A/N: Guys, I totally intended to be productive this summer, but holiday homework and uni research got in the way. This was the only thing I managed to churn out ;n;
My favourite part about this fic was the research I had to do for it. For starters, I found a handy-dandy Robin Hood website for beginners and got a crash-course in the legends. Though the fic follows the the plotline of the Disney version, I watched Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves and Robin Hood: Men in Tights because why the hell not, haha! For the historical context, I read up on the Third Crusade, a little bit about King Richard and John, and checked out Nottingham and Sherwood Forest. So yeah, I had a ton of fun!
Like I said, I'm heavily basing this off of Disney's Robin Hood, but I'm well-aware how notorious Disney is for not following the originals very closely (looking at you, Hercules). So I've made a few changes here and there. That being said, there are some historical inaccuracies that I left in, since pretty much all Robin Hood versions go with it. For example, John raising taxes on the poor, when in reality he only ever did it to nobility. Loads of versions also say Richard loved England, but just to give you a realistic idea of how much of a patriot he was: Richard actually spent most of his time in France, spoke better French than his mother tongue, and said he'd sell London to the highest bidder! Isn't history great :D
This is part one of two, which will be updated tomorrow. As always, beta-ed by stelesandwands, and my sister (who finally got an account at h-hogsmeade!)
The quickest way home to the farmlands from town was through the grounds of Nottingham Castle. And though it wasn't exactly a legal short-cut, it was the way Dean took on his walk back from Nottingham's smithy. It was more of a half-run, half-jog, really. He was anxious to get home before dinner and practice with his bow and arrow just a little more while the sun was still out.
By the very edge of the grounds ran a brook, and that was where Dean stopped to catch his breath. Falling to his knees, he cupped his hand in the water and splashed it over his face and neck. He only had a second to enjoy how cool his skin felt when a stifled gasp sounded from somewhere behind him. Startled, Dean spun around, scanning the woodland around him with wide eyes. He spotted the intruder – a head of dark hair, hidden in the dense shrubbery. It was a boy not much younger than him, around eight or nine.
"Please don't tell," Dean whispered hoarsely, his heart painfully pounding in his chest. "I- I know it's not allowed, but it's faster to get home this way."
The other boy got to his feet, tucking a thick, leather book under his arm. He eyed Dean curiously with his head tilted slightly to the side. Dean never saw eyes that shade of blue before – like a clear sky in a hot summer afternoon.
"It's all right. I won't say anything," the boy said.
Dean allowed an uncertain smile to break out on his face. "Thanks."
"Are you a peasant?" the other asked bluntly as he blinked owlishly.
Though he was offended by the notion, Dean let it slide. The kid promised not to tattle on him, after all. "No. My dad's a yeoman," he answered.
"Oh, do you have your own farm, then?" The boy sounded genuinely interested at the idea, rather than mocking. "I'd like to live on a farm, sometimes. There's more to see and do on a farm than in a castle, and the people are always friendly."
So he lived in a castle. That piqued Dean's interest – only the nobility could afford that kind of luxury. "What about you? Are you a noble?" he wanted to know.
The other answered in the same tone he'd use to discuss the weather, "I'm a prince."
Dean didn't buy it for a second, of course. The boy's clothes were much nicer than Dean's, sure, and he was clean and his hair was combed, but he couldn't fool him into thinking he was a real prince.
"Nice try." Dean snorted. "But all the princes live in London. Everyone knows that."
"My father has sent me to stay with Sir Joshua as his ward, here in Nottingham. All of my brothers did the same when they were my age, with other knights."
Well, obviously, Dean knew who Sir Joshua was. He was a permanent resident at Nottingham Castle. Dad had pointed him out to Dean once or twice, when he'd happened to ride into town. Maybe the boy was telling the truth.
"So you're a prince, then?" he asked. "What's that like?"
The boy shrugged, suddenly turning shy. "It's all right. There's much to learn, and I like that part, but sometimes I wish there was more time to play. But my brothers are busy with their education too, and there's rarely ever any other children at court." He looked up at Dean. The intense blue of his eyes felt like they were piercing through his chest. "Are there any children here?"
"Sure, there's lots," Dean answered, then added apologetically, "But I don't know if you could play with them. We're not really allowed to talk to you guys."
"Oh." He looked away dejectedly. "But..."
He didn't continue, but Dean could tell that something was eating at him. He prompted, "What is it?"
"Well, I can't help but notice that you're here, although you're not supposed to be," he answered sheepishly.
Scratching the back of his neck, Dean chuckled. "Oh, yeah. I'm not all that good at following the rules, I guess."
The answer seemed to give the boy a boost of confidence. As he stepped forward, he said, "Do you think that, if I don't tell anyone about it, you could come here to play with me?"
Dean thought about it. It could be fun to play with someone new. This boy was from the city, maybe he knew some cooler games. Maybe he liked archery too. None of Dean's friends were all that interested when he'd shown them his bow and arrow...
And, well, he did say he wouldn't tell.
"Okay, sure," he finally answered.
The other broke out in a bright grin. "Thank you," he murmured, looking like Dean had just promised him the moon.
"Don't mention it," Dean said with a crooked smile. Then, with a step forward, he put out his hand. "I'm Dean, by the way."
The boy took the offered hand and shook it. "Castiel."
Dean was abruptly woken from his dream by a none-too-gentle elbow jab from Sam. What followed was the blond jumping like a startled deer and almost tumbling out of the treetop he and his brother were momentarily lazing around in.
"Dude, what the fuck, I could have broken my neck-"
"Dean, shut up. I think I hear a carriage coming." Sam silenced him with a non-committal wave of his hand, too busy peering through the dense net of leaves at the road ahead. "Listen."
Dean's annoyance with his brother dissipated at the prospect of a job. Work had been slow these past few weeks, with neither nobles nor commoners coming through Sherwood Forest. Dean knew there was a lot of people in Nottingham hanging on the end of their rope, who depended on whatever Sam and he could bring back. Which had been nothing for a while now, and that needed to change fast.
He climbed a little higher up, strained his ear and slowed his breathing. Sam was right – he could hear the unmistakable crackle of wheels against gravel. As it edged closer, Dean could make out the carriage itself through the leaves. It was a giant, golden monstrosity, pulled by four pure white stallions, and guarded by at least a dozen men. Long, winding flags fluttered in the breeze, and Dean squinted to make out the coat of arms on it. When he saw it, he nearly fell out of the tree again.
Three roaring lions on a red field. That had to mean-
"Dean, no," Sam snapped, hand already gripping Dean's shoulder. He turned to his brother with that worried, puppy expression he always wore whenever Dean was about to do something stupid (or as Dean preferred to say, awesome).
"Yes. Definitely yes," Dean insisted with a grin.
"That's the Count of Mortain's carriage!" Sam hissed.
Dean snorted as he climbed up for a better view of the convoy. "So what?"
Sam rounded on him, spluttering, "We're not robbing our current ruling monarch, Dean!"
