A/N: Hello! Sorry for this massive delay (and the possible massive delay to come). I'm currently abroad in Rome and will be until the end of July! I'm still going to try and write for you all. I'm soooo close to finishing, I just need that last push, and I have to find it while studying and exploring Italy. So I apologize in advance if I disappear for a bit. I promise I haven't forgotten about you.

So, this chapter... fire. And the aftermath.

Chapter Fourteen

"Fuck," Dean mumbled.

"Clothes on," Castiel hissed, pulling his own pants up roughly. The two dressed hurriedly; Castiel wasn't even sure that Dean had his tunic on right, but that didn't matter right now. Only the screams and the growing heat mattered.

Dean banged the closet door open and took off, Castiel hot on his heels. It was absolutely insane in the ballroom. Three people, dressed as the Harvelles' guards, were waving torches as the tables and tapestries burned. Through the wide windows, Castiel could see that the floor below the ballroom was on fire too.

He turned to Dean, who no longer looked scared. He looked calm, determined, and frightening. "You two," he addressed two armed soldiers, "bring up water. I need twenty men putting out that fire. Cas," Dean's eyes darted from the screaming torch-wielders to the crowd of panicked partygoers. "Get the people somewhere safe."

"Be careful!" Castiel called as Dean ran at one of the outsiders, now standing on a table, yelling about 'broken promises' and 'a new way'.

Castiel did his best to herd everyone out and down the main flight of stairs. Jo and Ellen had the same look on their faces as Dean had, and Castiel realized that it was reflected in his face. Protect the people.

Everyone was as safe as they could be in the throne room, but Castiel couldn't just sit down there. He made eye contact with Jo. "Go," she told him. "We've got it here."

Castiel took the stairs three at a time. The fire was dwindling slowly, but the three men were now fighting. Castiel paused for a moment in awe. Dean's coat had been shed and he was successfully fighting off three fully-grown angry men, one of which was still holding a torch.

He swept the feet out from under one of the men and turned fluidly to punch another square in the face. The first man was struggling to get up and Dean turned back to him, failing to see the man with a torch run at him.

Castiel didn't think. All of a sudden, he was sprinting and slamming into the man with the torch. His shoulder pulled painfully, but the man crunched sickeningly under him. Castiel sat forcefully on top of the man and hit as hard as he could, directly to the jaw, and the man's head snapped to the side. Castiel raised his fist again, but the man had blacked out. He pushed him over and undid the strings of his black vest, tying them securely around the man's wrists.

A weird sort of satisfaction washed over Castiel. He finally understood why people fought. Yes, he was relieved that there was one less man engaging Dean in hand-to-hand combat, but it was something more. Power rushed through his veins. He didn't even feel the cuts on his knuckles. For a moment, he was overwhelmed with victory. Then, all of a sudden, the feeling was gone. He shook his head; it must have been an adrenaline rush or something.

He stood shakily to the sight of Dean staring openmouthed at him. The other two men were being dragged off by guards, also unconscious. "You told me you weren't a fighter," Dean said, breathless.

Castiel blinked at him. "I wasn't."

After a heavy second, they both turned to help the soldiers put out the fire.

It took nearly an hour to extinguish all the flames. The ballroom was in shambles; the only parts left were the scorched stone walls. Directly under the ballroom was a council room, which was in the same state as the blackened ballroom.

Everyone had been ordered back to their respective rooms. "Cas, go wait in my room," Dean had told him.

Castiel set his jaw. "No way in hell. I'm right here with you."

Dean acquiesced eventually, squeezing Castiel's hand briefly before going to check in with the guards around the castle walls. They walked purposefully in the dark, accompanied by an armed guard.

Soft fingers dragged down Castiel's palm and twisted in his. Dean looked straight ahead, but Castiel glanced nervously to the guard behind them. "Only a few more minutes to the wall," came the voice of Jody Mills from behind the face guard. Castiel sighed, relieved, and squeezed Dean's hand.

The dry grass crunched under the three pairs of feet as they neared the wall. The blue-eyed man rubbed circles on Dean's hand soothingly, then let it go as they stepped into the firelight.

None of them were expecting the sight that was waiting for them. At the main entrance to the castle where four soldiers were usually station lay thirteen dead bodies. Twelve of them were Winchester soldiers, and one was a blue clad man like the three that had set fire to the castle.

Castiel heard Jody take a shuddering breath and he realized he had covered his mouth in horror. It was one thing to talk about death, but to see it up close... Castiel thought he might be sick. The metallic stench of blood hung in the air, mixing with the lingering smell of smoke. Castiel shuddered. He couldn't imagine what the battles of the Rebellion had been like.

