Title: Crowned
Summary: AU. Destiel. Long ago a queen wished for a child with skin glossy as snow, hair jet as a raven's wing, and lips redder than blood. This child is borne, his story breeds grief, betrayal, honor and love. What will become of him? (Loosely based on Snow White and the Huntsmen)
Authors Notes: Hey guys. So here is my first slash Supernatural fanfiction. Please be kind. I thought this was a nice idea and no one had used this movie as reference yet. Though it is a LOT different in aspects of the movie because I didn't even enjoy the movie, the only thing I thought was this would be a good Destiel fic. Oh lord. Well I changed a lot of things that were implied in the Huntsmen movie. Anyway hope you enjoy.
P.S. Yes the title is very simple but you know what simple can be great.
Chapter Name: The Night of Broken Glass
Chapter Summary: It takes a kingdom's collapse to rip two young boys apart.
Long ago a queen strolled in the icy frost of her gardens.
Every ounce of her was anguished as she yearned for a child. Nature wrought the last two from her grasp. Their graves haunted her memory.
Glazed eyes scanned her gardens; all of her precious ivies had shriveled in arctic jaws. The heartbroken queen's tears were chilled by the winter, and she thought that she would never know a mothers love.
But as her heart sunk she spotted one rose. The rose had bloomed despite the dry brown bud it sprouted from, it burned bright and beautiful in the spasm of ice.
The queen eagerly approached it pressing a finger to the soft petals. She then wished, long and hard, for a child with skin glossy as snow, hair jet as a raven's wing, and lips redder than blood.
A tear fell. And her wish came true.
"I have a brother you know."
Castiel is withdrawn from his sleepy haze to the sound of Dean's voice. Limp, his body sluggishly draped across the tree branch they shared, Castiel is at the moment irrevocably relaxed. The two had gorged themselves upon the ripe apples that adorned the tree. Plucking the fruit to their heart's content and ripping into their skins viciously. Even now an apple rested in the palm of Castiel's hand, sparse bites ornamenting the red.
Normally moments with Dean always brought Castiel great joy, but now it seemed even Dean's presence couldn't quell Castiel's nerves. Dean, it seemed, also noticed the drastic change in behavior of Castiel. Constantly the young boy was probing Castiel for answers or desperately revisiting old reveries hoping it might spark something back in the youth. Despite Dean's efforts Castiel rarely quit looking over his shoulder. This was why Dean's outburst startled and confused him, piercing the quiet lazy afternoon.
Half lidded eyes peered at Castiel but Dean's hands still diligently worked whittling a makeshift knife. The rhythmic yelps of stone had conditioned Castiel into a tranquil state, Dean's hands were always occupied the knives being a new skill he donned proudly.
"No. I did not."
"Yeah…. He isn't very big I suppose. Three now… but Christ he is the biggest three-year-old I've ever seen."
Castiel nodded patently, dragging a hand towards the width of the branch to scrape the bark. He was unaware why Dean was telling him this information. Scarcely did Dean ever mention his home life other than the new crafts/skills John taught to him, and Castiel suspected this was only because Dean was a bit of a bragger. In fact, the only thing Castiel knew about Dean's family was that John Winchester was leader of the royal guard and right hand to Castiel's own father.
It had only been natural for the two to play together. Dean hadn't taking a liking to Castiel's quiet endeavors at first but soon grew accustomed to his ears. Castiel was always attentive, and clung to every word Dean said. Castiel suspected Dean enjoyed this because soon the two were collecting stones in the creek, combing the forest, and licking apple juice from their chins.
Dean tore his eyes from Castiel as a blush burned like coals in freckles. He carves with more ferocity the shaves of metal nearly peeling off. Castiel and Dean are both young, eight years of age, a time where one should be unblemished, pure. But Dean is sturdy for his age, tanned deeply with routed strong bowlegs and sour demeanor. Compared to Castiel dimpled elbows and pale flesh Dean is a rouge warrior.
So the blush that stains his cheeks concerns him.
"The other day I think he said my name too. Well actually he said "De", but close enough right?"