"Zachariah's not our monarch. King Michael is," Dean reminded him. "He's just out of the country."
"Dean!"
Dean shushed him harshly. "Shut up, will you? I think I've got a plan."
"Oh, great. What is this plan?" he bit back sarcastically.
Dean said nothing, for a moment eyeing a particularly interesting wagon of the count's convoy that brought up the rear. From what he could tell, it was where all of Zachariah's personal belongings were held. "See that wagon over there...?"
They climbed down in silence, their steps slow and light, careful not to disturb the leaves, before disappearing into the shrubbery. The woods around the dusty road stayed perfectly still as the carriage inched towards the town of Nottingham. It moved at a sluggish, almost lazy pace, as if any jostles would disturb the travellers inside. The guards walked in a similar way, six on each side of the royal carriage. They were almost there now, having had no trouble at all for the duration of the entire trip.
Which was why everyone brushed off the quick zap heard cutting through the trees as merely a bird. Everyone except the driver of the wagon, who only had a moment to register it as an arrow before he bled out through the neck. The two horses took no notice of their driver falling limply off the side of his seat and continued their slow walk after the carriage.
"Nice shot," Sam muttered to Dean, before the two of them crept out of the bushes from beside the road as quickly and silently as possible. Sam was catching up to the wagon in seconds, clambering up to the driver's seat and taking hold of the reins.
As his brother brought the horses to a quiet stop, Dean shot a glance ahead of them. Judging by the way the party just kept going forwards, it was safe to assume that no one had noticed a thing. Then he pulled himself up onto the wagon, climbing over all of Zachariah's chests and boxes until he was seated at the very top. Sam urged the horses around and into a gallop, and Dean got one more good look of the count's convoy, before it became a distant fleck, then was lost, disappearing into the kicked-up dust.
Everyone hated Zachariah. That wasn't not an opinion – it was a fact. Dean couldn't remember the last monarch that was so collectively despised by an entire country.
The worst part of it was that he was never even supposed to be in power. Zachariah was the brother of the late King Charles. His position at court had never gone above an advisory role, and it hadn't changed after Charles died, when his eldest son Michael took over. Michael was a good ruler, firm but fair, if a little distant, and he made it work for a long while.
But then three years ago, the Third Crusade came along and Michael, with two of his brothers and a huge army, headed off to war for the Holy Land. Which meant that there was no one left to keep the throne warm for him until he got back, except for Zachariah.
(That was a lie. There was Castiel, but Dean never really knew what had happened to him. He didn't like to think about it too much, anyway.)
So they were stuck with Zachariah, who had been itching to get his hands on the throne from the day he was born. And now that he got it, the consequences were disastrous. First came the doubled taxes, then the tripled taxes until finally, one half of the population was living in poverty, while the other half was imprisoned for not paying.
Sam and Dean were no exception.
Their life up to this point hadn't been anything particularly grand, but they had their farm and their animals, and they were happy. John had died in a hunting accident a year before the Crusade, and having lost their mother in a fire when Sam was a baby, the farm came into Dean's hands. He had only been eighteen, but had watched John work for long enough to learn the ropes. With Sam's help, he ran the farm as well as his father had, if only with a few minor bumps on the road.
But with Zachariah raising the taxes before Michael had even reached Normandy, the farm was lost within two years under Dean's care. Which was a blow Dean felt not a little responsible for, but he didn't have a lot of time for self pity because now he had to figure out how to keep his little brother and himself from living on the streets. The solution to that, of course, was living in a forest instead.
Sherwood Forest was uninhabited and unguarded, despite technically being the king's land. But most importantly, it had everything they needed to live. There was shelter within the trees and the shrubbery, game to hunt, and wood to burn. Within a month, Sam and Dean were happily settled in – their home consisted of a fire pit, a giant oak with pegs in its trunk to hang pots and weapons from, a branch that served as a clothes line, and some tents.
And just because they were no longer yeomen didn't mean they were bored. See, Sam and Dean took up a new job: robbing the rich to feed the poor.
The treasury was raided every time new taxes came in. Any carriage travelling to town that looked like it had something valuable was ambushed. Nottingham Castle, now occupied by Zachariah's supporters, was broken into and looted without a trace left behind. And the money always went back to the rightful owners: the people of Nottingham. They made a name for themselves, and 'Winchester' came to have several meanings – a saving grace for some, a menace for others, and an endless nuisance for the sheriff.
They had never been caught, of course. Living a life as an outlaw taught you a wide skill set, and you needed to know all the tricks of the trade to stay alive. Still, there were some things that Dean didn't know, even after living in the woods for two years – for example, cooking. Which was evident in the way that the soup he was meant to be stirring was now smoking.
Shit.
"Dean, you're burning the food!" Sam cried out from where he was sorting laundry, and yeah, thank you, Dean had figured out as much.
Taking the pot off the fire, Dean stirred and blew until the profuse bubbling simmered down and stopped spitting.
"It's fine, see?" Dean said to Sam, who was coming over to inspect the damage. "At any rate, dinner's ready."
Sam clicked his tongue, slapping the back of his head with a towel ("Dude!"), but sat down and watched Dean ladle out some soup in two bowls. Within minutes after beginning to eat, Sam opened his mouth again. "You okay?"
"Funnily enough, my head stings like a bitch," Dean muttered with no real anger.
"Not that," Sam said, then gestured with his spoon, "I mean, stuff. In general. You looked like you had something on your mind just now."
"Nope. Nothing," Dean lied, because seriously, he just wanted to enjoy his soup in peace without his brother nosing around.
"You sure?" Jesus Christ, he was relentless.
Through grit teeth, Dean grunted, "Yeah."
Unfortunately, Sam saw right through it. Dean groaned internally when he saw Sam set his bowl down beside him to give his brother his full attention. Dean expected him to spew some bullshit about 'talking about his issues' in that solemn voice he had when he worried. He definitely didn't expect him to ask, "Is it Castiel again?"
The fact that Dean started choking didn't seem to concern Sam at all. "What part of 'nothing' do you not get, Sam?" Dean demanded, between coughing and hitting his chest with his fist.
"Dude, you need to stop," Sam told him with an annoyingly sympathetic smile. "It's been, what – ten years? This isn't healthy."
Dean glowered at him. "I wasn't thinking about him, Sam. Now drop it."
"But you were before," Sam pointed out matter-of-factly. What was he, deaf? "Back in the tree – I had to practically knock you back into the present."
"You almost knocked me onto the ground," Dean clarified. Sam laughed, and despite his irritation, Dean chuckled too. After a pause, he sighed, and fuck, now he was putting his bowl down too – they were actually gonna talk about this. Dean rubbed a hand over his face. "Yeah, I was thinking about him, okay? I do that sometimes, when my mind wanders."
"Dean..."
"Look, I know what you'll say. I heard you – it's unhealthy, blah, blah, blah." Sam rolled his eyes, but made no indication to stop Dean from continuing. "I just... I can't seem to get him out of my head."
