Castiel did not remember much. He remembered screaming and fire, red and yellow heat pouring out of the trees. He remembers Dean's voice, a laugh perhaps and crimson teeth, rotting flesh. Dead eyes. He remembers deep blue dead eyes. Then there was nothing. Then there was sleep and quiet. He vaguely remembered bouncing on a horse's back. He remembered warmth against his chest, and the smell of hickory and summer. He could hear metal gears grinding on wood. Snippets and snaps. Sensations; he could remember sensations. It was warm now. There was something soft beneath his back. He must be in a bed. Oh, so it was a dream then. He sighed and tried to move his body around under the sheets, only to discover he was so tired still. So tired.
"Hey," his favorite gruff voice called out. Whose voice was that again? Someone important. Someone very important. He tried opening his eyes. No use. He let out and angry breath and pulled the covers up as best he could. "Hey, Cas. Cas?"
He grunted in response. He didn't feel like he could do much more. A warm hand brushed his cheek, so he leaned into it. It must be Ana then. But Ana was not a man. He tried to crack his eyes open, but decided it was too much work. The hand left his face and he was about to grumble his displeasure, when it returned to softly smack him. Snuffling, he desperately attempted to stop it, but could only turn away.
"Cas, come on. Are you awake or are you dying?"
"Both," he said lowly.
"Can you at least open your eyes?"
"No."
He was not expecting Dean to reach over and force his eyes open, but that was exactly what happened. The prince fought against it was best he could, the light searing his eyes and making him writhe. His torturer chuckled softly, and let go. Cas blinked a few times, still not quite used to the brightness of the room.
"Blow out those lamps," his jaw finally clicked out. Dean did as he asked without a word. Cas struggled to sit up against the headboard of the bed. Once the lamps were all out, he could take better stock of the room. It was not the room in the castle he used to sleep in, as he had suspected it would be, but it was still very high quality. It was probably built for people about three classes above those the Roadhouse usually served. The sheets were clean, pristine and white. The furniture was all polished wood, lacquered and shining despite the darkness in the room. There were no windows, but there was a nicely wrought toilette tray to the side, made of flamboyant iron curves.
"Where are we?"
"Dema."
"Dema?"
"Dema."
"How long have I been unconscious?"
"About a day.
"A day?"
"A day."
"Why won't you look at me?"
Dean tried to meet his eyes across the room, but failed once more and ducked his head in defeat. He threw his ass in a chair Castiel hadn't noticed before. Rubbing his cheeks in a stressed out gesture, he sighed.
"A lot of shit happened while you were out. Cas," he put his hand over his brow to shade his face further. "Cas, Michael is…Michael's gonna try to kill you." For a moment Dean only stared at his hands and silence reigned over them.
"I don't understand."
"Michael says once you get back to Celeta, his first order will be to have you executed."
"No, that I understand. This isn't the first time Michael has tried to take my life, nor do I believe it will be the last. Why won't you look at me?"
"He told me I'm going to marry him."
"Why won't you look at me?"
"Damn it Cas!" Dean threw the chair to the floor. "Michael is going to kill you and force me to marry him, and you're concerned with why I won't-" He glared across the bed at the wall behind his prince's head, "Don't you care?"
"Of course I care, Dean. That is why I'm asking. Why won't you look at me?" Dean's hands balled into fists. His jaw locked and he turned his back. Castiel could see his shoulders rolling under the thin nightshirt hanging off his hunter's throat. Had Dean slept here with him? Where were Gabriel and Sam and Charlie? "Dean."
"I'm afraid of you."
"You're what of me?"
"Afraid."
"Afraid?"
"I'm not playing this game, Cas. You are terrifying, and I don't think I can look at you without shitting myself." Dean's voice cracked as he said, "I'm afraid of you."
"Why should you be afraid of me? I have never threatened you. I would never attack you. I don't understand."
"Cas, you say that, but you can't know any of it. You didn't see it. You didn't see yourself like I did. You are terrifying, I saw death in you."
