Once Upon a Dream, a supernatural fanfic

I wrote this ages ago! If I make a series of Destiel Fairytale Oneshots, would you guys read them? If so, I'll take prompts for which stories you want- just drop them in with a review!

Enjoy!

Once upon a time, not too long ago, there was a handsome young prince who had dedicated his life to the care and protection of his family.

But who would protect him?

On his twenty first birthday, before the sunset, a finger prick would send him into a deep, enchanted sleep. Only true love's kiss can break the spell, or he'll be destined to sleep forever. Dreamless and alone. In the care of a family that could never survive without his guiding hand, how could the young prince ever come out with his happily ever after?

"Dude, that was the weirdest dream..." Dean grumbled sleepily, pulling a hand down his face and sitting up from the cover of the ratty sleeping bag.

They'd been squatting in this old stone cabin just outside of the dense forests of Maine for almost a full month, waiting for John to return from a hunt a couple towns over. It was winter break at school for Sam, at least it had been when this hunt started, but the longer this took, the more surly and snippy the younger Winchester got.

"I dreamt that Dad was home and I wasn't two weeks behind in school, sleeping on a moth eaten couch in an abandoned cottage in the middle of January." Sam griped, pulling himself to his feet, and Dean bit his tongue against his retort. After all, Sam wasn't the one sleeping on the floor. Dean was getting pretty pissed at Dad too, but that didn't mean Sam could take it all out on Dean. "What did you dream about? Same one?"

The older Winchester just nodded stiffly, standing from the floor and brushing off, trying not to think about the fluttering in his chest. Dean had been having strange, vivid, wonderful dreams for almost every night in the cottage. He could never pick out too many details, only the mysterious man with the trench coat and blur eyes, and the fluttering feeling of butterflies swirling in his stomach. Like when he would look at Susan Carmichael in the 6th grade. With every dream, he somehow felt more awake, closer to waking up with a smile. He could never remember that ever happening. Sammy caught on fast, pestering him about his "dream girl" until Dean just gave in and told him- leaving out the whole dream man thing.

Dean wasn't gay. Ladies were pretty damn fun- but there was something about a handsome guy that Dean just gravitated to. Technically, he supposed "bisexual" was the term, but the older Winchester had always hated being labeled.

"How about we make a grocery run, Sammy?" Dean changed the subject, surveying the meager supplies of the cupboards. "Then we hightail it back and set up the fire."

"Anything to get out of here." Sam grumbled, already hauling on his coat.

All they could afford were the basics, as usual. Milk, bread, peanut butter, beer- it was too cold outside for the perishables to go bad. They were getting close to the end of their funds, but Dean tried not to think about it, not right now, walking back to the cottage from the dinky, barren little town-

There was a flash of beige fabric through the snowy street before Dean fully realized someone watching him. Blue eyes bore into his with desperate familiarity. He felt the swirling in his insides, making his heart hammer and palms sweat.

It was impossible. He wasn't real.

"Dean?" Sam broke into his trance "Dean, what's going on?"

"N-nothing, Sammy."

He wanted to ask more questions, and Dean could feel his brother's eyes on him as he stepped up the pace, distracting his little brother with the objective of getting back and out of the cold.

He looked back from the top of the street and the man was gone.

They'd barely returned when Dean's satellite phone rang and the older Winchester shook of the feeling of shock and butterflies and the weird sense of relief that the dream was real. Pushing away what that could mean, Dean picked up the phone.

"Yeah."

"Dean, this witch isn't centered over here- I'm on my way to you."

"Dad?!" Dean breathed a sigh of relief before sliding into soldier mode "What's wrong?"

"Just got out of that bitch's house-" he took a deep breath that crackled down the line through the receiver "it's you, Dean. She's been watchin' you boys. There were pictures all over- she knows where you are. Look after your brother, I'll be there soon."

"Yes sir." The phone popped and the line was dead. "Sammy, re-salt the doors and windows."

"Why?"

"Witch is comin' our way. Dad's about an hour out, he'll be here soon."

Sam bristled and set to work.

"What're you gonna do?"

Dean took a breath and scrubbed a palm through his hair and looked out the snowy window-

To blue eyes looking back at him.