"You guys were eight when you met. You're twenty-two now, Dean. Do you even remember what he looks like?" Sam asked.
"Of course I do," Dean retorted, instantly picturing the piercing blue eyes and the untamed black hair as if to prove Sam wrong. A wave of nostalgia washed over him, made him feel like he wasn't even present.
Sam waited a moment, before asking quietly, "Did you ever think of going to London? Finding him?"
Before he could think twice about it, Dean admitted, "Hundreds of times."
"Well, why didn't you?" Sam insisted.
"Sam, what are you, five? You know why," Dean snapped. "I had you to look after, and then the farm. I didn't have time to spare."
"What about now?" Damn it, Sam was doing this just to annoy him, wasn't he?
Shaking his head, Dean picked up his soup bowl again and played around with its contents. "It's like you said – it's been ten years. I doubt he even remembers."
And that was the big fucking question, wasn't it? There had been nights of sleep Dean lost simply by wondering – hoping – that he still had a place in Castiel's mind, no matter how small. Even if he was just the kid he'd spent those few years away from home with, no more than a childhood memory. It would be enough.
"You could try-"
"No, I couldn't. I'm done talking about this, Sam."
Before Sam could say anything else, Dean got to his feet and headed deeper into the woods, picking up his bow and quiver along the way. Maybe he could forget about the world for a few hours with some target practice.
"Cas!"
At the sound of his name, Castiel's gaze rose from his book, settling instead on the figure approaching him. Dean was running towards him, with a bow in hand and a quiver of arrows slung over his shoulder, grinning from ear to ear. His smile would have otherwise warmed Castiel's heart, but today it only made it heavier. Cas could practically feel his resolve tearing at the seams, knowing how the news he had would affect that grin.
"Hello, Dean," Castiel said once the other was in earshot, craning his neck to look up at him.
"Hey." Dean held up his bow triumphantly and gave it an experimental pluck. "Check it out."
Taking it into his hands, Castiel gave it a once-over. This bow was bigger than Dean's previous one, its wood perfectly smooth and gleaming. It was clearly new. "Did your father make this one too?" Castiel asked, referring to Dean's old bow.
"No," Dean drawled smugly. "I did."
"Really?" Castiel looked at it again more carefully, with new interest. Having been made by a twelve-year-old's hands suddenly made the feat all the more amazing. Then again, Castiel did have a tendency to be biased when it came to Dean. "It's a beautiful bow, Dean."
As he handed it back, Castiel noticed a hint of a flush creep onto Dean's face, which hadn't been there before.
Dean cleared his throat slightly, then took to plucking the string again. "It works pretty good, too. The arrow's a little wobbly when I shoot it, but Dad says the next bow will be better."
Castiel hummed in agreement, but offered nothing else, letting silence settle down instead. The morning's letter was still on his mind, its contents endlessly pestering him. His thoughts must have somehow shown on his face, because after a moment, he heard,
"Cas, is something wrong?"
Dean's face mirrored his own frown when he looked back up from his hands. Castiel's tongue turned to lead. He fumbled for words, his lips opening and closing soundlessly, unwilling to voice his thoughts. If he did, it would mean it was true, that it wasn't just a bad dream he ached to wake from.
"What happened?" Dean looked worried now, crouching down to level with the other.
The tears that welled in Cas' eyes caught him by surprise, but not as much as the warmth he felt on his shoulder. It was Dean's hand, a steady, anchoring presence, and it pushed him to meet his eyes and stutter out, "Dean, I... I'm going back to London."
He wished he could take it back the moment he said it. Dean's brow furrowed, the corners of his lips twitching down in confusion. "What do you mean? Like... for another visit, or..."
To his own horror, a hiccough broke past Castiel's lips, followed by a soft sob. His body shook, tears running freely now, and he answered, "I'm leaving Nottingham, Dean."
The way Dean's entire face fell, the way the light suddenly left his smile and his eyes, made Castiel's stomach twist. It took him a moment to form any words, but when he did, his voice was quiet and hurt, almost like he didn't believe it. "What? Why?"
"I have to. My schooling with Si Joshua is finished, and my brothers want me back," Cas explained miserably.
"But..." Dean trailed off hollowly, still not over the blow. Whatever he had wanted to say initially, he decided against it, and nodded instead. "They miss you a lot, don't they?" he mumbled.
"They do, and I do too," Castiel admitted.
It was true. But although he loved his siblings dearly, Dean was the kindest, most wonderful friend Castiel ever had. He never had someone who understood him so well, who stood by him and helped him without thinking twice. He didn't want to – he couldn't – lose that.
Castiel forced himself to look up at Dean, but his figure was blurred by tears. It just made him feel worse. "But if I go, I'll miss you. I don't want to leave you, Dean."
Dean's lower lip trembled, but he kept himself in check. He replied hoarsely, "I'll miss you too, Cas."
Neither said anything for a moment, each trying to calm down for the others' sake. Dean clumsily dropped to the ground and took a seat beside Castiel. The latter rested his head on his shoulder, like he was always prone to do. The silence was soothing – Castiel focused on the beat of his heart, on steadying his breathing. Even though he was still miserable, he felt better now that the truth was out, now that he got it off his chest.
"You won't forget me, will you?" he murmured feebly after some time.
"Of course not, Cas. I can't forget my best friend." Jostling his shoulder, he said, "We might not see each other every day anymore, but you'll still visit."
A beat of silence passed as his words sunk in. Dean tilted his head to look at Castiel, and Cas did the same.
"You will come back, right?" Dean's voice was quiet, as if he was afraid of the answer. His eyes pleaded with Castiel's, begging him to say what he wanted to hear. But Cas couldn't.
"I- I don't know," he said.
He always meant to come back, but never did.
Castiel mused dejectedly from his place at the window seat, tracing the castle's sprawling lands. Ten years had passed since he'd been here, in Nottingham. Ten years since he had seen Dean.
He had been the best part of four years spent in Nottingham. Even after Castiel had moved back to London, back to his old life, Dean had always stayed in his thoughts, never really gone from his memory. Castiel had loved Dean before he even knew what love was, and had never really stopped.
"Oi," came the voice behind him. "Stop it."
Castiel turned around, only to be greeted by Balthazar's amused smirk. He had been reading on a divan across the room, but had abandoned his book in favour of scrutinising his best friend. "What?" Castiel asked, head tilting to the side.
"You have that look again," Balthazar insisted.
Castiel squinted, brow furrowing in confusion, then remarked, "You couldn't even see me."
"I don't have to, Cassie. I just know you have the look."
"What look?" Castiel demanded, now scowling slightly.
"The one you've been wearing ever since you decided to go on this bloody trip."
Sometimes, Castiel rued how well Balthazar knew him. Frowning through the flush that was quickly rising, he said, "I have no problem with making this trip."
"Right. Of course," Balthazar waved him off with a nonchalant shrug. "On an unrelated topic, how many times have you thought about Dean Winchester since we got here? What is it, in the low hundreds now?"
Balthazar knew him too well.