"Yes I suppose so. He is only off by two letters."
"His name is Sam. I call him Sammy sometimes."
Time passes and Dean's hands halter, he rests them on his lap as his brow furrows deeply.
"Dean why—"
"Jesus Cas sometimes I wonder if your even human!"
The uproar leaves Cas thrown, he even wobbles from his perch a bit. Dean is back at him, stone icy glare that Castiel has received seldom in their friendship. The scowl bruising Deans face is so menacing Castiel finds himself unable to look away or even move when Dean flips his legs around and straddles the branch. Both the stone and makeshift dagger tumble from their roost but Dean does not seem to care.
"Dean I do not under-"
"Honestly Cas I just don't understand you. Most people would ask questions but you just go 'Yes I suppose so'!"
"But what else am I suppose-"
"You know it isn't normal for me to talk about my family Cas so you better damned well appreciate it when it comes up."
"Yes Dean."
"And you may as well give me the decency to act interested and tell me what's been wrong with you for the last few weeks."
Silence cottons the air, even the yaps of stray mutts and songs of birds have faded. As if they were awaiting eagerly for Castiel's response. But instead of this Castiel chooses to judge the fat fruit in his palm, peeling the excess red skin. He found himself unable to meet Dean's gaze especially once the Winchester eyes Cas suspiciously as he shells. Despite the unyielding pressure the words begin to ooze from Castiel's tongue.
"I suspect that my father…. is…. is intending to engage Lilith."
"Lilith?" Castiel regards Dean squarely until he remembers that he hadn't told Dean. Though the conversation lolled in his brain countlessly, never had Cas mentioned his fears of Lilith. Or even her very existence to his best… his only fiend. The sting of betrayal touches Dean's eyes as he realizes that Castiel has been holding back more than he expected. A lot more.
Lilith though technically a ward, had attained the title of King Michael's dirty little secret. Weeks ago King Michael had marched his troops to ally with a neighboring kingdom of Raphael, finding only wreckage in the wake of a dead realm. Charred blood tarnished the battlefield; soldiers lay in ruin, their king impaled by his own sword, and no offenders to fault. All that survived was a titanium box, latched shut by deadbolts and charms. With some perseverance and shamans tricks the device crumpled open to reveal Lilith.
She had no history, no parents, nor husband, but she had a face to rival the whole land. Skin white as polished ivory, with sunburst hair and eyes, she was a fine prize. And thought the king still mourned his wife even he couldn't shake her appeal. Soon enough Castiel spotted the spry beauty visiting Michael's bedside every night.
At first Castiel did not pay too much attention. He knew his father grieved, though his outlet choices were questionable. It hadn't been until Lilith had shuffled into his bedroom, eyes mystified as she ruffled his hair to prepare for the day. Sticky wet breath in his ear once she nuzzled her secret.
"Soon Castiel I will be able to call you son."
Now Castiel could think of nothing else. Feel nothing else but the stonewashed warmth of his mother's eyes, and how soon even that would diminish. There would be nothing left. Red flounces of hair burned out by the fires of sunned yellow.
It made Castiel want to retch.
"Lilith has been our ward for the past few weeks. But now I believe father will marry her."
Dean itches beneath Castiel's wary gaze, but no longer wears the hurt, only empathy. Though Castiel and Dean seemed exteriorly incompatible, the two were amazingly interlinked. Dean understood all just by those words, and Castiel loved him for that.
"Do you think she'll be a bitch?" Dean's vulgarity doesn't faze Castiel. He just cracks deeper into the meat of the apple, feeling nectar slick his wrists. Maybe under stress Castiel has adopted Dean's restless hand syndrome, as normally the child is still as marble. Dean senses this and places a gentle hand to rest Castiel's prodding.
"No. She has shown me nothing but kindness." This was true. Lilith, though she had escalated past ward status as she entered his father's bedside, nearly every morning helped Castiel organize his day. She was swollen with compliments, puffing Castiel's hair fondly, and commenting sweetly on his complexion. Beautiful you will be she would utter placing a light kiss to his nose.