"I'm gonna check the wards- don't move, got it?"

"You're not Dad-"

"When he's not here, I am." He all-but growled "Now do it, Sam. I'm trying to keep you safe." He grabbed his gun off the dilapidated counter top and slammed out the back door. So what if he kicked the salt line there- it served the kid right.

"Dean." The voice was gravelly and dark and so familiar it was like he'd heard it a thousand times. It tugged at his heart like a beautiful memory, but Dean still squeezed the gun in his hand as he faced the impossible man.

"Who the Hell are you?"

"We know each other, Dean. Very well." The ghost of a smile tilted the stranger's lips, and Dean's heart fluttered without conscious thought.

He was about the same height as Dean, and dressed like some kind of disgruntled tax accountant. His coat was rumpled, tie backwards, and his hair was every which way. Blue eyes peered at him with an unreadable expression, and his lips were full and pink. He flicked his tongue over them before coming in close to Dean. He stumbled back from him, even though he didn't really feel a threat from him.

"You- you're a dream! You're not supposed to be-"

"Real? Dean, all dreams are rooted in reality somehow. And you aren't afraid of me." His blank face broke into a full grin, looking perfectly at ease, and heat crawled up Dean's cheeks, despite the cold. "But it isn't because you're brave- although you are. It's because you know me."

There were warm fingers trailing their way around his hand, stroking the skin at the inside of his wrist, despite the gun in Dean's fingers. The hand that wrapped around his was big, warm, and slightly calloused. It was just like every dream he'd had here.

He remembered.

Memories flashed through his mind like a movie, from the night they met.

My name is Castiel. I am an angel of The Lord, separated from heaven. It took all my remaining grace to contact you, even through dreams. I have been charged with your protection for years- we have a profound bond between us. It's been disturbing to some of my brothers and sisters, who cast me out for getting too close.

Our dreams have brought us closer, Dean. I pray you'll remember them, because you mean everything to me.

Of course, all of this is forbidden, but- it's very strange- I've never felt this many emotions in my life. I want to be with you. Hold you protect you. But with you at my side as an equal.

X

His mind reeled. He remembered everything: Castiel's explanation in their fist dream, his gentle touch, his soft hair, and the butterflies were back-

A familiar V8 engine cut into the quiet of the wintery forest, and Dean felt all senses of warmth and calm abandon him. Dad could never see /this/, there was a witch headed their way, and Sammy was alone in the house.

"Go away, Cas."

But the angel was already thin air.

"BOYS"

Dean hurriedly re-sketched the wards around the stone walls, running back into the cottage to meet his father.

"Yes Sir."

"Did you salt everything? Get the wards up? Is anybody hurt-?"

"Dad!" Dean cut him off in horror, suddenly running to Sam, who'd collapsed to the floor. He spasmed and jerked and clawed at his throat. His hands shook as he desperately tried to draw air, and the older boy shifted his brother's head onto his lap "SAMMY?!"

"Dean, did you check for hex bags?!"

"No, I just finished putting up the wards, I-"

"DAMNIT DEAN! SEARCH! ITS GOTTA BE AROUND!"

The clutter and debris never seemed quite so imposing as then, but Dean dove into it like a mad man, throwing things aside and digging through everything he could find. The tiny bag was nowhere to be found in the little cottage: not in the filthy, barely useable bathroom, the main room, or any of the cupboards of the kitchen. "He's not breathing, DEAN!" He overturned the couch cushions, flipped the molded area rug, shoved over his sleeping bag-

There was a tiny sachet in the folds of the camping gear, and Dean scrambled to get his hands on it. He had more important things to worry about the. The sting of a needle prick in his hand as he clutched the sack. Sammy was getting blue, and Dean fought sudden dizziness to throw the hex bag into the fireplace.

Black edges laced his vision, and he couldn't feel feel his legs all that much, stumbling as his brother finally opened his eyes and took a big breath. His finger throbbed, but he smiled with all his remaining- rapidly dwindling- energy to comfort Sam as he met his gaze. Dean saw his lips form around his name, first a question, then a shout, but he didn't really hear it. He couldn't hear anything, didn't even register his eyes closing, or the feeling of the ground rushing up to meet him as he collapsed.