Castiel sighed. "Perhaps. It feels like it."
"Cassie, you're obsessed," Balthazar said as he crossed his arms, clearly pleased with himself. "When do I get to meet him?"
"Never," Castiel cut him off with a reproachful glance.
Balthazar actually looked hurt. He whined, "Why not? I want to see what's so special about him that's had your panties in a twist since you were eight years old." When Cas made no answer, he conceded, "Fine. So when do you plan on seeing him again?"
"I'm not."
But Balthazar carried on as if he hadn't been interrupted. "Granted, it will be a bit difficult to find him now that he lives in a forest."
A sudden pang of sadness shot through Castiel at the remark. The thought of Dean living in complete poverty, forced to seek refuge in Sherwood Forest of all places, made Castiel's heart sink into his stomach. He and his brother were hunted like animals, when their only crime was helping those who Zachariah exploited and then rejected.
Castiel still remembered the evening he found out, the shock and horror branded into his memory. It was a dinner party thrown by Zachariah for his supporters. Castiel, stuck between two pompous old lords whose allegiance had been bought by his uncle, had been forced to listen to them gossip and drivel on about their glory days. But it was the mention of Sherwood Forest that had caught his attention, and he had politely asked about the subject.
The fatter of the two had looked at him in surprise. Had His Royal Highness not heard? Did not everyone know of Sir Uriel's foolish attempt to pass through those dangerous woods? He should have known better, what with those Winchester bandits lurking there, ready to rob you blind. Murderers and thieves, they were, ought to be hanged.
The conversation had turned to a different topic soon after, but Castiel had no longer wished to be a part of it.
Thinking about it still sent shivers up Castiel's spine, even now. Dean, his Dean, was forced into this life because of him. Castiel should have fought Michael on his decision. Zachariah should have never been given the throne. Now Dean and his brother and all of Castiel's people suffered for it.
Balthazar read his discontent in his face. "Look, Cassie-"
"Balthazar, it's all right," Castiel interrupted. "Really, we don't have to talk about this."
The other shrugged and turned back to his book. "Fine, then stop moping. I want to enjoy this summer and I can't do that if you look at me with those sad doe eyes. It's bad enough we have to spend the whole time with your annoying uncle."
Castiel shushed him, but couldn't stop the hint of a smile appearing on his lips. In a soft voice, he admitted, "It's true, Zachariah can be over-bearing at times. I don't think I could survive it without you, Balthazar."
"I know," he drawled smugly, before picking up his book, only to scan its contents in apathy and drop it again. "I'm bored, Cas," he moaned, throwing his head back like a petulant child. "Will you play backgammon with me before dinner?"
With a wry smile, Castiel answered, "Only if you don't cheat."
"Me, cheat? I would never." Balthazar grinned, getting to his feet. As he headed for the door, he threw over his shoulder, "And if Zachariah sends for us, you'll be a darling and knock me unconscious with the board, won't you?"
"Balthazar."
But his friend simply waved back half-heartedly, leaving the door open behind him and starting downstairs. With another glance out the open window, Castiel gazed at the horizon, where the thatched cottages of Nottingham peeked out beyond the trees.
He had wished for this day for as long as he could remember. He was so close, after so long, and yet now the distance felt even greater than it had been in London. The very real possibility of seeing Dean again excited and terrified Castiel at the same time. He felt like a child again, eager to befriend the farm boy by the river, yet afraid of being rejected.
Castiel drew the curtain over the window, and it wasn't opened again.
Nottingham Castle remained more or less empty ever since Sir Joshua left for the Third Crusade, but nobles were known to come from all over the country at Zachariah's consent and stay a few weeks. The reason for this was the Royal Forest of the Peak, home of the best hunting grounds in all of England. It was said that the forest was so full of deer that men and hounds were often trampled by the startled beasts. For the nobility, Nottingham was synonymous with big hunting parties chasing after stags and foxes. Even Zachariah, when he could be pulled away from counting his money, preferred Peak Forest to any other place.
The forest's popularity meant that Nottingham Castle's own deer park was left greatly neglected. Which suited Sam and Dean just fine, because it left them to poach there without being interrupted.
"Dude, can you go any slower?" Dean called over his shoulder to Sam that morning, who was a good ten feet behind him. His voice was muffled due to the scarf over his nose and mouth, which both of them wore regularly, along with hoods, preventing people from remembering what they looked like.
Huffing, Sam came to a stop and straightened up as much as he could. He was able to send Dean a perfect bitch face with his eyes alone. "Sorry, which one of us is carrying the 400-pound stag?" he bit back, referring to the dead animal hanging over his shoulders.
"Thought that was like a couple of rabbits to you," Dean teased, before setting off again. "Come on, we're nearly out of the woods," he added as he pushed passed the thick layers of shrubbery and branches around them.
"That was awful," Sam answered from the back.
Dean ignored the critique of his pun in favour of treading through the last line of bushes that separated the deer park's forest from the pasture. Then it was only a matter of climbing the stone wall on the other end and legging it to Sherwood Forest-
"Dean!"
He turned back to see Sam, emerging from the woods, point right behind him, then spun around just in time to move and narrowly miss being run over by a pair of horses. He stumbled, and would have fallen if it weren't for Sam ditching the stag and catching him.
"Dean, are you okay?" Sam asked, shaking him slightly.
But Dean didn't have time to answer, because now the two riders were turning back and heading straight at them. Shit.
Sam turned to his brother. "Do we run?"
Dean shook his head, already taking an arrow from his quiver and nocking it. "We'll never make it with the stag," he said and took aim, instructing as Sam did the same, "You take the one on the left and I'll take the right, but don't shoot yet. Let's see if we can scare 'em off."
The horses were almost in front of them now. Their riders' backs were turned to the bright morning sun, forcing Dean to squint as he tried to get a clear shot, but he couldn't see either of their faces at all. Tension seeped into his body as the horses slowed, and for a moment, the only sound heard was the dull settling of hooves into the grass. He tightened the grip on his bow, pulling the string until it was taut.
"Good morning," Dean heard the man on the left call from atop his mount. The voice was more mocking than polite, and it immediately set him on edge. "Taking a stroll through the king's deer park?" With a side glance towards the abandoned stag, he added, mildly surprised, "Oh, and you've been poaching."
"Well, we would have gone to Peak Forest, but it's so crowded nowadays. Besides, with all the nobility poaching there, there's not much left for us common folk," Dean quipped back. He saw Sam stiffen beside him, shooting him a look that said 'back off'. But Dean simply continued, "So we figured, why let the game here go to waste?"
"Leave them be, Balthazar," the rider on the right said to his companion.
The man – Balthazar – ignored the other and asked in that condescending, smarmy tone of his, "I realise your education may be sub par, but you do know that poaching the king's deer is considered a crime?"
"Really?" Dean feigned incredulity. "Wasn't the Vicar of Sheffield caught poaching the other day?" he asked Sam, whose response was an intensified bitch face. To the man, he added sarcastically, "Or did you mean it's only illegal if the commoners are doing it?"
