Title: nourished by darkness

Disclaimer: not my characters; title from Anne Sexton

Warnings: very much AU

Pairings: pre-Castiel/Dean/Sam

Rating: PG

Wordcount: 630

Point of view: third

Prompt: Castiel/Sam/Dean, Dean and Sam are his and he'll kill whomever and do whatever it takes to keep them that way

Castiel can remember Rome's glory days. He fought in Alexander's army. He was with Gilgamesh when the legend sought Enkidu, though that part is left out of the tale.

In all his millennia, Castiel has never looked upon another being and felt such a sharp want.

He is a myth among his own kind. The stories paint him as the oldest of all, the most powerful, ancient enough to stand in the sun and not burn.

(In all honesty, he can only survive sunlight because Apollo had a thing for him.)

Castiel could easily take command of all the vampires in North America. From there, the world itself would be as simple as stepping outside in the morning. He has stayed out of politics, though, because he doesn't want to rule. Has never wanted to rule. He'd have set himself up as the Eternal Emperor instead of Julius Caesar, if he'd wanted such power. Uriel took care of that, though, when his pet mortal led a revolt and Julius bled to death in front of his dearest companion, by his companion's own hand.

And these two 'wolves, they are his. He knows it the moment he sees them, catches their scent on the chilly autumn breeze, trails them into Starbucks. They are young, by his count. Humans would consider them adult, and 'wolves think them adolescent—mid-to-late-twenties, sure of themselves and their strength, determined to make their own way in the world.

Any vampire who sees them will want them. Will chain them and force them to heel. Will break them into guard dogs and nothing else, except maybe a pleasure slave to scratch an itch on cold days. There's a streak of darkness in them that's obvious to an ancient. One day, after a few centuries, they will be a force to be feared. Maybe even in a decade, with the proper tutelage.

He should take them now, while they're young and impatient and haven't learned better. 'Wolves don't need a vampire for survival. Most don't want one. But these two, they're alone. No alpha has taken them in, claimed them. They're fair game to anyone.

The elder meets his eye across the coffee shop, predator to predator, and doesn't duck his head. That'll get him killed soon enough, when someone far more interested in protocol than Castiel crosses their path. And the younger 'wolf, he glances over for just a moment before his eyes widen and he hisses, "Dean, that's an Old One."

Well. The pup knows age when he sees it. Even most vampires don't recognize Castiel for what he is. None of them can tell his power with a look.

"We have to get out of here," the pup says, clutching his brother's sleeve. "Dean, now."

It doesn't matter where they flee; he's scented them and he'll track them. They're his. And he'll claim them before Alistair or Azazel even gets a whiff of them on the wind. Those two are twisted, the type of vampire that gives all their kind a bad name. Both cause pain purely for the sheer enjoyment of it, and they wouldn't understand the gift in these 'wolf brothers.

Dean meets his eyes again, head raised defiantly. Castiel smirks. He won't break them; he'll mold them instead, his pack of two, his clan of 'wolves.

The younger 'wolf again tugs on Dean's shirt, but Dean replies, "No, Sammy."

And Dean, bold like only the truly young can be, strides straight to Castiel, head held high. He won't submit until Castiel has earned it, has proven himself worthy. And his brother follows him without hesitating, despite his earlier apprehension.

Castiel watches, already proud of them. In time, they will be the greatest of all 'wolves—and they will be his.