Dean observes Cas once more, his hand hasn't left Castiel's and he ponders on its warmth. Dean huffs a sigh, Castiel quirks a brow.
"You won't forget your mother-the queen." Dean trips his sentence, knowing that even though Cas is fond of their friendship, a knights son has no right addressing the royal family so casually. Castiel had morphed into his only exception.
"How can you promise that?" Tears brim Cas's eyes, he tucks rosy lips to quell them but it is no use.
"I don't know much Cas. But I know about dead mothers and overworked fathers." Castiel strikes a confused glance at Dean, but then blinks rapidly as he understands Dean's mother is dead.
It all made sense now really. His father was a constant character in his stories, but a mother lied in the reeds. Though at the same time Sam, the three-year-old, had also been scrounged away from Dean's stories. Maybe Dean felt he couldn't protect ones dead or so young, scrubbing them from his tales.
Castiel choked on a murmur of apology when Dean interrupted him.
"When I was four and Sammy was six months old, our home burst into flames. We still don't know what did it or even why, all I know was that mom was on the ceiling and dad yelled at me to carry Sammy outside. So I did. I ran and ran with a six month year old bawling in my arms until my feet gave out. My dad found me lying near a drainage gutter in the morning, stark raving mad since he thought his sons had been lost as well."
Castiel felt his throat parch, tightening at how graphic Dean's mother's death was. He had felt absolute terror when he perched upon his parent's bed to find his mother stone cold and lifeless. Finding her in a fiery coffin pinned to the ceiling? He couldn't fathom.
"That's why I'm always out with my dad and fashioning weapons. When my dad isn't on the knight's watch, we journey into the Black Forrest...always trying to find the thing that took mom."
"I'm sorry Dean."
Dean's eyes had grown clouded during his speech. As if he had forgotten Castiel's present company or firm grip. Alarmed he squeezed Cas's palm, Cas returned it fiercely.
"It's old news really. But never has my father forgotten mother. He's taken on new concubines; I spy women lounging his bed frequently. This doesn't mean mother is gone, it just means that time is moving and he's trying to move with it. I think that your da-king Michael deals with the queen's death healthier than my dad, they do not share the bone of obsession my father wields."
Castiel nods. Stunned for all purposes, Dean has opened up to him to graciously. Let him wander in his guarded heart, it seemed like a great feat. Their shared buried mothers and burdened fathers left them vulnerable and clinging to one another. Castiel and Dean Winchester would be friends for years to come, he knew, a fact he treasured.
"C'mon let's go pick the fattest rocks by the creek and hurl 'em at each other."
"When is that game ever wise Dean?"
Dean and Castiel constructed a three-footed fort with the rocks they failingly flopped at one another. Their hands were discolored with mud but the structure fared nicely among the creeks bank. It became a fine nest for the boys to rest in, the sun's flagging heat arising more freckles on Dean's skin.
They ventured further down the stones, cobbling beneath their toes. Castiel rustled some blackberries (which Dean insistently checked once, twice, before consumption) and the two popped them into their mouths as they inspected frogs, black fish, and stray raccoons. Dean sang old ale songs his father taught him quite obnoxiously, Castiel flicked berries at him in annoyance.
An incessant wheeze tugs the boys from their play. Castiel perks to the noise he begins to trail the banks for the origin of this noise nearly panicked. Dean shrugs it off and explores for thin rocks to skip, he isn't worried at Cas's reaction but keeps one eye tabbed on the dark mop.
Castiel grunts in frustration, scouring through prickle bushes and scrutinizing the underbellies of rocks. The wheezing doesn't weaken, but grows in volume valiant against the rush of tide water. It takes a solid ten minutes of gasping, Castiel's probing, and Dean's skipping for the noise to reveal itself. Disclosing the puffed exterior of a baby dove sturgeon white with black pebble eyes. The chick regards Castiel with curiosity and noses his outstretched hand.