That seemed to cross the line. Balthazar pulled out his sword and would have sent his horse forward if it wasn't for his companion suddenly ordering, "Balthazar, enough."
The man turned to his friend and demanded, "Are you serious-?"
"These people are forced to break the law because of Zachariah's rule. We must help them, not strike them down," the other said. Unlike Balthazar's, his voice was genuine, deep and rough like gravel. The two watched each other for a moment, and when Balthazar finally sheathed his sword, the man turned back to Sam and Dean. "Please, take the stag. We will not stop you. There is enough deer in this park to feed us all."
Seriously, did this guy really think they were gonna buy that? Dean wanted to ask just what game the dude was playing, but Sam beat him to it.
"Why should we believe you?" he demanded and aimed his arrow at the other's face to prove his point. "How do we know you won't simply kill us when our backs are turned?"
Balthazar snorted. "See? You show them kindness and they treat you like shit. Why bloody bother?"
His companion ignored him, and answered Sam instead, "I am forced to watch my people starve every day. If letting you take that stag means you will not go hungry tonight, I will gladly do so."
Something inside Dean told him he wasn't lying, urged him to trust in his words. He lowered his arrow and looked at the man in bemusement. "So you're gonna let us go, just like that? No death, no fine, nothing?" he asked, his doubt obvious.
"Yes," the rider confirmed, but then the other shoe dropped. "Under one condition."
Dean scowled and contemplated raising his bow once again, but curiosity got the best of him. "What?"
He thought he caught a hint of hesitation before the rider decided to answer, but when he spoke, his voice was firm, "Come forward and remove your hood."
In a flash, Sam stepped in front of Dean, his arrow still aimed at the rider. "No. Try something else."
"I do not wish to harm you. I said that I will let you walk free and I won't go back on my word," the man said to Dean. "I just want to see your face."
For a second, Dean didn't know what to do. Trusting the guy sounded like the world's worst idea, but there was that gut instinct to believe him again. Almost like there was something familiar in the way he spoke, even in his mere silhouette.
Before he could change his mind, Dean dropped his bow and arrow to the ground. Sam spluttered as his brother side-stepped him and walked towards the rider's horse, planting his feet firmly in the ground, ready to bolt if necessary. Keeping one hand on the hilt of his sword, Dean drew his scarf down to his neck, and then carefully pulled back his hood, unleashing the sun into his eyes. The shock of it forced him to squint up at the horse.
"There. Now you've seen me," he said brusquely, feeling blind and extremely vulnerable. "We free to go?"
Instead of answering, the rider dismounted, much to everyone's astonishment. Balthazar made a noise of protest and Sam hastily took aim again, but Dean only kept his eyes trained on the emerging figure, keen on seeing the man's face. Now that the sun was no longer blinding him, his vision adjusted to make out a head of black hair, strands of it illuminated golden by the sun, and eyes the colour of a clear summer sky.
No – there was no way, no freaking way.
Dean's throat became horribly parched all of the sudden, his mouth failing to form words. His heart thundered against his ribs like crazy to the point of bursting out of his chest. He swallowed thickly before whispering, his voice hoarse, "Cas?"
The blue eyes crinkled as Castiel smiled at him. "Hello, Dean," he murmured in return.
Dean could only gape in amazement as his brain took a second to register that Castiel was actually standing right in front of him. It wasn't a dream or a memory – Cas was real and tangible and here. Without even thinking about the circumstance – or, hell, the propriety of it all – Dean lurched forward and pulled Castiel into a clumsy hug, his shaky laughter ringing in his ears. Cas stiffened at first touch, but slowly relaxed into it as his arms wound around Dean's shoulders, his chuckle rumbling against the other's chest.
"Holy shit, look at you!" Dean exclaimed, pulling back and holding Cas at an arm's distance. He took a moment to study him from head to toe. "Dude, you're almost as tall as me now."
"Have I changed much?" Castiel teased, and there was that familiar shy smile playing on his lips.
"Hell yeah," Dean said, grinning wide, but looked pointedly at the top of Cas' head. "Your hair's still a mess, though."
It was true – Castiel had changed a lot. He had grown out of the small, scrawny boy, into a lean and toned young man. His face was angular and sharp, having lost the childhood chubbiness. He was different and yet the same somehow, like the past ten years had been nothing. And his eyes – Christ, his eyes were just as intense as Dean remembered, searing right through him and gazing at his soul.
Castiel laughed as he ran a hand through his hair, which really didn't help matters. His brow furrowed as he scrutinised Dean with that stare, more amused than perplexed. "I admit, I wouldn't have recognized you at all, if it wasn't for your disregard of rules," he quipped and shared a meaningful look with him. "You still have a quick temper."
Dean shrugged, scratching the back of his neck. "Some things don't change, huh?"
Castiel hummed in agreement, before looking over Dean's shoulder. "And this must be Sam."
Dean couldn't resist teasing him. "My little brother, believe it or not."
"Hello, Sam." Cas nodded in greeting. "We've never met before, but Dean had told me a lot about you."
Sam, obviously having more manners than his sibling, removed his disguise and bowed to Cas. He started gravely, "Your Highness, I'm so sorry. Had we known-"
"There's nothing to apologise for. As I've said before, I know what life under my uncle's rule has led you to," Castiel told him, his voice as serious as Sam's.
"Look, as moving as this reunion is, truly," Balthazar called from behind them, clearly irritated. "Would you terribly mind getting on your horse, Cassie, so we can head back to the castle before said uncle does comes looking for you?"
As worrying as that very real possibility was, Dean didn't want Castiel to go so soon, not now when he'd just gotten him back. He racked his brain for any other option, but Cas was quicker.
"Then you will just have to go on without me, Balthazar, and keep Zachariah occupied," he answered with a wry smile.
His friend rolled his eyes, scowling. "And if he asks where you are, shall I tell him you're fraternising with an outlaw?" he demanded.
Castiel, clearly familiar with the other's antics, simply said, "Tell him I've decided to prolong my ride, and that I'll be back shortly."
Balthazar, now out of snarky responses, muttered, "Stubborn arses, the lot of you Novaks," as he turned his mount around. The remaining three watched the horse set off into a trot and finally into a canter, speeding off back to the castle.
"Sam," Dean turned to his brother, "take the stag back to camp. I won't be long."
Sam shot a worried look towards the dead animal and then at Castiel, definitely contemplating whether that was a good idea.
Taking note of his hesitation, Castiel assured him, "There is but three of us in the castle. The stag will not be missed, I promise."
After another bow (seriously, it was weird to watch – this was Cas), Sam headed back to where he left the deer, and it wasn't long before he was disappearing over the wall, in the direction of Sherwood Forest.
Dean turned to Cas, more elated than he'd ever felt these past years, only to see grief in his friend's eyes. "Cas, what is it?" He placed a hand on his shoulder, like he always did whenever Castiel needed comfort. It was amazing to see Cas lean into the touch, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"I've been so worried, Dean," he admitted softly, eyes slipping shut. He looked exhausted, not physically but emotionally, like a heavy weight had finally been lifted from his aching shoulders. "Not knowing if you were safe or caught or... worse."