"DEAN!" John screamed as his eldest crumpled to the floor. He was up and rushing to his side without a second thought, checking for a pulse and breathing and his entire body for injuries. He was fine. Dean was in near perfect health, aside from his lack of consciousness.

"Dad... Sammy whispered like he was expecting the worst. He stood gingerly on his long, skinny legs and joined him at his older brother's side.

"He- he's fine, Sammy. He'll be fine." John sighed heavily, moving his son's sleeping form to the sofa that Sam had been sleeping on before. "He just... I guess he fainted."

"Dean doesn't faint, Dad." Sam scoffed humorlessly "Are you sure he didn't hit his head-"

"You think I didn't check?!"

"Well, it's possible-!"

"Like Hell it is! He's my boy, Sammy! I'm your father!"

"Yeah, when it suits you-"

"DONT YOU DARE!"

Sam glared with all the anger he had, but he didn't push further. John just didn't have the energy to do anything else, he couldn't glare back. Turning his attention back to his first born and the moth eaten sofa. Suddenly, Dean looked so small, like a little boy all over again, and John's heart clenched painfully. Sammy was right, Dean didn't just faint. Never in his life. Now he just looked like a little boy- a cold, pale, beautiful boy. Johns breath was stolen, thinking of that bubbly baby that died with Mary in the fire. He was a man now. Twenty one years since the day he was born.

Today was Dean's birthday, and it took a witch hunt and near death experience for his own father to stop moving enough to notice. Guilt stabbed him hard, and John crouched down to Dean's level, scooping up the open sleeping bag and unzipping it like a blanket.

"Sammy, could you stoke up that fire a little?" He muttered, tucking in his grown son, when he heard the flutter of paper hitting the ground. The paper looked old and yellowed, and john held it between his fingers like it could disintegrate at any moment. With a pit in his stomach, John read aloud:

"Once upon a time, not too long ago, there was a handsome young prince..."

"Hello Dean." The smile was audible in the gravelly voice, and Dean swung around to face the angel.

"Cas" he breathed out, instantly moving to wrap his arms around him. "God, am I glad to see you, Man." The other man's arms cradled Dean close, and he didn't even bother pretending to be uncomfortable at the gesture. It was just like all the other dreams. So there was no one to judge them. "Where are we?"

"Your mind, Dean."

It was dark, though. Dean knew he we pretty messed up, but his dreams always had some sort of setting or light. Now it was nothing but solid blackness.

"W-what's wrong with it?"

"I don't know. Some type of poison, I'm guessing. You must be unconscious, or we wouldn't be speaking." He replied, letting go of the embrace, but leaving a hand curled around Dean's waist. He shoved down the prickles of heat in his cheeks to focus.

"Poisoned? Cas, I can't be poisoned, I was just-" Dean had no idea. Where had he been? What was he doing? How was he poisoned? All he remembered was Sammy collapsing- "Cas, I gotta wake up! Sammy's in trouble!"

"How do you know?"

"I just do! PLEASE Cas-" he ran, searching for anything: a door, a window, some sign of life anywhere to escape-

"Dean! You're going to hurt yourself-" Cas grabbed at his waist and shoulders, holding him as gently and firmly as he could. There was nothing- no way out.

He was stuck inside his head.

He couldn't remember when he started shaking, and definitely couldn't remember when he started crying. Dean crumpled to his knees in the abyss of his poisoned dreamworld, Castiel folding himself around him with a hand on his back. They sat there for what felt like forever. Cas carded his fingers through deans hair, pressing his cheek against deans head where it rested on his chest.

"I'm sorry, Dean, but I can't help you from in here. Do you know where your body is?"

"I-I think..." The young hunter racked his brain "We were staying in some cabin. Dad was hunting a witch..."

"That same cottage as before?" Cas questioned "I was just there, there's nothing."

"Nothing?" Dean sat up and faced the angel, eyes wide as his memories continued to trickle back in "What do you mean?"