Dean casts a long shouldered look over at Castiel. He is squatting, fingers tailing out to a bird who has resumed panting excitedly. He studies Cas run the pad of his thumb gingerly over the chick's delicate neck, it leans nearly like a lazy cat. A twitch of a smile ghosts over Dean's lips, Castiel was a master with animals. What he lacked in social skills seemed not to deter various creatures to crawl to his feet. Dean skipped his last rock, nearly laughing, Castiel fared better with birds than people.
"Dean we must take it to its nest."
Concern laced Castiel's voice and Dean swerved around to see the boy, now standing, with a satisfied ball of fluff and feather in his hands. The chick was swaying with exhaustion, comfortable to slumber in Castiel's fingers.
"Why does it keep… huffing like that?" Dean asks lip pulled on an imaginary fish hook.
"It is only a squab. They haven't procured the throat muscles to chirp yet."
"Squab?"
"A baby dove Dean."
"I figured that but squab? Really?"
"I do not understand why we are discussing this. Help me find the nest." Castiel doesn't waste time and spins on his heel, desperate to find the nest. Dean rolls his eyes at Castiel but sluggishly follows back hunched.
The two spend about two hours dissecting the nearby area of where the squab fell. Castiel insists that it must be close for the bird is unable to move much, and that the nest is rested on a tree branch. This consists of Dean screaming up at cedars to see if any birds coo back, looking at Castiel for guidance, and in the end mounting all of them to the top. After tree number thirteen Dean is about to call it a day until he stumbles upon a nest. It is assembled from thin thistle, mud, and leaf. Crested in the nest lay three eggs, not hatched but puffing away, close to cracking.
When Dean calls down angrily that they found his goddamned nest Castiel brightens so much Dean nearly takes it back. It is seldom that Castiel shows such vibrant emotion and Dean can say truthfully that blissful happiness suits him.
Castiel's sweet little passenger pants, it outstretches its wings that are really just bone and feather fuzz. Nestling the chick Castiel brings the baby chick at ease again as his voice, sounding years older, resonances.
"We will bring you home young one." The bird nips at his nose.
It full on bites Dean once Castiel hands the squab-demon to him, with a boost from Cas he hobbles onto the nearest branch without damaging the bird. Dean curses the whole time as he ascends the cedar, the bird gnawing into his flesh turning it pink and speckled with blood. He nearly throws the cursed thing in its nest.
Finally on ground the boys note that the evening has begun to tint the skies. It is time to return home or their parents would worry. So the two trotted back, Castiel runs with his arms outstretched like the wind will just pick him up on the way, take him to live in that birds nest.
Years later Dean will recover that memory in his darkest of hours.
They part at the castle gates and Castiel hugs Dean aggressively and mutters in his ear. "Thank you Dean."
"Sure buddy."
It would not be the last time Castiel would hear Dean's voice, but the last of his freckled face for years to come.
Tonight Castiel dresses for bed by himself.
For the past few weeks Lilith had taken it upon herself to address Castiel's bedtime. Normally he would be washed, the twigs and dirt from his plays with Dean scrubbed until pink. After plucked from the bath Castiel is rubbed dry and presented woven pajamas to adorn. Lilith would then proceed to present Cas with a mug of warm herbed tea that he would sip as she quietly peered from behind a novel. Once finished she would frisk the mug from Castiel, and roll him in his sheets. Once again she would glide her fingers through his frothed locks (which had gotten quite long actually), thumb his lips, even pull at the skin that homed sapphire eyes. Pretty thing, she'd say, pretty thing indeed.
The routine was something Castiel had been raised in (with the exception of Lilith's close examination). Before Lilith his housemaids would take turns and before that his mother would. So coming home with no one to care for him was eerie, but oddly exciting. Castiel excitedly jumped at the chance to control his bath, procuring the temperature he so desired and shampoos he preferred. Once out he didn't immediately dry but wait for the water to drain and for the dew drops to sear off his skin naturally. Tousling his hair Castiel donned pajamas, but did not go to bed.
Peeking from the corners of his door, Castiel instead scampered to his father's room located down the hall. Michael after Anna's death grew incredibly paranoid and ordered his son's room to border his own. Castiel was grateful, the halls were shadowy and shifting at night, trying to direct his way through them was nearly impossible. Desperately he hoped Lilith did not occupy his bed, though Castiel would not understand why if she did. It was early and if she wasn't soundlessly waiting for Castiel's bed time then something must have called her attention elsewhere.