"Cas, hey. I'm fine, see? Besides, it's not that bad." He laughed at Castiel's doubtful look, insisting, "Really, it's not. We have a home and food, everything we need. It's just a little more dangerous, that's all."
He could tell Castiel wasn't completely convinced, so he decided to change his tactic and switch to a new topic. "What brought you back, Cas?" he asked.
"The need for a vacation, and the courage to face this place again," he admitted, eyes briefly fleeing to the ground. When he looked up again, his gaze was anxious and sincere. "I regret never coming back. I meant to, believe me, but something always prevented me." As he shook his head, a faraway look flashed across his face, like he was back in a memory. "In the end, I suppose it was my own fear. I didn't know if I would be allowed to seek you out again, and avoiding the pain of forbiddance seemed preferable than feeling it, at the time."
The answer meant more to Dean than Cas could possibly know. It meant that all of Dean's own fears, about Cas growing bored of him or simply forgetting, could finally stop haunting him. "It doesn't matter anymore, Cas," Dean said. "You're free to make your own choices. You're here now, aren't you? It's proof of that."
Castiel regarded him in reverence, a habit that always made Dean feel embarrassed because come on, what was he compared to Cas? Cas, who always gave and never asked for anything in return, who listened and understood and cared so damn much.
"It's so good to listen to your voice again, Dean. You have no idea how much I've missed it," he murmured, unwilling to break the silence that had settled around them.
"Believe me, I know," Dean huffed, grinning. God, he just couldn't not smile around Cas, could he?
His heart went off the charts again when Castiel pressed their foreheads together, and this time it was he who initiated the hug. It was soft at first, but tightened as their bodies settled into each other. And all of a sudden, Castiel was clinging onto him like he was his life line, fingers clawing into his shoulders and his face buried into the crook of his neck. Dean responded in kind, rubbed soothing circles into Castiel's back with one hand as the other tightened around his waist.
It was then that Dean realised that this longing, this ache after ten years that simply disappeared in the blink of an eye at Cas' mere presence- Christ, it wasn't just friendship, this was love. He had always written off his feelings as a child's admiration, but it was quickly dawning on him that he'd been completely wrong. Dean had loved Cas from the very beginning, just as he did now.
And it scared the shit out of him. How the hell was it supposed to work out? As much as he wanted Castiel with him, Cas didn't deserve the life of an outlaw. And Dean definitely couldn't just run off to London with a bounty on his head, could he?
So Dean Winchester did what he did best: ignore the problem at hand and be stupidly selfish instead. Right now, he had Cas back and that was all that mattered.
"When will I see you again?" Castiel mumbled against his skin, sending tingles up Dean's spine.
"Soon," Dean promised, though in all honesty, he had no idea. His life didn't exactly follow a schedule. But he'd figure something out. He'd sneak into the castle if he had to, or hell, sneak Cas out like they were teenagers or something. And as ridiculous as it was, the prospect of it made his grin uncontrollably.
The smile didn't leave his face even after he had watched Castiel ride away, and it stayed with him the whole way home.
Dean wasn't stupid. He was cocky, sure, and hotheaded, but he wasn't stupid. And he wasn't blind either – he noticed things, contrary to popular belief, like Sam glancing at him from the corner of his eye every five goddamn seconds when he thought his brother wasn't looking. Seriously, it was starting to piss Dean off.
So the next time he felt Sam's eyes boring into his back, Dean made sure to catch him in the act and demand louder than necessary, "What, Sam?!"
The sudden rise in volume made Sam jump and drop the shirt he had been putting up to dry. As he picked it up, he stammered, "N- Nothing!"
Dean stopped what he was doing (i.e. putting up wet laundry) so Sam could feel the full effect of his glare. "Sam, seriously. What the fuck are you staring at me for?" he retorted.
Sam shrugged as he wiped some dirt off of the fallen shirt. "It's just... about last week."
"Oh." Dean's glower melted away as he realised with horror that he was flushing. "That's none of your business, Sammy," he mumbled and picked up where he left off.
"Come on! Just tell me what happened with Castiel," Sam insisted and no, no, no. No way in hell were they talking about this.
"Sammy, I'm warning you-"
"Have you been to see him since then?"
"Christ, Sam!" Dean hissed at him. "What are you? An oversized, twelve-year-old girl?!"
Sam smirked and said nonchalantly, "Well, you're the one head over heels for the guy."
"Hey!" Dean barked, but he had nothing after that. He just gaped at Sam like a fish, pointing threateningly with his finger.
"Oh my God, you can't even deny it-!" Sam laughed, but it was cut short by the wet sock thrown at his face. "Ugh! Dean!"
"You asked for it," Dean said with a shrug, turning back to the laundry.
Sam made to retaliate with another shirt, and Dean was just about to duck when they heard an exasperated yell of, "What the hell are you two idjits doin'?"
The two of them spun around to see Bobby Singer, Nottingham's blacksmith and an old family friend, making his way through the dense shrubbery with a scowl. "Keep up with the noise and the sheriff's men might actually have a chance at finding you."
Laughing, Dean stepped forward to give Bobby a hand. "Hey, Bobby. How are things in town? Everything find a place?" he asked, in reference to the goods stolen from Zachariah, which Bobby had taken away two weeks ago.
"Sure did. The Harvelles send their thanks, and Rufus too. Now, what else you got in that circus wagon? I have more orders."
Sam and Dean led Bobby to the wagon they had stolen two weeks back, stashed behind a boulder and camouflaged with dense foliage. The next half an hour was spent digging through Zachariah's belongings, looking for something worthwhile to bring back to the people in Nottingham.
As kids, Sam and Dean had often spent afternoons at Bobby's smithy, watching him work as they waited for John to finish his business in town and take them back to the farm. It was Bobby who accompanied the Winchesters in hunts, and along with John, taught the boys how to stalk prey. Though not technically blood, Bobby was the closest thing they had to a relative now that John was gone. Through Bobby, Sam and Dean managed to stay in contact with Nottingham, listening for anyone in need of help. It was perfect – no one ever suspected the old, grumpy blacksmith with the limp to be in league with outlaws.
"You boys better be careful, you hear?" Bobby said as they headed back to their camp. "Sheriff Crowley's on the look-out for you."
"When is he not?" Sam snorted, as he handed the sack of goods back to Bobby.
"This time it's serious," Bobby said gravely. "Zachariah's pissed. He wants you caught and hanged."
"We'll stay low, Bobby," Dean promised.
"You'll need to, 'cause he's going all-out. He's even throwing some sort of phoney archery contest this weekend to try and wheedle you out of hiding."
"An archery contest?" Sam asked. "What, 'cause the stories go that we're some kind of master marksmen who haunt the woods?"
"Hey, don't sell yourself short, Sammy," Dean teased. "We're not too shabby."
