With the end of autumn, so too came the harvesting of the wheat and corn that had been growing in the more open parts of the camp. While guard was still posted, it was lessened, and you found yourself simply taking on the extra duty, along with many others, of collecting and processing the food without break from other jobs. Castiel still demanded your free times, his foot nearly healed but not fully. Nights were spent with neither of you able to sleep as he spun tales of civilizations long since passed. He stayed away from the last century or so, and you noticed gaps, but otherwise, he seemed to very much enjoy telling you the intricate stories. They were sometimes humorous, others, the more revealing ones, were the sad ones. The times when he felt he and his brothers, for you didn't doubt that he spoke the truth anymore, had done wrong. Sometimes he told you about various monsters, and how to kill them in case you came across them. He taught you the spell for exorcisms in case someone got possessed by a demon, even gave you a tattoo, one for Mary, too, that he said would keep them from doing so. It hurt, but you supposed to was a small price to pay for control of your body.
It was growing colder outside as well, each morning slightly more biting than the rest, and your breath beginning to gather crystals as it came out into the chilled afternoon. The rush to harvest became more intense when you woke to find frost gathering on the corn, killing the delicate kernels. Sleep became nearly as scarce as when you had been on the outside, and coats were simply piled on as you worked by the light of the moon. You developed a cold, but the runny nose and cough was tossed aside for the sake of efficiency. Castiel yelled at you for not taking care of yourself; you promised to do better, and then didn't change a thing. He'd scowl, but he never really expected you to.
The last stretch, grinding it all to be made into breads, was late enough that the crippled ex-angel was well enough to join, still getting used to using both legs, but able to move his upper body well enough. Three months his recovery had taken, but even so his life was quite the miracle. You would have bled out; any normal human would have. You couldn't help but wonder if it was more than just a natural leaning to quick healing-if he wasn't really fully an ex-angel after all.
"Come on, you're falling behind, cripple." you joked, huffing the cold air into your lungs as you gasped for air. You needed to talk to Dean about finding a way to make this easier. It was killing you, and you were perfectly healthy before.
"You're the one who's breathing her last breathes. I'll catch up after you croak." He said back, huffing as well, though not nearly as badly. Even after disuse, his muscles still rippled under layers and layers of fabric, and he easily crushed the seeds beneath the heavy stone.
"Shut up!" was all you could get out, every witty retort to taxing on your dwindling supply of spare oxygen. Just as you thought you were gonna drop dead, the bell rang for shift change. You rushed across the field to Cas' cabin, where you put a fire in his stone fireplace. You weren't supposed to unless it was an emergency, but you used a match, and coaxed it into a large enough size to be of substance before the owner even got in. he laughed, seeing you huddling like a penguin, wondering if getting any closer would be painful, and developing a cost/benefit analysis for the matter.
He simply came up behind you, sat down, and wrapped his arms around your shoulders. The subject of a relationship had been fiercely avoided by both parties, but these moments were not uncommon. The ones that bordered on, but didn't cross the fence into, the territory of lovers. There were no kisses, no gentle caressing, only the same cuddling that could conceivably be performed by very close friends for warmth. There was always an excuse ready if someone came in and asked. But that didn't mean that your heart didn't jump as his warmth began to seep into yours, combining with the flame to make you almost toasty.
"So every year Dean lets us have a harvest festival. We go an sing and dance, and people play music. Lots of food." He told you, not seeming to have a point. You leaned back into his chest, internally sighing at the comfort found there, and laughed.
"For a messenger of God, you dance around the point a lot." you told him, and he blushed, or at least you thought he did. It could have just been the redness of the cold still in his cheeks.
"And you never beat around the bush?"
"I don't assault individuals near shrubberies, no." you said, a smart ass comment the broke his false stoicism and left him chuckling deep in his throat. It was your favorite of his laughs.
"I was wondering if you would allow me to escort you. It's like prom, only there's no more public education, and no one cares if the punch is spiked."
"Will you wear a tux?"
"Will you wear a gown?"
"We should go raid town to find some. Then be really pretentious about it."
"Somehow I think we'd get shot."
"Fine. You're no fun, but I'll let you take me to prom anyway." you acted as though this were the most generous thing ever to be done by a mere mortal, and rivaling Christ in patience. He just smirked and got up, leaving your back cold. He returned with a blanket, and pulled to to lay down. He threw it over the both of you, and you fell asleep to the crackling of the fire. It burned out sometime during the night, but you stayed warm, simply moving closer together.
