There was once a young man named Dean Winchester, who, like his father before him, enlisted as a soldier. He lived an honest, hardworking life, with good morals, always putting others before himself, and was always seen to be the bravest on the battlefield when the bullets were falling.
Everything went well for Dean while the war lasted, but as soon as the peace was declared, he received his discharge and his commanding officer told him to do as he pleased.
Dean had no home of his own, so he went to the house of his father and brother, for his mother was dead, and begged that they would let him stay.
But John Winchester was a cruel, hard-hearted man, and a drunkard to boot, and sent his son on his way, despite how loyal and hardworking Dean had always been for him over the years.
"What do I want with you? You are of no use to me anymore. You must live your own life and fight your own battles."
Dean's younger brother, Sam, looked on sadly as Dean shouldered his rifle, the only possession left to him now, and went forth into the world. But there was nothing Sammy could do.
In time, Dean came to a wide heath, on which there was nothing but a circle of trees. He leaned his back against the wide trunk of the nearest oak, and slumped down to the undergrowth. He laid his gun on the floor next to him, closed his eyes and tilted his face to the sky, wallowing in sorrowful thoughts. His forehead creased with worry lines, lines much too early for a face as young as his. The brave face he put on crumpled in pain in the hopelessness of the situation he now found himself in, and he allowed a single tear to fall down his cheek.
"I have no money," he said to himself aloud, "And I never learned any skills, except fighting, and now I'm not even wanted for that!" Dean ran a hand over his face in despair, wiping away the tear he had allowed to escape. "I've got nothing left to do but starve." he said bitterly.
Then he looked up and saw a stranger standing over him. He wore a long, black coat and was of stately appearance, but Dean saw how his eyes turned black, before he blinked and they returned to normal. "You don't have to tell me what you need," said the stranger in a smooth, calm English accent, "I know already. Money and property I am prepared to give you, as much as you need, spend what you want. But first, I must be sure that you're not a girl's blouse, for I won't waste my money on a coward."
"A cowardly soldier?" Dean answered, "When have you met one of those? Bring it on!"
"Good," replied the stranger. "Turn and look behind you."
Dean turned to see a great, black bear ambling towards him, growling as it came.
"You won't be growling when I tickle your nose for you!" he cried, aiming his rifle at the bear. He fired the gun, the shot cracking through the air, reverberating off the circle of trees and frightening a flock of birds in a nearby tree. The bullet penetrated the bear's snarling muzzle, and the animal fell to the ground with a thud, scattering foliage into the air. It did not move again.
"I see that you're not lacking in courage," said the black-eyed man, "But, there is one other condition you must fulfil."
"I'll agree to anything that doesn't put my life on the life," Dean narrowed his eyes and clenched his jaw. He was perfectly aware of what he was dealing with. His father was a hunter for Christ's sake. But Dean was desperate. In a only a matter of days, his life had crumbled. "Otherwise I won't have anything to do with it."
"You can be the judge of that," continued the demon. "During the next seven years, you can't wash, shave, brush your hair or cut your nails. Nor pray." Dean snorted at this. He wasn't exactly a man of faith. Ignoring him, the dealer continued. "I'll give you a jacket and an overcoat, which you must wear the entire time. Should you die in the next seven years, your soul will belong to me. But, if you survive, you'll be a free man, and a rich one, as long as you live."
"And when I do die?" Dean asked skeptically. Surely there was a catch. There was always a catch.
"That depends on how you live your life. Same as everyone else." the demon said matter-of-factly.
Dean considered the offer carefully, thinking of the great poverty and distress he was now in, and of how often he had faced death before. He made up his mind to face it again.
"Let's get this over with," Dean mumbled, rolling his eyes. He knew what was coming next. The demon smirked smugly as they stepped closer together. Dean leaned down to the shorter man and kissed him chastely. The demon held him there for longer than Dean would have liked, and as soon as he could, he pulled away, grimacing in disgust.
"Come now Dean, don't tell me you're a homophobe?" the demon smirked.
Dean scowled. "It's not men I have a problem with," he growled.
The demon put a hand over his heart and made a face of mock offence. "Dean, I'm hurt." Dean continued to glare at the salesman until he sighed, took off his coat and handed it to Dean.
"When you're wearing this, all you have to do is put your hand in the pocket and it will be filled with gold."