Michael's room was impressive. Dark wood furniture, forested green ornamental rugs, and fine silver tapestry, the ceilings hung high and restless above. For a moment Castiel wondered what it would be like if he was strapped to its ribs.
The bed was unmade, a lump breathing evenly beneath its thick duvets. Castiel gently toed his way to Michael, who didn't stir, and placed a fattened hand to his shoulder.
"Daddy." Castiel called, he is restive, nervous, wanting to hear his father's voice. There is this urgency that itches beneath his skin that Castiel wants to resolve. "Daddy wake up. It's Castiel."
Michael doesn't move and continues to breathe evenly. Castiel laments and surrenders his plan, removing his hand turning on his heel. Sometimes father was a heavy sleeper that even Cas couldn't rag him out of.
Suddenly two hands interlocked around Castiel's waist and he is scooped from his feet and locked beneath the billowing covers. At first Castiel panics, he squirms and kicks sprawling like a worm caught in a bird's beak. Once he strikes a leg into the gut of his perpetrator and hears the familiar 'oof' and throaty laugh, Castiel stills.
"Wow son you're getting too big for this."
Castiel audibly huffs out a sigh of relief and sags against his father. A newfound calm washes over him. Father is safe and so is he, this night is standard, ordinary, and the entire castle is burrowing for bed. It is reassuring and Castiel twists to fit neatly in his father's arms. He has not done this since the early days of his mother's death, so Michael twitches uncomfortably. Castiel does not care and instead clutches quite tightly.
"Castiel? Are you alright? Why are you not in bed?"
"Lilith was not in my chambers." He states plainly and his father curls around to capture Castiel's eyes.
"Lilith was absent? Was there no one else?" Castiel shakes his head no and rests it upon his father's chest. His heartbeat thuds in time against silk pajamas, Castiel thinks that these pajamas could pay a week of meals for Dean. The thought sits in his stomach unevenly.
"Well I—" Michael begins to untangle himself from his son but Castiel quells him and pleads.
"No daddy, please? I don't want to go. Can I sleep here? Like when mama…."
A glint of worry colors Michaels sky tone eyes, Castiel had no doubt inherited most of his characteristics from his father as he blinked back at him. "Of course Castiel."
Castiel nods and resumes his listening to his father's heart. Feeling its thrum soothingly in his ear, it is as if Castiel doesn't hear it his father is gone forever. This screws Castiel's gut upside down and he whines.
"Daddy… are you going to marry Lilith?"
Silence stretches their void but Castiel cannot peer up to meet his father's eyes. In fact he drives his own to the fabric of his father's pajamas; he fears the question but even more the answer. Castiel knows it but doesn't want it spoken aloud, the words in the air would finally ring true and would no longer just be a fantasy in Castiel's head.
"I already have my darling." Castiel's head darts up, doe-eyed and disordered. Michael tucks a strand of wispy black hair behind Cas's left ear and cups his face with his other hand.
"While you were out with Dean Lilith and I were wed without ceremony. We feared the public's reaction to a new queen so quickly as they loved your mother so."
Castiel is caught between tears and shock and betrayal. His body aches, brain is jumbled. He thinks of his day with Dean, eating apples, discovering near the creek, returning the squab. All of this and Michael was already wed, wed to someone who didn't have his mother's drawl or scent. Castiel tries not to have his tears turn into wails, but in fact they mutate into something else entirely. He hides his head in his father's shirt collar.
"Shh Castiel, your mother will always be sacred to me. But Lilith is family now and you must treat her as such."
Castiel falls asleep, cradled and crying on his father's chest.
It reminds him again of when Anna died, and he feels goddamned weak.
"Please…please do not hurt him…" Castiel awakens. But he is cold. There is no satin, no warmth, and no rhythmic heartbeat. Just the bite of midnight air, Castiel cracks an eye, he immediately regrets it.