"Dean, what did you see?"
"You, alright? I saw you." Castiel drew his eyebrows together, confused. Dean rolled his eyes in anger and sighed. "Not you," he gestured to Castiel's body on the bed, "I saw you," he gestured around the room. "You…" he covered his mouth again.
"You saw my grace?"
"I don't know, I guess, maybe."
"What did I look like to you? What color did you see?"
"Blue. There was blue and white and silver, I thought I would be happy if I could see you like Sam and Gabe see you, but I don't think I can do it again."
"You're stalling Dean. Tell me what you saw? What am I to you?"
"An owl," he shuddered. Cas had to silently admit, that was not what he had expected to hear, but then he realized Dean wasn't done, only trying to control his anger and fear. "And a stag, and bear, and there were so many wings around you. It doesn't sound," he gulped and groaned. "It was awful Cas. I saw death in you. It was like all the vengeance in the world wouldn't be enough to satisfy you, and you were coming after me."
"Dean, look at me."
"I can't."
"You can. I am not whatever you saw."
"You are."
"I am not death. Michael is death. Michael is the soldier. I am the bookkeeper. Look at me."
Cas saw his hunter swallow thickly. He turned around, slowly.
"Look at me."
Dean lifted his eyes. They returned to the place behind Cas's head, trying to flit to Cas's face, but failing.
"Please."
Dean's jaw clenched and he did it. Their eyes met for a moment. Then another, and the next thing Castiel knew, Dean was by his bedside leaning over him.
"Please."
And their lips met and Castiel wanted to surge back up into the embrace, but Dean pulled away.
"We have to be careful," he whispered. He still fought to maintain eye contact, but Castiel gave him as much leeway as he felt was safe. He took Dean's hand from his face and held it in his own.
"I have to be careful," Castiel reiterated carefully. "I had always suspected I was pure."
"So you know then," Dean leaned away. At first, Cas thought he might start pacing again, but, always the surprise, Dean sat down at the edge of the bed. The cords under the pallet mattress creaked slightly under the added weight.
"Yes. When I was young, I hoped it was true. Pure-bloods are infinitely powerful, only subjected by fairies and certain deities. I thought it would solve all my problems. But then when I started learning about history, I realized how dangerous it could be. It fascinated and frightened me. It's why I took so much time researching King Raphael."
"What do you remember?"
"The fire, mainly. It was too hot, and there was screaming. That's all."
"So you don't remember healing…"
"I healed?"
"You healed me. I was cut pretty bad. The thing hid in the trees when the fire lit up, and got me in the leg. But your face. And then you smote the shit out of the thing. It was awful, Cas." Cas brought his teeth together tightly.
"I want to promise that it will never happen again, but, Dean, you know I can't make that promise."
"I know. I just, uh, I just don't want you to go all righteous and hurt yourself. Or Sam. Hell, even Gabe."
"I don't want to hurt anyone either."
They sat there on the bed together quietly. Dean leaned back, hands on either side of his hips, and only a few inches away from Cas's thigh. Their breath was loud, like they expected something of the other, but could not speak it. Finally, Cas reached an arm out, cringing as his muscles ached, and gently touched Dean's shoulder. The thin fabric prevented him from feeling the skin of Dean's mark, but he could feel its raised edges, and that gave him a strange satisfaction. Michael could not have him if he was already Castiel's. Dean let out a contented sigh and let himself slump into Cas's hand.
"You're tired Dean. You should sleep."
"Move over then."
"Yes, of course." Castiel shifted, his own undershirt catching on the patches of sweat pooling on his back. When Dean slid into the bed, under the covers with him, that satisfaction bloomed and burned into contentedness.
Dean was only asleep for a few minutes before that familiar feeling of Cas entered his dream. They weren't naked this time, only shirtless and wrapped around each other, but it was still nice, and if Dean played this right, it could be so much more. He grinned into Cas's dark hair at the thought.
"I want to reestablish the link with you."