The work was finally done, and the "prom" was beginning. As the sun set, normally rationed, though loosely, beer poured fresh from the barrels your group brewed them in. You weren't going to get drunk, but you had a few glasses, and you stood by the giant fire in the center of camp like everyone else as you stuffed your face full of fresh venison, even beef that had come from who knew where. Turkeys, and canned, though well-prepared vegetables adorned countless tables, and everyone had at least a serving of everything. Corn was a centerpiece, being fresh, and the bread came steaming from makeshift ovens.
Being full, not just sated, but FULL, was something that was rare, and you were quite enjoying the sensation. But the night hadn't begun yet, not until Jeb decided to break out the music. He grabbed his flute, and a few other people followed suit by picking up a slew of instruments from a harmonica to a guitar. In spite of the jumbled assortment, you still found yourself tapping your foot as a dance circle was cleared out. You watched as couples and individuals began to spin and dance in the dying, frosted grass, and those forming it stomped feet and clapped hands. You jumped as you felt arms snake around your waist, resting on your hips. As you looked up, familiar scuffle brushed your face, and you smiled to know that it was Castiel, still chewing a piece of juicy turkey.
"So, are you gonna dance with me?" he asked, not yet going full puppy-mode, but obviously prepared to sink to such unsportsmanlike measures.
"I can't dance!" you protested. It was true. At your own wedding, you'd only done those that were traditionally necessary, lest you embarrass yourself more than was needed.
"Everyone here is drunk, and I can. Just follow my lead." he said, and lifting you up, moving you to a bridal style position that forced you to clasp onto his neck to keep from falling. He put you down a moment later to the sound of applause from the crowd around you. The beat suddenly changed from a slow jazz music, to one that sounded suspiciously like a cover of "Into the Night" by Santana. You frowned as he bowed, took your hand, and kissed it.
Then he started moving, and you were amazed. In battle he was graceful, but dancing, he seemed even more so. Every movement was placed perfectly, but with little form, as if he were only feeling each note and responding like a robot to computer code. You didn't want to follow, but by now you had no other choice. You tried to do as he was doing, and the steps were left nearly as awkward as you'd feared. You were beginning to panic when he spun you around and closer to him, pressed abreast.
"Just relax. You're beautiful." he whispered, placing a small kiss to your cheek. You blushed, but when he moved his arm out, you followed. You tried to stop worrying about correct form, or the others watching you.
They all faded out into a blur as your mind decided to focus on the body of your partner instead. You found that you were soon moving to the beat, weaving about as if it were a battle, only no one was going to die. After that, the angel couldn't drag you from the center, even when the samba, and the cat calls, started. He left to get some more food, and came back to find you dancing by yourself, with no one else making a move save foot-stomping to keep rhythm. You looked at him and raised a brow, holding out a hand in invitation to join you.
The night went on, the night growing to early morning as merriment was made. The last song before the sun began to come up was a waltz, something you'd learned to dance with your father for his allocated wedding song. You were spinning in slow circles, staring into crisp blue eyes.
"Did I mention that you're beautiful?" he asked, his voice low in your ear.
"Only a few hundred times." you answered.
"Are you still waiting for me?" his face became serious, looking ready to be sad. You wondered why. Did he think you were a liar?
"I said as long as need be, didn't I?" you told him, smiling comfortingly.
"Good" was his only further response before his lips met yours, but a chaste brush of lips and the promise of more. They were slightly chapped as usual, but they felt like heaven. You hadn't partaken in much drink that night, but your head started to feel light regardless.
"I love you, Castiel." You said, none of the prior hesitation in your voice. His response was a much more passionate embrace as his hands left their positions to move farther down your waist to your hip, with the other threading through your hair as his mouth attacked yours. Tongues became involved, and you momentarily forgot there were other people around until you let loose a small moan and the music stopped, and people started whistling.
You flushed red as wine, and dug your face into Cas' chest as though that would fix it.
"We'll see you later, fellows. Don't come to us, yeah?" he said before grabbing you up once more, licking his lips as he looked at you like a predator.
If you hadn't been so into your own relationship, you would have noticed that Dean and Mary had been dancing the entire time, and were currently making out in the corner of the field. She had gone to him when you went to Cas, needing someone to talk to. You knew that they liked each other, but you would still have given him the "Break a bone per tear" speech to him, and the safe sex talk to her. But you were about to do a lot more than talking, and your baser instincts ignored it in favor of more interesting activities.
A/N- This will soon become very sexy. If you don't appreciate this, skip this chapter, because that's all it's gonna be. Thanks for viewing.