"Well, whatever he thinks," Bobby said, "he's making a big hoopla out of it. Gonna give some golden arrow out as a prize to the winner. He's dragging everyone to come and see it, even his poor nephew, who's only here for a holiday-"
"Whoa, wait- Nephew?" Dean blurted before he could stop himself. "You mean Cas is gonna be there?"
Bobby's face scrunched up as he asked, "What the hell's a Cas?" at the same time Sam moaned, "Dean, no."
"What do you mean, no?"
"You heard Bobby, Dean! It's a trap for us-"
"So what? You expect me to just chicken out?"
"It's not chickening out! It's playing it safe!"
"Look, I wouldn't stay long, I just wanna see Cas-"
"Hey!" Bobby's roar startled them out of their dispute. Christ, Dean was sure he'd gone deaf now, thanks a lot. "Someone wanna clue me in? Why the sudden interest, and who's Cas?" he asked.
"Prince Castiel," Sam, the fucking snitch, sold him out in a second. Dean squawked indignantly, but Sam didn't even bat an eyelid.
Dean wanted to strangle him and would have if Bobby hadn't rounded on him furiously. "The goddamn prince, Dean?! You wanna see him?"
Suddenly defensive, Dean responded tensely, "Yeah. I mean, if he's there, why not?"
"How do you even know the guy?" Bobby demanded, and Sam was only too happy to supply the answer.
"He used to sneak into Nottingham Castle as a kid to go play with him."
Dean turned on him again. "Sam, what the actual fuck?!" Christ, he could feel all his blood rushing to his face. When he saw Bobby getting ready to holler at him again, he quickly broke in, "Yeah, okay! I know that it's dangerous, but look, I'll leave before any of the actual arrow-giving happens. That's when he'll try to catch us, isn't it? When one of us wins and they know exactly who we are?"
Sam seemed hesitant to answer. With a side glance at Bobby, he conceded, "Yeah, I guess."
"So, we leave before the ceremony even begins, and we're good to go!" Dean insisted.
"I don't know, Dean..."
"Come on, it'll be fun," Dean cajoled, wiggling his eyebrows. "We'll show off a little and make Zachariah look like an idiot in the process."
Sam looked from Dean to Bobby, the latter of which simply shrugged, then finally gave in. "Fine, we'll go. But the minute the thing's won, we're out of there, all right?"
"Deal," Dean grinned.
It turned out to be easier than anticipated. That weekend found Sam and Dean hovering near the archery fields, disguised in yellow and red hoods respectively. They had gotten in without so much as a second glance from the guards, with Sam using the entrance on the east side and Dean using the one on the west. Honestly, the hardest part had been finding each other in the massive crowd, but sooner than later, Dean spotted his brother's towering form in the sea of people.
"You seen Castiel yet?" Sam asked, his voice low as he kept an eye on the people milling around them, in case someone seemed suspicious.
"Yeah, he's in the royal box," Dean answered discreetly. "But it's crawling with soldiers. I can't even make eye-contact with him, let alone get close enough to say something."
"We'll just have to wait and see," Sam said, clearly displeased. "But Dean, listen. We're leaving right after the tournament ends, regardless of whether you got to talk to him or not."
"Okay, I get it," Dean said with a roll of his eyes.
At the sound of a trumpet, people started making their way towards the main field, chattering excitedly. There was a shout from somewhere that all archers were needed at the targets. Sam and Dean shared one last look, and without another word, set off in separate directions.
Castiel stifled a yawn as he watched another wave of arrows sail for their targets. The archery tournament was reaching its final stage now and he thanked God for it. Why his uncle decided to spring it out of nowhere was beyond him, and even more so was the fact that it had to occur in the early hours of the morning.
In truth, when he had first heard about this tournament, his thoughts immediately flew to Dean. Knowing his boldness, it was possible he'd be tempted to sneak in. Cas had been torn between wanting Dean there and at the same time, wanting him anywhere else. The tournament was sure to be highly guarded (and it was), and it would be a risk coming, even in disguise. However, there hadn't been any sign of Dean the entire morning, and though Castiel felt the disappointment in his heart, he knew it was better that way. Though now, he was left to suffer the tedious event with no hopes of relief.
"If I don't die of boredom, it will be a bloody God-given miracle."
Unlike Castiel, who retained his manners and kept his thoughts on the tournament private, Balthazar made his displeasure known. His friend blankly watched the space in front of him, sitting so low in his chair that he might as well be lying in it.
"You've managed this far, Balthazar. Just try for a little while longer," Castiel comforted him, smiling. "You still have a long, fulfilling life ahead of you, and I'd like you to see it through."
"Cheeky bugger," Balthazar teased, shooting him a playful grin as he shifted one leg over the other. At the sound of applause, he raised his chin in order to see better, and asked, "What's going on?"
"The last shots have been fired," Castiel told him. "Now they'll decide who will shoot in the final round."
"Brilliant."
"Are you enjoying yourself, Castiel?" Zachariah asked with a pompous smile, leaning over to the seat beside him.
"Yes, uncle," Castiel replied politely, despite it being a blatant lie.
"I'm glad to hear it, nephew. I'm quite pleased with the outcome myself."
Though Castiel returned a small smile, something about Zachariah's tone seemed odd and set him on edge. Putting it aside for the moment, he watched the announcer pick out the two finalists – Sheriff Crowley and an archer in red, who was said to be from the town of Locksley, in Yorkshire. The other archers – including the morning's third place, a man from Hathersage, Derbyshire, clad in yellow and over six feet tall – left to the stands as the finalists took position.
To his own surprise, Castiel found himself actually interested in the last part of the tournament. Sitting up slightly, he watched as Crowley took aim at the target, now all the way across the field; the furthest it had been all morning. He released his arrow and within the blink of an eye, it was over – the arrow had struck the dead centre.
Castiel could make out the smug smile Crowley sent his rival's way, who took no notice of it as he lined up his shot with the target. His hood caused a shadow over his face and with the distance, it was impossible for Castiel to make out what the man looked like.
The audience went silent as the man in red pulled back the string. For a tense moment, no one stirred or made a sound, and then-
The arrow zipped through the air faster than Castiel could follow. When he finally looked at the target, he couldn't believe what he saw. Everyone sat in shocked silence as they took in the fact that the man's arrow had actually split Crowley's previous shot in two, causing it to fall off. Then, as realisation slowly dawned, cheers broke out for the clear winner – the man in red.
"Did you see that?" Castiel asked Balthazar, who could only laugh in disbelief.
From the corner of his eye, Castiel caught movement. It was his uncle, but instead of getting ready to present the winner with the golden arrow, he yelled, "Guards!"
In the blur of celebration, soldiers came out from every side of the stands and surrounded the man in red. There was fighting – he could see him struggling against the rope they were forcing him into. The audience slowly fell into confusion, murmurs and shouts mingling in the air as the man was brought forward, led by the sheriff.