He then went over to the deceased bear, nudging it with his foot, as if checking to see if it was well and truly dead. "I must say I'm impressed with your aim." he said, taking a knife from his pocket. He bent down and started to skin the animal. He held the scruffy, dark pelt out to Dean.
"This, is to be your overcoat and your bed. On this, and only this, you must sleep. And on account of your apparel, you will be known as Bearskin." he said. "The name's Crowley," he added as an afterthought, "See you in seven years, Dean…max." He smiled cockily. And with these words, Crowley clicked his fingers, and disappeared.
Dean put on the long, black coat and put his hand in the pocket, to find he had not been deceived. Then he threw the heavy bearskin over his shoulders and started on his travels once again. But now, he enjoyed himself, and denied himself nothing that did him good or did his money harm.
In the first year, Dean's hair and beard grew longer than they had ever been before and his nails were a little too long, but his appearance was tolerable enough. But in the second year, he already looked more like a monster than a man. His face was covered in hair, and his beard was like a piece of coarse felt. His nails were like claws at the ends of his fingers (never mind his toenails!) and cress could have been grown in the dirt that had collected on his face.
Everyone who saw him, ran at the sight of him. He could always find shelter, however, for wherever he went, he always donated largely to the poor, begging them in return to pray for him, even though he wasn't a religious man himself, that he wouldn't die within the next seven years. And he always paid handsomely for everything he ordered.
It was during the fourth year, that Bearskin came to an inn, where the landlord refused to give him a room, or even to let him stay in the stable, for he thought that even the horses might be frightened of him.
But when Bearskin put his hand into his coat pocket and pulled it out full of gold pieces, the landlord, a stout, balding man, who looked as though he permanently had a bad smell up his nose, thought better of it. He snatched the coins from Bearskin's hand, pursed his lips and said sourly, "You can have a room in one of the back parts, but don't let anyone see you. It'll give my house a bad name."
Bearskin went to his room through the back door of the house. The room was small with a damp, oozy smell and patches of mildew on the discoloured walls. A few years ago, Dean would have grumbled about how much money he had paid for such a crappy room, but being Bearskin had taught him not to be so petty.
As Bearskin sat alone in his room, wishing, and not for the first time that evening, that the seven years were over, he heard a sorrowful wail come from the adjacent room. Bearskin was a kind man, who did all he could to help others, and so, he went to the room and opened the door.
There, he saw a small, squirrelly man kneeling on the floor, flinging up his arms in despair and weeping bitterly. Bearskin stepped nearer, but at first sight of him, the man sprang to his feet and scrambled backwards, only to stumble and fall over again. The man backed up until he reached the wall. "P-p-please don't hurt me!" he cried, holding his hands above his head and whimpering slightly.
"Hey, hey, hey, it's alright," Bearskin held out his hands in a reassuring manner, "I'm not gonna hurt you."
The man paused when he heard a human voice. "Y-y-you're a man?" he stuttered, lowering his hands slowly, but still eyeing Bearskin warily.
Bearskin laughed harshly. "Yeah, I guess I'm a pretty poor example of one." he said bitterly. "Are you alright?" Bearskin asked in concern, "I heard your…lamentation from my room." He pointed back the way he had come.
The man got to his feet, seemingly reassured by Bearskin's concerned manner. Bearskin got a proper look at the man. His blue eyes were wide and red-rimmed from crying, and he had a scruffy beard where he obviously hadn't shaved for a few days. His clothes were a little shabby as well, but Bearskin couldn't really comment on that.
The man coughed. "I, uh, my money…it just seemed to diminish…more and more—all of it, down the drain! A-and my daughters and I, we have no food—we're starving. I-I-I can't even pay the landlord what I owe him! H-he's threatening to have me imprisoned!" he cried, getting more and more exasperated, until he was nearly in tears again.
"Well if that's all," said Bearskin, "I have money. And to spare."
He sent for Zachariah, the landlord, and paid the man's debts. He then gave the man a large purse of gold as well. The man goggled at his good fortune upon meeting such a wonderful man. He held out his hand to Bearskin to shake. "My name's Charles Shirley, you can call me Chuck," the man, Chuck, said. "I can't, I don't know how to even begin to express my gratitude."
Bearskin was about to start the usual routine of no-problem-pray-for-me, when Chuck cut him off.