"I mean that the cottage is nowhere to be seen. I could sense you, but nothing was there but a massive tangle of thorn bushes." Cas shook his head and sighed "I tried to reach you, but they were enchanted. I couldn't. Not separated from Heaven." Dean deflated against Cas's chest "I'm sorry, Dean."

"What are we supposed to do, Cas?" He whispered, sounding heartbroken. Castiel just squeezed him close and dropped a kiss into his hair. Dean instantly tensed. "What was that for?"

"Happy belated birthday." He smiled softly at the hunter's shocked stare. "I wanted to cheer you up, I-... Birthdays are good, right? I don't always understand these human traditions-"

"Belated?" Dean cut him off "How long have I... been out?"

"About three days. Why?"

John sat, kneeling in front of the ratty old couch for what felt like the millionth time. He finally got Sammy to drift off, but a part of him itched to wake him up, just to see if he still could. Dean hadn't moved, snored, even drooled- just sleeping like the dead. John shuddered.

It had been three days since the witch hunt. The room- the whole cottage- was in shambles. Father and brother tore it all apart, searching for a hex bag, sigil, anything to save Dean. And, if that wasn't enough, they couldn't leave. The day after this catastrophe started, John tried to leave the cottage to do research- or find that damn witch, whichever came first- and opened the front door to see a stone wall and endless spiral staircase. Instructing Sam to stay and watch over his brother (and meeting no resistance for the first time since Sammy was ten) John headed down the stone steps for what felt like hours, only to hit the bottom with an ancient-looking door. It was locked and barred.

Never in his life had John felt so caged.

"Well, he sure is beautiful, isn't he?" His gun was drawn in seconds. The woman didn't even glance at his weapon, staring down at his son from the other side of the couch. "Dark golden hair, lips that shame the red, red rose... the only downside of this spell is that you can't see his eyes. So beautiful." Her soft smile became a vicious grin, but she didn't look up at John, just roving over Dean's face and body. "How much does our young prince look like his mother, John?"

Grief struck like an electric shock through his chest and he grit his teeth against it. Suddenly, he couldn't bring himself to look at his sleeping son.

"Spitting image, then." She chuckled dryly.

"R-reverse it." John looked up now, to see his seventeen year old son pointing his brother's gun at the witch's back.

She laughed as she looked up from Dean to the barrel of the gun "Did you not get my note? All instructions were enclosed."

"Just fix him!"

"Sammy, quiet." John barked. This was what he wanted to avoid- Sam was too emotional.

"No! What if he dies, Dad? How long does this last?"

"Oh, would you both shut up!" The witch broke her cavalier composure for a moment, snapping her fingers once she had their attention. A beautifully bound, ancient book sparkled into existence on the mantle of the fireplace, and the witch hummed daintily as she flicked to the right pace. "There. This should be helpful, but boys, now that this enchantment is cast, I can't change it. Only the listed antidote will cure our prince now."

"True love's kiss!?" John barked, losing the last shreds of patience That's ridiculous. And my son's no prince, he's my son, and I want him back, damn it-"

"I could've just killed him, John. But, I didn't, so you're welcome. What's ridiculous is that you know next to nothing about your own son, and you're panicking. You have no clue who or what could be true love to him." She huffed, and looked with disgust at the shambles of the cottage. "I'd say I love what you've done with the place, but I'm a sucker for the classic- this is no place for a prince." And she snapped again. Silk tapestries grew from the walls and covered the stones, lush area rugs took up most of the floor, and the ratty old sofa became a feather down bed right under Dean's body. "There." She nodded approvingly "a tower fit for Sleeping Beauty."

And she was gone.

Dean was curled up on his side, trying to do something to pass the time. Castiel was there periodically, trying to keep him up to date, but it was never encouraging news. If he was perfectly honest with himself, Dean wasn't really listening anymore. He just sat with his angel, letting himself be held like he had in the other dreams with him. Everything about Cas was calming, with him Dean felt more whole, warmer until he couldn't help but smile a little.

And then he felt guilty. Where were his father and brother? Were they safe? How could he forget them for some guy-?

"You think too loudly." Dean didn't bother turning when a familiar and comforting hand slid along his back. He sighed heavily.