Against the parallel rests Michael, eyes widening they are projecting to Castiel as he rouses. Behind him lays Lilith, she has a blade tampered across Michael's throat, his Adam apple pressured beneath the steel. Lilith has both feet hooked around Michael's waist, and is lapping at a cut that had already been sliced across Michael's cheekbones. She purrs like a satisfied tigress and hums pleased, Castiel can't help but think she will devour his father right there in front of him.
Lilith supplies Castiel with a toothy grin once he is completely up, body rigid and sprawled as far as possible. His father closes his eyes and turns his mouth into a sour hard line, a tear slipping down his cheeks.
"Hello pretty." Lilith greets. Castiel feels his heart launch itself into his throat while his stomach drops to his knees. Never has he been so terrified, and he knows that there is no out. That this was planned all along, Lilith had never chuffed his face or kissed his lips with love. No, it was with amusement. Knowing what she wanted and would have, Castiel had been nothing but a play thing. Never had he felt so unbelievably dumb and helpless.
"So, so, pretty. I hear maybe even prettier than me one day…" Lilith twirls her tongue in the wound on Michael's cheek, he does not so much as flinch. "Won't that be interesting to see?"
"Please Lilith not my boy…my kingdom and crown but not my boy. Not Cas, please leave him be, he is but a child." Michael whimpers and begs for Castiel's life. He exchanges it for his own. "Those stories are only myth…"
"I suppose." Lilith burrs and hovers over Michael's ear. "But he'd be prettier red wouldn't he? Match those lips."
"NO." Michael full on shouts, his throat bulges against the cooled metal so much it slices. Castiel whimpers and feels wetness coat his cheeks, he had been crying but never noticed, the tears escalading quickly.
"Fine then. Spoil my fun." Lilith sing songs and digs the finality of the blade into Michael whose eyes roll back. Blood does not seep but pours from the wound, the tissue audibly rips and the blade furrows all the way until it bumps into Michaels spinal cord. Lodged, the man splutters, once, twice, then falls limp.
Castiel runs.
Scuttling out of the room he hears the shouts of Lilith 'GET HIM DON'T LET HIM GET FAR' and slaps his bare feet so fast he has no effort to actually breathe. In fact he is just holding his air and dashing like a bullet for the stairs, which he mounts the bannister and thanks all those mornings with Dean he practiced this skill.
Brandished down the hallway is another plethora of guards, they eye him warily. The blood has streaked down his face and night gown so he is nearly unrecognizable, but they quickly follow the boy out into the streets.
Outside it is chaos. A cornucopia of unfamiliar men donning pitch black suits are fighting the royal guard and slaughtering the townsfolk. Castiel trots through the mud in search of Dean or John, any of the royal guard to save him. Anything, anyone, please just to wretch him from this treacherous woman. To either be sliced open on the spot, or kept captive, Castiel wished for death.
"CAS. DAD WE NEED TO GET CAS." Dean's voice! It's loud and gruff and individual even above the mass screams. He dodges blades, and by steps the dead that clog the streets. Their blood soaks in his feet, toenails loose lodge in his skin. Castiel swivels and searches, but no Dean.
"NO. WHAT ARE YOU DOING? NO. CAS. CAS. CAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAS."
"DEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAN." Castiel shouts back, but already Dean's voice is fading. He spies a horse which seats a tuft of auburn hair, but Castiel fears it might just be a ruffled large hood. Nonetheless Castiel chases his target with velocity screaming through his raw throat. "DEEAAAAAAAN. HELP, PLEASE, DEEEEAAAN."
Castiel falls in a puddle that had been sullied to a deep set brown, a claw of stone catches his knees and he tumbles. Plunging into the street corner face first, Castiel feels his legs wind up and his limbs give. Sought and covered in blood, other than the stained print of his clothes there would be no way to tell if Castiel was royalty or not.
He doesn't even put up a fight when he is scooped up and immediately blacks out.
Authors Notes: Hope you guys liked it. It is a lot longer than I anticipated which is nice hopefully I'll get the next chapter out in two to three days. Also I don't have a beta so this is all just me so be kind please? (: Have a nice day guys.
