It had been an accident.
The boy tripped down the corridor and wandered around the small hall in confusion until his eyes found Dean curled up in the corner of his dark cell. The stranger was shocked into stillness as he tried to make out the shadowy figure. This boy looked to be about Dean's age, probably a few years younger. He didn't appear to be another prisoner -his clothes, a plain white shirt draped over dark brown trousers, were too clean. Much too clean. He looked out of place against the dingy backdrop, his short black hair the only part of him that appeared to out of place as it loosely spiked around his head. Castiel, he said his name was in an awkward and formal greeting with a deep voice that echoed through the small space.
"Will you not tell me what your name is?"
Dean slowly picked up his head and looked over at him blankly without bothering to try to mime his way through that one.
"Okay." The boy noisily cleared his throat before pressing on with his one-sided conversation. "Well, I'm sorry to bother you. I seem to be a bit lost. I'm not really supposed to be here. See, I'm not supposed to leave the inner palace."
Dean knew of the inner palace and he was not allowed to go in there. Only a few got to see behind shut doors and those were the special few. To the rest, it was closed off with great big locks guarded by scary looking statues. Not that it would deter Dean, he wasn't scared of some gargoyle, but he had no reason to dive deeper into hell.
The tense mutterings of his visitor continued as Dean made no move to respond, or any move at all -a statue in his own way. "I meant to meet my brother Gabriel but I think he gave me bad directions. We usually meet much closer to the gate."
Prince Gabriel was part of the Royal family and a dick all the same but he wasn't as bad as some of the others. He was more the prankster and loved to use Dean as a test subject. His idea to try and get Dean to break his vow was to throw ice down his pants at every opportunity, usually when he was busy lifting things and didn't have a free hand to bat the chunks away. Every time he did it he would add on, 'If you want me to stop just say so!'
Dick.
Dean gave Gabriel's brother another irritated look before turning his gaze back down to the floor and settling back into his usual spot where he could vacantly stare the hours away. How long could this guy talk to himself for? Being the sibling to a Royal meant he was one as well so probably forever. They never shut up.
"What is the best way to leave this place?"
Dean scrunched his eyes together and started chuckling at the ground below. Alright, either this was the stupidest, most naïve Royal ever or this was just some trick Michael sent his way to bother him. Dean had been around a while and this guy was unrecognizable. If he was an inner palace member, not meant to mingle with the common folk, why else would he be sneaking to the deepest depths of the dungeon to pay him a visit?
"Oh." The Royal seemed to realize his mistake, finally taking in the iron bars keeping them separated and stating his finds outright, "You're locked up. Why are you locked up?"
Dean's face continued to contort in disbelief as he shook his head. This was definitely one of Michael's games.
"You don't have to tell me." Dean didn't bother to spare him much of a second glance but could make out the other boy shuffling in his spot, his fists tightening and loosening at his side. "I was just curious. No one really tells me anything."
He could feel the Royal continue to look and eventually gave up ignoring him and met his eyes with a defiant glare to find...not really hatred like he was used to. There was no threatening scowl or bang of the fists as he learned to expect from his silence. It was more along the lines of that curiosity the Royal had just referred to.
The boy's head was tilted to the side and his brows were scrunched together as his eyes tried to penetrate the dark and make out the mute figure. After a certain point it no longer felt like an average curiosity. He wouldn't stop staring. In a former life Dean would have said something suggestive like 'they've got cuffs in the back' or 'there's a lot you can do through the bars' but he didn't have that luxury. He just stared back with a challenging glare and waited for the other to cave.
Eventually the staring contest stopped when a tiny bird landed in his cell window with a squawk and distracted the Royal. Dean let his eyes drop and without the connection to hold them, the Royal left Dean to his chamber, apparently finding his way out of the labyrinth of cells on his own because he was back the next night.
"Hello Dean." The Royal greeted him in the same place outside his cell and Dean definitely jumped at his name. Not only had he not heard the guy sneak up on him but no one had called him by his true name in at least a year. He was just known as mutt or boy or squirrel -squirrel being a name made up by one of the other prisoners for a reason he still did not understand.
The Royal took no notice of his shock and went on speaking in a calm, confident tone. "I asked Gabriel about you. He told me who you were. He also told me you took a vow of silence. So you don't have to talk…because you won't. I just wanted to see if you were hungry."
Dean's eyes squinted. This was a trick and he knew it. Food? There was no way. Yet, the guy was reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small apple. A really shiny, dark red apple that had Dean's mouth watering.
The food they gave him was worthy of dog chow –appropriate with his nickname. Seeing something like that was making him flash back to old memories of his mother baking apple pies with sugar and cinnamon, the scent filling the house and calling him in from outside. He would kill for a slice of that pie.