Castiel was snapped back to the present when Dean strode forward, face as hard as stone. He could only watch as the king crouched next to each body, inspecting it thoroughly before pulling out any arrows or knives and gently closing each pair of eyes. He did the same thing for the blue-clad man.

"Sir," Jody cleared her throat as Dean stood.

"Call a few more soldiers down." His voice was gruff. "Take the bodies to the empty shed in the back, and lock it. We'll set up the funeral pyres tomorrow." Jody jogged off to carry out Dean's orders.

Castiel had never seen Dean's face so still before. Had his cheeks not been flushed in the cold air, Castiel could have sworn that Dean was a statue. He looked like a character from some long ago play immortalized in marble, maybe a soldier standing over a fallen comrade. But no, Castiel had observed Dean's face enough to understand his microexpressions. The slight widening of his eyes, the constricted pupils, the tightness of his lips... He was more like a marble prophet, old in spirit though young in years, who had just seen a very dark future.

"We need to tell the queen," Castiel said, his voice even. Dean may have been the hard, fearsome ruler of this kingdom, but Castiel could tell that he needed someone to be strong with him. And by god, Castiel would be strong for him. Dean nodded once.

The other soldiers arrived moments later, carrying the dead back around the castle. Castiel knew it wasn't his place, but he tapped one man on the shoulder. The soldier looked up. "Do you have any sturdier armor? Something you'd normally wear in battle?"

The man glanced to the king and back. "Uh, yes sir."

"Start wearing that whenever you are outdoors," Dean finally spoke up. "I'll furnish you with stronger swords and bows tomorrow."

"Thank you, Your Majesty," the soldier let out a breath and pulled the last body towards the castle.

The two men walked back to the castle. "That was a good idea," Dean murmured. Castiel said nothing; instead, he took Dean's hand and walked quietly to the doors before dropping it again.

Noises were coming from the library, and Dean and Castiel rushed towards it quickly. Another body, this one covered in a sheet, lay still on one of the tabled. Jo sat hunched over it, crying. Ellen's arm was around her, silent tears falling from her own face.

Dean went pale. "Jo?"

"It's Ash," Jo whispered. "He was knocked out and couldn't get out it time and-" A fresh wave of sobs came over her, tears dripping onto the white sheet.

Dean immediately rushed to her and scooped her into his arms. Jo curled into him and wept into his shoulder. Castiel stood by Ellen, who looked at her daughter sadly.

"Who was he?" the blue-eyed man asked softly.

"He was the Chief Advisor," Ellen murmured. "And the man Jo's been seeing in secret for almost a year now. That's why she's..." Ellen looked back over to the girl, now hiccuping quietly. Castiel no longer felt any jealousy towards her. He felt sad, and a little scared. What if Dean hadn't made it out? What would Castiel have done?

"We're going to have a funeral tomorrow," Dean told Jo softly. "He can be given a proper goodbye."

Jo nodded and stood, wiping her face off as best as she could. "I believe we all deserve a little sleep now," she said, forcing some strength into her voice. The few people in the room murmured their agreement and shuffled out. She passed Castiel and something must have been in his eyes because suddenly her arms were squeezing him, and he was squeezing back, putting as much comfort as he could into the embrace. She withdrew a moment later, embarrassed, and nodded her goodnight.

"I'll be up to your room in a minute," Castiel whispered to Dean. "I just want to check on Gabe." Dean nodded and gave him a chaste kiss before disappearing down the hall. Castiel passed the staircase that led to the servants quarters; he had a feeling Gabe was in a different room.

There were no guards at Sam's door, surprisingly. He knocked twice, just loud enough to be heard. After a moment, the door cracked and Sam's face peeked out from behind it. "Cas," he sounded relieved, opening the door wider.

"Sam," Cas said cautiously. He had never called the prince by his first name before, but Sam just gave him a tired smile and held the door open.

"Gabe is here, isn't he?" Castiel asked.

"Cassie?" a voice called from what Castiel assumed was Sam's bedroom. The short man peered out from behind the doorway, much like Sam had moments before. "It's good to see you." Gabe rushed forward, a thick blanket wrapped around him, and hugged Castiel like there was no tomorrow.

"Are you alright? I didn't see you during... you know." Castiel pulled away to look at his friend.

"I'm fine. I was actually down in the kitchens, confused as hell."

"Sam?" Castiel turned. "Are you okay?"

The younger Winchester clapped him on the back. "Okay as I can be. I, um," Sam looked down. "How is Dean? I saw him fighting and I didn't, I should've..."

Gabe wrapped his arms around Sam's waist. "For the last time, Sam, if you hadn't run to get the water, more people would have died. You didn't have to go fight with Dean. You did the right thing."