"Come home with me," he said. Bearskin raised an eyebrow (not that you could see it with all his hair). Chuck continued. "I have two daughters, both miracles of beauty. You can choose one for your wife. When she hears what you did for me, she won't refuse you." he explains, before adding "O-or I have a son, if that's what you're into. H-h-he's also very handsome. I gotta say, your appearance is, uh, strange, but she—o-or he—will soon fix you up."
Bearskin grinned broadly at the man's proposal, and if he went a little red at Chuck's comment on his sexuality, no one would know for all the dirt on his face. In truth, he had never had preference on the gender of his partner, but having a husband was generally frowned upon—shunned really—if you were a man. Not that he wasn't shunned enough already on account of his appearance.
Bearskin was so delighted with Chuck's offer, he forgot that his appearance was intolerable, and went home with the man.
At first sight of Bearskin's face, the eldest daughter, a pretty girl with pale skin and shocking red hair, screamed and rushed from the room before her father could explain the matter at hand.
The second daughter had sallow skin, mousy brown hair and blue eyes. Her face would also have been quite pretty were it not for the taunting smirk she wore as she looked at Bearskin from head to foot. When she spoke, her accent was refined and distinctly British, and her tone of voice was mocking.
"How can I marry a man who no longer resembles a human being? I'd rather have the shaven bear that came here with the circus once and gave himself out for a man," she sneered. "At least he had a good soldier's coat and a pair of white gloves. If it were only a matter of ugliness, I might get used to him." And with that, she stalked out of the room to join her sister.
Chuck shook his head sadly at his daughters' arrogance and was about to apologise to Bearskin, when his son rose to his feet. He was much taller than his father and only a little shorter than Bearskin. He was a handsome young man, with tanned skin and dark, mussed up hair. He had the bluest eyes Bearskin had ever seen and Bearskin thought he was, quite frankly, better looking than his older sisters.
His voice was low and gravelly when he spoke. "Father, the man who helped you out of your troubles must be a good man, and if you promised one of us to him, your word must not be broken." He paused, turning to Bearskin. "If you will have me, of course." he said, his blue eyes staring so seriously at Bearskin, he felt like laughing with joy. In fact, he did, both Chuck and his son looking on in confusion, quite taken aback by his reaction.
Bearskin could barely contain his delight upon hearing those words, and it took all his willpower to refrain from kissing the man. He would have, if it hadn't been for the filth on his face.
He took a ring from his finger and cut it in two. Suddenly he stopped, looked up at his future husband and laughed again. "I don't even know your name!" he exclaimed, still grinning.
"My name is Castiel," he replied with a rather confused look on his face.
Bearskin smiled again, before writing the name in one half of the ring and writing his own name, his real name, in the other. He asked Castiel to hold out his hand and he put this half into his open palm. Castiel closed his fingers over it and Bearskin placed his hand over Castiel's.
"I have to continue my travels for three more years," he said to his betrothed. "I beg you, please keep this safe. If I don't return at the end of the three years, you'll know that I'm dead, and you're free, but pray to God that I live." And then he took his leave, leaving his new fiancée quite bewildered and distressed.
The poor young man clad himself in black and whenever he saw the sunlight stream through the green leaves of the beech tree outside his window, it reminded him of the green eyes of his betrothed husband, and his blue ones would fill with tears as he worried about what had become of him.
His sisters treated him with nothing but scorn and derision.
"Take care how you give him your hand," his eldest sister, Anna, would start, "For he'll give you a blow with his paw!" Which was all well and good for her to say, seeing as she had ran upon first sight of the man.
"You must be careful," said the other, Bela, "Bears are fond of sweet things, and if he finds you to his taste, he'll eat you!"
"You must never irritate him," Anna would start again, "Or he'll begin to growl!"
"But the wedding will be very lively," continued Bela, "Bears are great dancers!"
Castiel would make no answer, not allowing himself to be put off by his sisters' taunts. Instead, he would continue to stare out the window, watching the dapples of sunlight dance in the shadow cast by the beech tree, and clutching his half of the ring, running his fingers over the writing again and again. Dean W.
Meanwhile, Bearskin wandered from place to place doing all the good he could throughout the land, and giving freely to the poor, in order that they might pray for him.
At last, the final day of the seven years dawned. Bearskin returned to the heath again and sat down under the trees, the exact same way he had seven years previous. It wasn't long until the same figure stood in front of him as before. But this time it was clear he was in a very bad mood.