The Royal slid his hand through the bars and held the apple in his flat palm as if he were about to feed a horse and wanted to prevent his fingers from being chomped off. Dean stared from the corner, unmoving. It wasn't like it would be poisoned. This was not Snow White and Dean was no princess. If they wanted to kill him they could have done that years ago. Even though that was true, he didn't want this Royal to get any ideas.
He got up and slowly stalked to him, staring him down and refusing to break the hold with the Royal's monstrously blue eyes in every step he took. He had not seen them from the corner but in the light of a small torch burning many feet away they glowed a shining sapphire. Those bright eyes made him look quite innocent as he refused to drop his gaze. Dean had to give the boy credit, most could not look him straight in the eyes for long. What they saw was too dark for them. Even then, he could feel his mark tingle as his mind drifted to dark, dominating, Taker thoughts but he would not look away.
When there was no room left between them Dean paused and continued to stare the younger boy down, giving him another chance. The Royal still did nothing but stare back, his hand only shaking the slightest bit as he held it up. With no warning, Dean suddenly snatched a hand down and wrapped it tight around his wrist and with a strong tug pulled him straight up to the cage with a bang.
Dean smirked to himself as the Royal tried to control his breathing, the fear in his eyes obvious in the close proximity, only the inch of bar between them. Dean pointedly grabbed the apple from his palm and leaned in close, taking a loud chomp of the fruit in front of the Royal's face, spraying the juices on his skin and in his eyes. Dean gave him a playful wink before releasing his grip and pushing him away. The Royal took a step back and started to rub the ache in his wrist and on his head where he bumped into the metal bars but did not say a thing.
Dean didn't really think it would earn him a visit to Alistair. This kid seemed too nervy to do anything like that.
Nothing else happened that night except for Dean eating and enjoying every last bit of that apple, only leaving the stem to be chucked out the window. He didn't think that interaction between them would keep the boy away and he was right.
For some reason the Royal took an interest in him and almost every night he came to visit. He came in the dead of night to talk -and talk and talk and talk- and do a lot of staring. At first, Dean tried to scare him away with threatening looks or by throwing loose stones at him but nothing would not stop that boy from coming.
Eventually Dean accepted it. After hearing the final click of the lock on his door he would sink against the bars and watch the hall, listening for the Royal's footsteps so he could scurry to the other side and take his place in his corner. The Royal would sit on the opposite wall in the hall and always beckon Dean to come closer. Dean would always ignore his calls and stay in his place as he listened, keeping his head down and his ears open. The Royal seemed to settle slowly into his victory, becoming more and more comfortable around him as Dean in turn did the same.
This Royal wasn't like the other Royals, not really. He was a dick to a certain extent, pretentious and pious, but it was not his fault. It was a family trait. Plus, from what he told Dean, he was not exposed to much of the real world -only a window- because his father -the King- had condemned him to stay within the inner palace walls. His days consisted of watching out that window, reading books and other stories he would recant, or spending limited time with Gabriel or his cousin Belthazar. All of his Royal family had been explained to Dean at one point or another and it seemed those were the only two that he spent time with.
On the nights the Royal did not show up to visit, Dean's mind would wonder. At first it was in relief but that was soon followed by worry and then boredom. He had come to tolerate and even enjoy the company, even if it was from a Royal. Besides, what did he have to look forward to in life? Every day was monotonous –work, solitude, torment- and this, listening and mentally teasing, was the only thing that brought him some sense of entertainment.
After weeks of visits, Dean had evolved to active listening and responding -usually sarcastically. His communication had definitely increased from glaring since the Royal first started to bug him and he gestured his way through many conversations. At first he was not sure what changed his mind but then he realized, as he watched the Royal come and go, what he saw in this boy. He was lonely. Though they came from separate worlds they had that in common.
He was just as lonely as Dean.
Dean wondered why a Royal would feel the same as one of its prisoners and why he was locked up in the inner palace, the same as Dean was locked into his cell, but he did not ask. Not out loud at least.
"Here." The Royal pulled a piece of parchment and graphite from his pocket and gently placed it on the ground of the cell as he backed up to his usual spot on the opposite wall. "I was hoping you know how to write?" Dean nodded as he eyed the paper on the ground. "Can you tell me your name?"
Dean took a moment before unraveling form his corner and gliding over to the door before sinking back down, picking up the writing material and using his leg to scribble.
You already know it. Idiot.
The Royal chuckled at the note in his hand and Dean reckoned he would need to step up his insults. It had been so long since he had a way to communicate them other than through evil-eyes and rude hand gestures.
"I know but I want you to tell me yourself. I only know your first name. I know you are not a Royal so you must have a second."