"How long now?" He didn't want to know anymore.

"About one week." Cas felt Dean's back tense "I'm so sorry."

"Don't be." Dean's voice rasped a little, and he turned on his back to look the angel in the eye. "What am I gonna do, Cas?"

It seemed like there was nothing to do. Everyday, every minute, however time even worked in his mind, Dean was alone in a dark space without any entrance or exit, and no means of contact with the outside world. He felt like he should be waiting for something, and every time Cas was there, it felt like he had it. But, it never lasted long after he left, and then Dean was alone again.

"I don't know, Dean." Cas murmured, sitting the hunter up against his chest as he sat behind him. Dean was going to protest, until the angel wrapped his hands softly around his waist. A sigh escaped his lips before he could stop it, and gave in to his need for contact. "However, I think I know a way to help you from the outside. Dean, if I can find you, I think I can save you-"

"How?"

"It's an enchantment from a witch. Unlike curses and spells, enchanting something or someone is harder and more permanent." Cas explained "If I'm going to help you, there must be a specific antidote to lift it. Enchanting things is a common practice in fairytales and folklore. These are basic enchantments- like the one you are under-"

"So, I'm in a fairytale."

"Yes." Cas answered in complete seriousness. "Basic enchantments are very formulaic, Dean. They have simple antidotes. The most common is..." The angel stalled, blushing from behind the hunter "a kiss."

"P-please wake up..." The whisper in the night was meek and tired "Dean, I'm scared. I can't do this without you- Dad and I'll tear each other apart..." Sam took a shuddering breath and took his brother's limp hand in his, holding it tight. "That- that witch said "true love's kiss" could break the spell. I've been reading that big book she left here, and... those dreams you were having might mean something. The book talked about the prince and the princess having met "once upon a dream". Who was that girl you kept dreaming about? I think we might need her help... I need you back, Dean. And I have to tell Dad about the dreams if I'm gonna save you."

"What dreams?"

Sam jumped, dropping his brother's hand as he turned to face John. He'd been sleeping when Sam left him last, and he didn't hear him approaching.

"How much did you hear?"

"Why does it matter? Sam, what dreams?"

The boy huffed, crossing his arms and sitting on the edge of Dean's bed. "Since we got into town, Dean's been having these dreams. He hid them at first, but it was weird how he..."

"How he what, Sam?"

"How he'd wake up happier." Sam glared at John "he had these dreams with this girl. He called her something... I can't remember. It started with a 'C'." The teenager looked up at his father with a shrug. "The book mentioned lovers and dreams, Dad. It could be important."

"And you never thought I should know about this?" John bristled, frown etched into his features.

"Dean didn't know what to do about them, told me not to tell anybody." Sam defended, and John scoffed.

"Sam, you gotta tell me this stuff, we're on the same side."

"Maybe if you ever home long enough to be an actual father, Dean would've felt comfortable enough to tell you himself." Sam spat back, hot anger bubbling up "Hell, maybe he'd be awake right now-!"

"You don't know that!" John hid the stab of guilt in his angry words.

"Neither do you." Sam glared, growling the words.

"Sammy, I'm sick of fighting with you..." His voice was stern, but John still felt like he was begging his son for a reprieve. Almost eight days of senseless arguing, and John was exhausted. "It's my turn to watch, just get some sleep, Sammy."

The light of the sun was always too bright to Cas when he returned from visiting Dean. Yet, somehow it was always a little colder in the world without him. The angel sighed heavily, setting out to search for the cottage under the thorns. He remembered the way quite well, after his other searches for Dean, and the mound of black spikes and vines curled up between the trees like an omen. Without his grace, Castiel felt so weak, standing in front of the thicket that kept him from the hunter.

"Lost something, Handsome?" He heard her before he saw her. Castiel turned, and immediately knew it was the witch who enchanted Dean.

"How do I reach him? What have you done?" He demanded, fueled with new anger. She raised an eyebrow, smirking a little.

"You're not normal, are you?"

"No" the angel didn't see a reason to hiding it "I'm an angel of The Lord."

"Awh, so far from home?" She cooed mockingly, and Cas grit his teeth, thinking of Dean and what shed done to him, trapped in his mind.