Crowley scowled down at Bearskin, throwing his old coat back to him and demanding for his black one back.
"We're not at that part of the deal yet," glared Bearskin. "You've got to make me clean first."
And whether he liked it or not, the demon was obliged to fetch water, bath him, shave his beard, wash and comb his hair and clip his nails, scowling the entire time.
Dean now looked like the brave soldier he was before and looked more handsome than he had ever been.
When he finally bid farewell to the foul-humoured salesman, he felt like a free man once more. He went into the town, his heart light and full of joy. He ordered a new suit and bought a magnificent robe of green velvet. He then ordered a carriage and four beautiful grey horses, and drove to the house of his betrothed.
On the way, Dean took out his half of the ring he had split three years ago. He ran his thumb over the writing on it. Castiel S. He clenched the half-ring in his fist desperately, praying—because he could do that for himself now—that his betrothed had not forgotten him.
No one, of course, recognised him. Chuck thought he was some distinguished military officer and lead him into his house, introducing his children.
Dean was invited to sit between the two daughters, Anna and Bela. They cooed over him and poured him out wine and offered him all kinds of delicacies, making googly eyes at him and thinking all the while that they had never seen a more good-looking man.
Castiel sat opposite him, his ocean blue eyes cast down and not saying a word. Dean cleared his throat and turned to Chuck, choosing his words thoughtfully.
"I was wondering if I may ask one of your children for their hand in marriage," he said, careful to avoid specifying a gender.
Before Chuck could answer, the two girls gasped and squealed in delight, jumping out of their seats and running to their rooms to put on their finest attire, each certain in her own mind that she was the chosen one. Chuck sighed, rolled his eyes and followed his girls.
As soon as Dean was alone with his fiancée, he drew out his half of the ring and discretely dropped it into a cup of wine, which he then handed across to him. Castiel took it from him with a quiet thank you and drank. His heart leapt when he saw the half-ring at the bottom.
He quickly took out his own half, which was hung on a green ribbon around this neck, and placed the two pieces together, only to see that they fitted exactly. His mouth opened slightly as if to speak, and his eyes brimmed with tears.
"My name is Dean Winchester, who you knew only as Bearskin," Dean spoke first. "I am your betrothed husband and by the grace of God I'm clean again and free to do whatever I want!"
Castiel rose to his feet and rushed over to Dean, throwing his arms around his shoulders and hugging him tightly, as if afraid to let go. Dean caught him and spun him around, before returning the embrace just as tightly, letting tears flow freely down his face.
Castiel pulled away, instead grabbing Dean's collar roughly pulling him down to meet his lips. The kiss was desperate and needy, and Dean melted into it, placing his hands on his hips and tugging him even closer, kissing him back just as fiercely.
They broke the kiss briefly, both gasping for breath, Castiel still gripping Dean's collar with white-knuckled hands. "Never leave me again, Dean," he whispered into the space between them. Dean smiled lovingly at his betrothed and pressed their foreheads together.
"I'm not going anywhere, Cas," he said softly, kissing him again, slower this time, more gently, because Dean had waited three years for this and, really, they had all the time in the world.
Castiel relaxed his grip on Dean's collar, slowly running his hands over his shoulders and around his neck, bringing one hand up to card gently through Dean's hair. He smiled into Dean's kiss and suddenly nothing else in the world mattered.
"WHAT?!"
A outraged screech rang throughout the dining room. The two lovers pulled apart to see the sisters standing in the doorway, dressed in gorgeous apparel. Bela's clenched fists shook in anger at her sides and her jaw dropped. Anna stood beside her, a hand over her mouth, brown eyes wide, her face even paler than usual. More likely due to make up than shock.
"You chose…him!" Bela shrieked, face red, eyes blazing in fury. Anna tried a more tactful approach. She turned to Castiel.
"You are betrothed Castiel!" she said, trying to pin the blame on her brother. After all, if she could turn this around, she wanted to be the one chosen.
Dean smirked, bending down to pick up his half of the ring that Cas had dropped earlier.
"Yeah, he is," he said placing the two halves together.
"BEARSKIN!" Bela screamed furiously. Anna wailed in despair and the two girls rushed from the house, so overcome with rage and envy, that Anna drowned herself in a well and Bela hung herself in a tree.