"Shit, I hadn't even noticed it missing," Dean responded. He felt Cas chuckle quietly.
"Do you want to?"
"Of course I do. My head's kinda empty, as is."
"Your head is perfect. I should know." Dean could feel the blood rushing to his cheeks. Cas snuffled sleepily at Dean's neck, reaching out with his mind. When they'd first established the link that wonderful night before the incident, it had been an accident. Cas had just let his grace feed into Dean, and apparently, Dean had fed his soul right back. They'd both shied away at first, unused to the sensation of someone else wandering around their heads, but it only took a few minutes to realize how wonderful it could be to know every thought that passed the other's mind.
So when that odd warm spot in his head lit up again, Dean accepted it eagerly. Who cared about Michael?
"Please don't think about my brother while I'm doing this," Cas complained with a groan.
"Sorry," laughed his hunter. He pressed kisses to the top of Cas's head. He loved the way Cas smelled. It was like pine needles and winter breath and something else. He startled when Cas nipped at his neck, and then laughed. "A little eager aren't we?"
"I suppose," hummed Cas.
They stopped talking for a few minutes, just reveling in each other before Dean started to feel himself getting hard. Cas's kisses were still a little under par, but he was a fast learner. He seemed very fond of Dean's neck too, which the hunter loved. He was sure Cas had pilfered that knowledge on his trawls through Dean's head. And they dreamed together.
Dean squinted as he opened the door to the bright lights in the hall. He managed to stumble into the hazy bar, which suited his eyes much better. Sam was at the counter with Gabriel. Each had a tankard of ale in his hand, and both worry a worried, sad expression. Gabe looked into his ale as if it could solve all his problems. Dean coughed awkwardly, and they both whipped around.
"How is he?"
"He's sleeping again, but he's alive."
"Thank God," Gabe muttered.
"Where's your other brother?"
"Don't tell me you're having sex with both my brothers," Gabe groaned.
"He's a little drunk," Sam tried to salvage the conversation.
"Trust me, Gabe," Dean said with a reassuring clasp on the prince's shoulder, "The last thing I want to do is have your older brother like that. Doesn't seem to matter to him though. I'm actually trying to avoid him."
"Likely story," Gabe sighed, turning back to his drink.
"How much has he had to drink?" asked Dean waving away the foul breath Gabe left in his wake.
"Too much."
"Gimme a number."
"Twelve," Sam rolled his eyes.
"Jesus."
"Michael's sleeping in his room."
"Alright. Good."
"How did Cassie take the news?" Gabe muttered.
"Um, well, I think. He said he'd suspected it for a while, but never let himself really believe it, if that makes sense."
"He was always the smart one, Cassie. That's why Pa loved him so much. And that's why Luci and Mike hate him so much. Cassie was always the best at politics and negotiations, and he can speak way more languages than the rest of us put together, 'cause he's a fucking bibliophile, and he doesn't know how lucky he is. That little shit. It's no wonder they hate him. He's perfect!" Sam and Dean glanced at one another cautiously, but Gabe didn't stop. "Old little Cassie! So pure of heart! Now he's a fucking pure-blood too! How is that even fair? I want infinite power. I deserve infinite power." He stopped and his eyes went blank. "Think of all the hotcakes I could create with that much power."
"Alright, buddy. Let's get you into bed," Sam guided the prince off his stool. As they staggered towards the hall of rooms, Gabe's arm draped around Sam's shoulders as best he could, Sam gave nod of permission for Dean to finish their drinks still sitting on the finely polished wood bar.
"Twelve drinks," he breathed out. "Jesus." He slugged Sam's drink first, then Gabe's. Neither was more than half full, so Dean didn't even get a buzz out of it. He figured that was for the best anyhow.
They planned to leave as quickly as possible. They'd already lost so much time to unforeseen events. Finding Michael had been one long drain of time, and the changeling hadn't exactly sped things up. Although if Dean were to have a say, he'd label Cas's incident as more 'emotionally draining' than 'time consuming'. Regardless, he told himself, they needed to get moving. They had been hoping to reach the castle by midday, but they'd obviously missed that window, since the sun was already heading towards the Western horizon.