Dean sighed but grabbed the parchment back and wrote it out, Winchester.
"Hello," The boy nodded his head in the formal greeting. "Dean Winchester."
Cas –Dean did not bother with formalities.
"My name is Castiel."
I know. Mouthful
"But you never say it out loud. How can it be a mouthful?"
For my brain
"Okay." The Royal tilted his head in his usual expression of confusion and it made Dean chuckle. "What's funny?"
Your face.
"My face is funny to you?"
Dean nodded.
"Are you always this pleasant in your mind?"
Dean shrugged with a smirk that made the Royal chuckle again. It was an enjoyable sound, one not heard much in the prison walls.
"Where are you from?"
Far away
"Can you tell me?"
Dean shook his head.
"Why not?"
Royal.
"Oh." The boy's face sunk and Dean had to tap him to get him to read his question.
Why?
"Why what?"
Do you want to know?
"Because I am curious about you. Should I not ask?"
You- He drew a line up to where he wrote Royal and tapped the page so he would understand.
"Why should that matter?"
I'm a prisoner –Dean let the boy read that sentence before reaching over the paper and furiously tapping the word Royal again. He seriously wondered how thick this guy was sometimes.
"Why did Father lock you up?" Dean shrugged and shook his head with a frown. "You don't know?" Dean shook his head again. "That doesn't make sense. How can you not know?"
Looking for work. Caught breaking into palace.
"Did you take anything?" He shook his head. "How long have you been here?"
2
"Two months?"
Years
"Years?! How long is your sentence?"
Don't know
"How can you not know? Did they not tell you?" Dean shook his head. "But that doesn't- that makes no sense. They would not condemn you without a fair trial." Dean raised his brow and laughed spitefully as the Royal continued to shake his head. "No. I refuse to believe this. Father would not do that."
Dean shook his head again and scribbled out something quick, his repressed anger making his writing sloppier than normal, scrawling over the page. You're locked up by him but you can't believe it?
"That's different. I know the reason for my penalization." Dean raised his brow for the explanation but now the Royal was the one shaking his head. "You shouldn't be here." The prisoner shrugged and watched in shock as the Royal stomped away without so much as a good-bye.
The next night he came back, just like normal. Only this time he wasn't cautious or curious or talkative. He was just plain mad. It looked odd for him to act in such a way when he was usually so calm. Dean was now the one watching intently with wide eyes as the Royal paced with clenched fists. Dean waited for him to talk and when he would not, he tried to catch his attention with a wave of the hand. The Royal just shrugged him off and continued to pace until he was satisfied.
"I spoke to my cousin. He told me of who you are. He overheard you speaking to the other servants a long time ago. I know about your family. I know you didn't –you do not deserve this. All because of the mark you were born with." Dean rose to his feet and watched in awe as the Royal only seemed to get more furious, a thrill sent through him at seeing this new side. The anger made him seem bigger and older than Dean knew him to be and he was much more undignified than his lifestyle commended. Dean knew he had backbone because of his interest and interactions with a Taker but this was something else. All over a life that was not his. "He always does this. All his people are equal, so he says. But the Takers never are! We- I knew he was bad but to rip a young boy from his life, never to see his family again. Your sentence is for life. I was not aware. I cannot- I just don't believe- how can-"
Dean cut him off by reaching through the bars, grabbing his arm, and yanking him to a stop. The Royal snapped his attention to the prisoner, breathing hard, his body still tense, their eyes stuck in another unnerving staring contest filled with the anxiety pulsing through the air. The Royal was first to break it, returning to his natural state in one long exhale as he glanced at the ground and started to look shameful for his outburst.
"I'm sorry."
Dean patted his arm try and tell him it was okay before releasing him completely and slinking it back between the bars. He was surprised at how much he wanted the Royal to calm after the momentary thrill was over and that it brought a twinge of guilt at seeing him so worked up. It did not make sense, there was no reason for Dean to care –but the Royal had no reason to care about him either.
"I suppose I let myself get too involved. It frustrates me because I can empathize."
Dean held up a finger and pointed to the ground miming for him to stay before crawling to the back of his cell and picking out the parchment and graphite he used the night before from under his 'blanket' –if it could even be called that.
What does empathyze
empythize
impa
No big words.
The boy cracked a smile as he read the note but it did not reach his eyes. "I understand you because I too must deal with being judged by my mark. Not to your extent of course."
Dean scowled at him and scrawled his words down fast, using the wall to help him write. You're a Royal. How?
"We can't choose the mark we were born with. Even as a Royal I am no different."
Hate your superiority?
"No that's not- I can't. I'm sorry. I have to go."
The Royal hurried away and left Dean very confused with the lack of explanation. Why would a Royal hate his mark? Many things did not make sense with that one.
