhaustion from the long ride caught up with Dean. Lying above the covers with the lumpy pillows beneath his head, Dean fell asleep.
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Part two