Luckily, the tavern Michael had set his sights on was in the aristocratic section of the kingdom. It was probably less than a quarter of a day's journey from the front of the tavern to the castle's outer wall. The morning. They'd leave early in the morning. They didn't need to worry about creatures appearing out of nowhere. That was mostly a relief, although it also a bit disconcerting for Dean. Sure, the monsters were gone, but humans made so much less sense. They could act irrationally. They had magic he couldn't fight against. And that was only if he ignored the constant prickling on the back of his neck. Sam's data had told them that demons come from the area around Dema. Who was to say they didn't come from Dema? Seemed likely, in Dean's head. And then there was the threat of the Dema secret military. They hid around, looking unsuspecting, then the moment someone committed an illegal act, they'd emerge from the shadows and take the offender off, never to be seen again. Or at least that's what the washer women in Celeta gossiped about. There was also a mad rumor going around that the secret military officers received their orders directly from Alastair, Crowley's second oldest step-child.
Dean didn't hold much faith in rumors like that. To him, it seemed ludacris that a prince would also be in charge of something as risky as the secret military. If the secret military even existed, of course. Dean shook his head. Maybe that ale was stronger than he'd thought. He started towards the room he and Sam had decided on, but when he got there, he found Gabe in his bed. Sam sat on one of the fancy plush chairs in the wide, warm room. He was reading some book he'd been ridiculous enough to bring along on this awful adventure. He peeked over the book innocently then darted back down.
"Fine, I'll go sleep in Cas's room."
"Right, "sleep"," Sam called playfully.
"Shut it, you overgrown moose! Castiel is a gentleman," he teased. "Unlike whatever that thing is," flicked a hand at Gabe, who's prone form was completely spread out on the fluffy mattress. Apparently, Michael hadn't been lying when he'd accused Gabe of stealing covers, since the prince was wrapped up like a caterpillar in the rich green quilts. Dean grabbed his black leather night bag and left with a quick wave.
Cas needed to ride with him. He insisted. When Michael would try and make some half-baked excuse as to why Dean should take him instead of Castiel, Dean had played along and commented that, "Oh no, Cas was still too weak to riding alone." Castiel thought he might actually be in love.
He made no disguise of nuzzling into the back of Dean's neck, playfully biting at his ears until Dean hissed to quit. He was making him loose focus. "Seriously Cas, what if Michael sees?"
"Let him see. You do not want him, so you?"
"Of course I don't," Dean sighed. "But that doesn't mean he can't make both our lives a living hell. Plus, let's not give him any other reason to kill you before we've figured out a way to get you out of that sentence."
"Fair enough," Cas breathed in the smell of leather off Dean's back. "Are you still afraid of me?" he asked quietly.
"Yes," Dean responded immediately. No hesitation. "That doesn't mean I can't look at you. That doesn't mean I can't treat you like you deserve to be treated."
"That's good."
"Yeah." Through the link, Dean let a small apology through in a trickle. Cas ate it up and pushed his understanding at Dean. This was hard for the hunter. He was practically involved with one of the very things he hunted. That could not be as simple as he let on. Dean gave a larger surge of humor to Cas. Oh, he'd forgotten Dean could feel those thoughts too. He smiled against Dean's hair and mumbled an apology himself.
The castle was gloomy. There was no other way to describe it. Celeta, the kingdom of the Dawn, was adorned like a crown. The lower quarter wrapped around the more prosperous citizens, who shimmered in a ring around the nobles, those related to the crown, and any retired knights who chose to live there. Sitting at the top of the hill was their shining castle, cool light grey with iron supports. The keep towered over the whole kingdom, like the crystal jewel on the top of a crown.