"Gabe is right," Castiel saw Sam's look of disappointment with himself. "Dean handled himself perfectly fine." And I helped out a little. "If the water had arrived any later, the fire would have spread to the other rooms."

Sam looked relieved. "Good. Okay, good." He rubbed Gabe's back for a minute. "And Dean?"

Castiel swallowed thickly. "I'm about to go see." Sam nodded.

Castiel spared no thought to any passing people in the hallways- he went straight to Dean's room. Jody Mills stood outside and opened the door for him immediately. Castiel strode in, looking around. Dean wasn't in the sitting room. Castiel continued through the second set of doors and relaxed as Dean's form under the covers.

Dean's green eyes blinked at him as Castiel pulled off his tunic and undershirt. The comforter was warm against the chill that had stayed with him through the evening. He lay on his side facing Dean, close but not touching.

"Hi," he whispered.

"Hi," Dean mumbled back. His lip twitched once, and Castiel enveloped Dean in his arms.

"It's okay, Dean," Castiel murmured against the shaking man's back. "Let it out." That's when the tears began to fall. Dean's quiet sobs broke Castiel's heart, one by one. He could feel every bit of Dean's pain, but he knew it was a thousand times worse for him. He probably knew those soldiers. He might have known Ash. All of these people dying... it was like the start of another Rebellion. And it probably was.

Castiel clutched Dean tightly to him. He didn't care that Dean's nails were digging little half moons into his skin, or that he was hugging Dean so hard that it was difficult to breathe. All he wanted to do was take Dean's pain away, but it seemed that the closer he came to happiness, the more obstacles blocked his way to it.

It was then that Castiel became aware that he was crying too. "Dean," he murmured, voice breaking. "I'm so sorry."

They held each other like that for a long time. After what seemed like hours, Dean relaxed, leaning his forehead on Castiel's. He sniffed once and then looked at him, green eyes shining through the tears. "Don't leave," he murmured. By his state of undress and the way that his limbs were already tangled in Dean's, it was obvious that Castiel wasn't going anywhere. Dean's hand twitched on his back and Castiel understood. Don't leave me.

"Never," Castiel murmured. He brushed his lips against Dean's reassuringly. Only minutes later, Dean was asleep.

The blue-eyed man took a moment to gaze openly at Dean, carding his fingers through his soft brown hair. He had now seen all sides of Dean, every emotion: joy, rage, devastation, euphoria, peace, hopelessness, fear. Throughout every second of the last three months, Castiel had loved Dean. Through each emotion and every event, he loved him, more than he had ever loved anything else. "I love you," he murmured to Dean's sleeping form. He remembered Jo's words, and repeated them to Dean. "I love you more than anything else in the entire world."

It took Castiel a long time to fall asleep, and when he did, he had no dreams.

"Cas," a voice whispered in his ear. Castiel groaned, burying his face into the warmth of Dean's chest. "C'mon Cas, wake up." It was Dean who was whispering, pushing Castiel's overgrown hair out of his eyes.

Castiel squinted at Dean through the early morning sunlight. His eyes were still red and puffy, but there were no tears. A little smile even graced his features. "Morning."

"Morning," Castiel mumbled, stretching. He immediately regretted it, as every muscle in his body protested. A groan escaped his lips.

"I feel it too, don't worry," Dean sighed, rolling away from Castiel and onto his feet. "You'd get used to it if you went through sparring practice twice a week." He frowned at the floor. "Maybe I should've made you go to sparring practice," he muttered.

Castiel dragged himself out of the bed, his bleary eyes searching for the blue of his tunic. He rubbed his face, hoping to wake himself up a little, when Dean touched his shoulder. "Wear my clothes again. It's going to be a rough day."

Castiel nodded, leaning heavily into Dean. "The funerals will be today, won't they?"

Dean nodded against Castiel's shoulder. "In an hour or two. I think we should bathe first."

The bath wasn't sexual. They traded kisses, some slow and some nothing but a brush of skin. Dean reveled in the feel of Castiel washing his hair, and in return, he kneaded soap into Castiel's back. The two spent longer than necessary in the bath, but it was a nice little bubble of calm before they had to face the day.

Castiel dressed in a simple sapphire shirt, long sleeves gathered at the wrist. Thank god Dean had a surplus of black pants, because he borrowed some of those too. He brought a vertically striped brown and gold vest to Dean.

He laughed darkly. Castiel raised an eyebrow in question. "This is the vest I wore exactly one year ago, when it all ended."

Castiel's eyes widened. "I thought the anniversary of the Rebellion was tomorrow," he breathed.

Dean shook his head and shrugged the vest on with a sense of purpose. "No. It's today."

A/N: Ooh, ominous. Let me know what you think!