"I'm going to face her, Dean. I'll bring you back."

"But, Cas, you aren't as strong without your grace..." Dean twisted to face him, green eyes wide and concerned in a way that he would never let them be outside. Castiel would miss the openness that Dean had in here, knowing how high he made his walls around the people he had to protect and impress. But it would be worth it to see him truly smile again in reality.

"I'll be fine-"

"Fine isn't good enough." Dean set his jaw, staring into Cas's eyes "Promise me." He could count the hunter's freckles, he was so close. Not thinking, not comprehending such new, human emotions, Cas cupped the back of Dean's head and felt the short hairs there. Dean stopped dead in his rambling.

"Dean Winchester, I promise that the next time you see me, we will both be alive, well, and awake." Cas stared back into Dean's eyes as intensely as he did, burning with some feeling he didn't quite understand, but had felt a thousand times with Dean.

"I love you." Dean seemed surprised at his own words.

Castiel smiled until the hunter beamed back at him. "And I love you too."

"I have to see him." Cas shoved his anger down in favor of blank
determination.

"Oh? Prince Charming's here to save the day? What will his daddy think when a man comes up to kiss his boy?"

"At least Dean will live."

"We'll see." She snarled, snapping her fingers and letting out a progressively more inhuman noise, becoming a roar.

She was scaly, fangs distorting her face and eyes becoming larger, more reptilian. A forked tongue darted out between her lips and her hands and feet propped and grew and crunched into talons and claws. Castiel stumbled back, tripping over a jagged branch. Desperate for a weapon, he hauled it up into his hands and brandished it like a sword.

Not wasting time, Castiel charged only to meet claws with his weapon, and be thrown into a neighboring tree trunk. She was strong.

But he was an angel.

Heat burst through the forest in a whirl, spouting dragon fire at the fallen angel, who barely ducked in time. Hiding behind a clump of bushes and briar by the thorn covered cottage, Cas crawled behind the beast, going on the offensive. Brandishing a jagged, singed branch, Castiel poured all grace he could spare into plunging the weapon between its ribs. The witch shrieked in agony, falling to the forest floor in a puff if smoke on the snowy ground.

Catching his breath, the angel wrenched up his branch and turned to the thick shield of thorns.

He really did look like Mary.

John gazed down at his unconscious, enchanted son with a certain air of defeat that curled in his gut. He saw his wife in the high cheekbones and spatter of amber freckles. Dean had the same full pout to his lips and big green eyes. His eldest wasn't handsome: he was beautiful, and Dean was picked on for it all the time by old hunters in the community. Until Dean set them straight with a mean right swing and another successful hunt in the bag.

But John never imagined that being pretty could get the boy in this much trouble.

Their very own fairytale. John huffed, shaking his head. A week and a half ago, he'd have laughed at anyone who said it, but now... He didn't know what to do. True love's kiss? Weird girls in dreams? Even if he could leave the "tower", how the Hell could he explain this to a civilian? I need you to kiss my son, so he'll wake up from his enchanted coma. It was stupid. How the Hell could he even begin to save Dean?

"D-Dad?" Sammy muttered, and honestly, John had forgotten his youngest was there "What if... What if Dean doesn't-"

"Don't talk like that, Sammy." He snapped, trying to avoid the question screaming in his own head "Your brother's gonna be fine." He expected some heated retort, but Sam just didn't have the heart to answer.

They were quiet and still for a long while, in some sort of silent vigil to the comatose son and brother that they couldn't save by themselves. They tried calling around on the satellite phone. Bobby had nothing. Pastor Jim couldn't offer a thing. Caleb was in the Canadian Rockies on a hunt, but there was no way he'd have anything if the others came up empty. Dean always sleeping on, looking so peaceful and pretty and hopelessly young...

He thought he heard footsteps for a second, but John resigned it to his imagination. They hadn't seen or heard another human being since the witch changed the decor. It wasn't until the door banged open against the wall that the oldest Winchester snapped his head around and aimed his gun.