Dema's castle was the opposite in every way possible. The stone was dirty, dark brownish with cracks and missing stones. Deep green ivy crept up the sides in a sinister manner. The moat stank like shit, but no one else seemed to notice, or if they did, they didn't care. When Michael announced to the gatekeeper who they were, the drawbridge immediately groaned awake. Castiel watched carefully as it creaked down, down, down. Finally, it came to the ground with a rumbling thump. All brightness in their party fled, like the castle could suck it out of them. If Celeta was a crown, shining upon a hill, Dema was a blade, a dark piece of obsidian that cut to the bone without a person to speak against it.
Castiel felt a chill go up his spine. Dean tried his best to sooth him with reassuring thoughts, but it was obvious to both of them that the other was beyond nervous. A herald met them before they were halfway across the courtyard.
"Ho there!" he shouted. "Halt! Who are you? What is your business with the Crown of Dema?"
"I am Michael, of the Crown of Celeta, and I am here with my brothers, Gabriel and Castiel of the Crown. We have come to reclaim our brother, who in his foolishness has sought unneeded shelter here." The herald opened his mouth to speak again, but Michael hushed him by raising a hand. Take us as far as you can, child." The herald's face dropped into something like fear. Dean hated to admit it, but having someone as frightening as Michael on for the ride was helpful at times. The herald spoke with a stutter.
"Th-then please, if you would dismount, the stable hands will tend to your horses. Um, please follow me. If you will."
Everyone else took their notes from the eldest prince and hopped off their horses. When the bland herald called over a stable hand, Cas took Dean's hand for a moment and squeezed. He felt a flare of happiness, and couldn't decide if it was his own or Dean's. He didn't care.
They walked towards the rotting wooden doors leading to the entry halls. Castiel noticed there were men in all of the skinny windows, every single one pointing a bow and arrow at their party. The hall was narrow and skeletal, but it was at least free of that putrid odor. The herald directed them further in where a man named Brady would help them. Through two doors, to the right and in the hall next to the window made of glass roses. How Michael could walk about with such authority in a castle that wasn't even his, Cas would never understand. Perhaps Michael really would be a more effective king. Castiel shivered in the dank air of the hall.
Brady was a slimy man, standing in a slimy room. Castiel did not know any other way to describe him. He had nice teeth and what seemed to be a handsome face, but it was easy to see that he didn't use those assets for others. His skin was leathery and yellow, and his eyes were hungry in a way Cas did not know. The room was damp and warm. There was a cold blue fire in the hewn grate below it, and large deer antlers hung over the mantel piece. Their dead eyes seemed to follow Cas as he moved to look at the large moose head mounted on the opposite wall. The walls and floor were dark with few other decorations. Brady sat tipping back in a fancy chair, smirking at them. He gave a long greasy sigh.
"So you wanna see the big boss, eh?"
"Yes," Michael replied effortlessly. "I require an audience both with your king and with our brother, Lucifer." Brady drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. He was making everyone but Michael very nervous, the way he swayed back and forth over the back legs of his seat. Suddenly, without warning, he dropped his feet and the front legs slammed back to the ground. He leaned over the table slowly.
"Well both King Crowley and Prince Lucifer are quite busy, you know. It might take a bit of convincing on my part to get him to see you." His smile widened. "But given the right motivation…"
Michael reached out to Gabriel without taking his stormy eyes off Brady. "Gabriel, I require our gold." When Gabe dropped the small bag into Michael's hand, the older prince reached as deeply as possible into the bag. Cas didn't understand when he only pulled out three gold pieces, but said nothing. Brady's eyes lit up like silver.
"Although I suppose I could talk to him tomorrow," he hinted. Michael pulled two more pieces out of the bag. "Today then. Let me show you your rooms, esteemed guests of the Crown.
Welcome to Dema!"
A/N: So I'm a little iffy on the first section of this chapter. I feel like it super melodramatic, but at the same time I really like the literary weight behind it you feel me? Ugh. I don't know. If you guys have any thoughts, I'd be more than happy to hear them. 3