Castiel looked to Zachariah in shock. "Uncle, what is the meaning of this?"
Zachariah, immensely pleased with himself, replied, "This man has tried to trick us all, Castiel, but I was one step ahead the entire time." To the guards, he ordered, "Remove his hood."
Castiel's world stopped and he watched in horror as the hood was yanked back, revealing a head of blond hair and the bloodied face of Dean Winchester.
Their eyes met, and Castiel felt the burn of tears behind his eyes when he realised that Dean's anger was masking fear within. Cas' hands shook, body cold and numb all over, as a chant of no, no, no fell from his lips.
It did not take long for everyone to catch on to what had occurred, and as discontent rose in the audience, Zachariah spoke again. "Sheriff Crowley, do you recognise this man as Dean Winchester?"
For a second, Castiel imagined he'd seen Crowley hesitate to speak. After briefly glancing at his guards, he said, "Yes, my lord. This is him."
"Well, Dean. It's nice to finally meet you in person." Zachariah watched Dean with a deadly glint in his eye, with the satisfaction of a man who knew he had won.
"Can't say the feeling's mutual," Dean grit out at him. His eyes still stayed on Castiel, like he was determined to remember every single feature of his face.
With a horrible lurch, Castiel realised that this could very well be the last time they saw each other. Dean might have been making the most of it.
Zachariah's eyebrows quirked, before carrying on in an overly official tone, "Dean Winchester, you have unlawfully pillaged from the innocent and are wanted by the Crown on counts of theft, blackmail and murder. For your crimes, you are to be hung from the neck until dead. Do you have anything to say?"
Dean's gaze finally left Castiel's and settled on Zachariah instead, furious and taunting. "Only that I'll die knowing I wasn't half the thief and murderer that you are," he spat with a smirk.
Castiel could see the muscle in Zachariah's jaw jump. "Very well," he replied coolly. "In that case, I hereby change your sentence and order that you are beheaded and put to death immediately."
"Pardon me, my lord," Crowley's voice came from behind Dean. "By immediately, am I to understand you mean right now?" he asked, the hint of a sneer playing at his lips.
"Yes, you idiot! Right now!" Zachariah growled. "Prepare the prisoner and have someone bring forward an axe and be done with it! I don't want to see his face anymore."
There was a faint murmur of, "Right, that's what I was afraid of," from Crowley, but Castiel didn't pay attention to it. Instead, he stood and rounded on his uncle.
"Zachariah, stop this madness," he said sharply, forgoing all politeness or respect.
Zachariah had the audacity to look affronted. With a sniff, he asked, "What do you mean, Castiel?"
"I will not let this tournament become a public execution," Castiel said, his voice uncharacteristically hard and loud. He rarely ever spoke like this in his life, and it sounded alien to his own ears. He was wholly aware that others could hear him as well.
"But my dear nephew," Zachariah reasoned with a patronising smile. It made Castiel's gut burn with fury. "Don't you want to see justice done?" he asked. Castiel was disgusted by the supercilious sneer his uncle shot at Dean.
"If this man is killed today, there will be no justice," Castiel answered resolutely. "Now, I order you, as your prince, to call off the execution."
"I'm afraid I have to decline," Zachariah responded quietly, no longer smiling.
"How dare you?" Balthazar demanded, now standing too. "That was an order from your direct superior. You must obey."
"You forget, dear nephew," Zachariah growled, ignoring Balthazar. "I hold the throne, not you."
Castiel was this close to punching him right in the teeth (and he had been taught to hit so it hurt), when there was a sudden cry from in front of them. Crowley had doubled over in pain, hand to his nose, after evidently being shouldered in the face by Dean. In a matter of seconds, Castiel's heart was beating wildly again as he watched Dean run.
Zachariah spluttered at his guards. "Stop him! He must not get away!"
But it was too late. Dean had already been met by Sam, who tossed him a sword, and now they fought past the guards side by side.
Castiel did the only logical thing – he jumped over the barrier of the royal box, with Balthazar screaming after him.
As he pulled out his own sword, he warned the remaining guards blocking his path, "Get out of the way, or I will not hesitate to kill you." He was glad to see that someone still obeyed the commands of their prince as the guards parted far away from him.
Castiel was about to set off into a run again, only to have Balthazar catch up to him. "Have you gone completely insane?!" his friend yelled, stopping right in front of him.
"Will you fight with me?" Castiel asked instead.
"Dear God, you have."
"Will you or won't you?"
Balthazar exhaled the most put-upon sigh in the world, before taking up his sword. "Yes, of course I fucking will," he grumbled and it was all the answer Castiel needed before running off again.
They made quick progress through the guards in their way, who were all flocking around Sam and Dean, as well as the screaming masses, desperate to get out. He heard the two brothers yelling to one another, varying between remarks about the positions of guards and sarcastic comments. It wasn't long before he had Dean locked in sight, and it was enough to disperse all the fear he had kept bottled in. In seconds, he was crossing the field towards him, striking down anyone who came near him.
Dean was stunned to see him, to say the least. "Cas, what are you-"
But before he could say anything else, Castiel silenced him with the hard press of his mouth. The kiss was rough and desperate and over within a second, because Castiel had to pull Dean back just in time to run an oncoming guard through with his sword.
Dean gaped wordlessly as the dead soldier slid to the ground. "Holy shit, Cas."
"Thank you," he said wryly, before swinging his sword again. "Do you and Sam have an escape plan?"
"Y-Yeah. Try not to die and then run for it," Dean grunted while he cut down another guard.
"That is not our plan!" Sam yelled from the front.
"Shut up and watch your two o'clock, Sammy!" was Dean's exasperated response. "Just keep moving to the right! When we get close enough, run for the forest. Sam and I will cover us with arrows."
"Sounds good enough to me," Balthazar grit out, before shoving the guard currently impaled on his sword back and onto the ground.
The four of them worked together, strategically switching between offence and defence as they edged towards the line of trees that was Sherwood Forest. Castiel didn't leave Dean's side and neither did the blonde leave his, each covering the other as they led the way towards safety. Balthazar and Sam, each on one side, brought up the rear and fought back any approaching guards. When there was only a few left, Dean nodded to Sam and the two of them switched to their bows.
"Go, we'll catch up," Dean told Cas, though his eyes didn't stop watching the soldiers.
Castiel would have protested if it wasn't for Balthazar, who gripped his arm in an iron vice.
"You heard lover boy," Balthazar said, before hauling Castiel to the trees.
They ran as fast as they could, not stopping until they were far enough, where the guards would not be brave enough to follow. They did not know these woods – Sam and Dean did, and could easily use it to their advantage.
Sam hunched over, hands on his knees and looking like he was ready to pass out. "I'm gonna kill you, Dean," he groaned, not even bothered that they weren't alone.
Dean looked from his brother to Castiel. When their eyes met, his face, though still covered in blood and cuts and already bruising, was lit up by a bright grin.
The sight had Castiel's lips breaking into a smile too, and upon seeing it, Dean murmured, "Totally worth it."