There was a man standing in the threshold. He looked rumpled and singed, with wild dark hair and piercing blue eyes, wearing a trench coat patched with mud and melted snow. John cocked his weapon- this guy didn't look like too much of a threat, and John could take him down if he really had to, but this guy was young and fit. And somehow got up here, so he would be stupid to underestimate the kid. Not to mention the sensation of electricity and power rolling of the stranger in waves- he was probably mid twenties, John guessed, looking him up and down and standing protectively in front of Dean.

"Who the Hell are you?" He growled, standing between his defenseless son and the wild stranger, carefully holding Sammy back.

"I am Castiel." His voice was gravelly and deep. John was about to ask what the Hell kind of a name "Castiel" was, when Sam gasped behind him.

"Dad, don't shoot!" He cried, slipping around him and almost tripping right into the powerful, mysterious, definitely not human stranger. "Do you ever go by Cas?" He sputtered with confusion and a flicker of hope in his eyes. John's order for his son to "get back here, damn it" got caught in his throat when the man furrowed his brow in recognition and his lips quirked into a tiny smile.

"How do you know that...?"

Sam didn't answer, turning to John with so much hope in his hazel eyes that it burned. He beamed, gripping onto the trench coat and pulling the potentially dangerous man into the cottage. "Dad, it's him!"

Cas frowned in confusion at the young boy and quirked his head to the side. "What do you mean?"

"You're the Dream Girl..." Sam replied, choking around the last word "Dean talked to me about you, but he- he told me..."

"That I was female." Cas finished, nodding in understanding. He wasn't hurt by it, though. Dean's life had been lived in a way that led him to believe many things to be weak or wrong. Most of them were parts of who Dean was, and thing he couldn't change. It would take years of love and care for him to learn to accept himself as worthy and deserving of love. Dean told Sam he was a girl to protect Sam from his "weakness". The angel smiled sadly. "But, yes, I have been visiting Dean in dreams, and in here to lift the enchantment."

"That's impossible." John's voice came from behind Sam, still shielding Dean from the newcomer "Dean can't... He's not gay, you can't possibly-"

"Be his true love?" Cas couldn't help the little grin that quirked his lips. "I believe this is a conversation for you and your son to have after he is awake." Without a single thought to the firearm pointed at him, Cas rounded the other side of the bed and looked down at Dean.

He was truly gorgeous, so peaceful and calm. Cas's breath caught, and he sat gently at the edge of the bed, aware but completely uncaring of the suspicious eyes watching him. Dean's dark eyelashes curled where they splayed across his high cheekbones, the amber dots of freckles making his fair complexion glow a little in the firelight of the room. His lips naturally pouted and were rose red, like they'd been painted that way. With a careful hand, he reached out and cradled Dean's cheek, feeling the smoothness of his skin. He leaned over, using the barest amount of pressure against the plush mouth, despite how badly he wanted to never stop.

Pulling back almost hurt, but Cas didn't have to wait long before the lips were back on his, reacting and slotting against his a familiarly gun calloused hand twined into the hair at the nape of his neck. His heart leapt in his chest and his weakened grace glowed in every crevice of his body.

Dean was awake.

Pulling back, Cas had just enough time to see Dean's eyelashes flutter open. His breath caught in his throat, and, while part of him was amazed that it even worked, he was even more stunned by the mingling of emerald green with firelight.

"C-Cas?" his voice rasped from lack of use, but it was so beautiful, all the same.

"Hello Dean." He grinned, grasping onto the hunter's hand. Dean answered the look with his own breathless smile as he remembered all the time with Castiel under the enchantment.

Sam cried out, falling into his brother's arms before he wrapped his arm around Sammy's skinny back. He didn't unlace his other hand from his angel's, though. John hung in the back by the door, his eyes burning into the back of the angel's head.

"Dad?" Dean felt the heavy tension too, looking up to meet his father's eyes with trepidation.

Everyone turned to him with baited breath, looking for the acceptance that Dean was aching for. John floundered under the pressure, emotions and reactions flitting by: confusion, anger, desperation, rejection, relief, love-

"Good mornin', Sleeping Beauty." John smiled shakily, a few stray tears clouding his vision as he sat in front of his eldest son before pulling him into his arms and cradling him close.