There is a stubbornness about me that never can bear to be frightened at the will of others. My courage always rises at every attempt to intimidate me.
JANE AUSTEN, Pride and Prejudice
Of all the things that encompassed his world turning upside down, Castiel was still utterly amazed by the splendor of the Summer Ball.
Held once a year as a way to upkeep the traditional etiquette of social mingling, the Royal Family always delivered with ice sculptures of fairies upturning pales that sprouted water. Of Cupid aiming his bow towards the ceiling that was white marble with vines painted gold running like veins. And the miraculous quantity of food and drinks.
Everything was more than enough to leave the guests of higher society pleased enough to continue their passionate support for the Monarchy.
It was a pity that the poisonous part of the evening was embodied in a young man whom Castiel had begun to fancy. Until the terrible injustice, a blatant defamation of his character, caused him to reduce the magnitude of his respect for Dean.
Had he been so inclined, he would have left the Ball an hour ago. But Meg's demands that he proceeded as normal, as though the sordid affair had no effect on him was something that he was forced to comply with. Because why?
He needed to act his age.
A man of his stature, of forty and considerably independent and very expressive through his graphic t-shirts and wild hair; was not to be trifled with in relation to frivolous public displays of immaturity. But nevertheless, firm on his opinions and never quick to trust, Castiel was still had standards and he had respect for himself. And there was no room in his mind for folly in the likes of a skittish Prince.
"Oh dear. Here comes the cavalry." Meg suddenly snatched Castiel's arm and tugged him a little into the nearest corner, shadowed by a heavy red curtain.
Her eyes were shifty, resting on the tall figure of Sam striding through the sea of colorful personalities with a purposeful intent. And he seemed a lot less giddy from half an hour before after swallowing an abundance of champagne.
His stride was long and his eyes sweeping every inch of the room. So that when he finally spied Castiel ducking his head over a platter of scones, Sam's destination was achieved.
"Look, here me out," he wiped his mouth afterwards in a desperate gesture as the other man tried to escape.
"No. This is not the time. Or place for an explanation," Meg stepped in front of him to block her friend's exposure. "One was already given. You know. You royals are all ice. And no warmth."
"Hi, Meg," Sam acknowledged her with a forced smile and it was obvious that they were previously acquainted. "If I'm all ice, then why do you and Peggie invite me to your home every Easter for brunch?"
"It's your brothers I don't like," Meg cleared up her statement. "I don't like their smugness."
"Well then…" Sam shrugged. "Go figure. As usual, I'm the one who has to clean up their messes. Can I talk to Castiel for a moment?"
She wasn't so certain of encouraging that kind of conversation. What was done had already created a significant amount of damage on Castiel, although he refused to allow any kind of fracture to show upon his disposition. But deep down inside, he was severely affected, eating his way through scones and mince patties like the world was about to end.
Meg was convinced that anyone would be bruised after such a quick brush of the whip on the heart of a man who was too kind and beautiful to be harmed.
"I know that we haven't met," Sam said when Meg decided to leave them alone just by an open window. He held out a hand with a genuine smile. "I'm Sam Winchester. Dean's younger brother. But I get the feeling that you already know a lot about me."
They shook hands and Sam's grip was soft and reassuring. "The pleasure is mine as well. And I get the feeling that you already know about me." Castiel stood with his hands behind his back, looking rather dashing.
"Yeah, well…it's not a lot to go by since Dean's opinions on you are really biased."
"This whole affair should be brushed under the mat."
"No," Sam shook his head and suddenly appeared stunned. "No, I really don't think so. Like at all. So, get this, he's a dick. That's already established well enough by everyone. And I'm going to apologize for what he said because I feel that I need to."
"Quite unnecessary," Castiel waved it off, eyeing the plate of minced patties without realizing that he had a tendency of binging when overwhelmed with nerves.
"It was my fault," Sam persisted and he paused when two guests passed by, whispering to each other in earnest. "I shouldn't have kept asking him questions about you in front of our father. I was…kind of strung up on too many glasses of champagne. And it's enough to get my tongue loosened up too much."
"It happens to the best of us," Castiel smiled after he had already made the general assumption that the younger Winchester was absolutely likeable.
"All I'm saying is, for as long as I can remember, Dean has never been our father's favorite. He always gets the worst end of anything and with his recent refusal to marry Annalise," Sam shrugged his wide shoulders with a sympathetic look. "Dad's pissed way past next week. Now on top of that, if he finds out that Dean's actually got a crush on someone like you—"
"Like me," Castiel pursed his lips, and folded his arms.
"Wildly mysterious and sexy as hell," Sam laughed and it was catchy to the other man who smiled from ear to ear. "But nevertheless, you're not what John expects. You're a commoner. You're an American and worst of all, you're a dude."
"You know, for a Brit, your manner of speaking is rather loose. In fact," Castiel allowed a wider smile, "I'm beginning to wonder if you've spent a lot of time in the USA."
"Blame it on tv, books and movies."
"Convincing," Castiel nodded. The two of them eyed each other with a sense of familiarity in lack of passing judgment and an immediate attempt to offer nothing but compassion.
"So, John would throw a fit. I think he already has started to mention something about bringing up the wedding a week and…" Sam's brows furrowed, "…sending Dean to military school. Which by the way, would ruin him, because he's so soft, and so kind and to toughen him up would be a waste on a man who I've always loved just as he is. He's lighthearted, I know. He can be frivolous and spontaneous. But he really is the best kind of guy. Trust me, I've known him all my life."
"Now you're the one giving me quite a biased recommendation," Castiel said with slight amusement sparkling in his eyes.
"He's just under a lot of pressure right now to marry someone he doesn't love. And I think when he met you, everything changed for him. In more ways than one, Castiel, my brother has been in love once in his life, so, to meet someone like you and watch him literally…lose his shit. It's kind of entertaining for me."
"Well, perhaps the truth behind all of this is that he is now trying to find someone to fuel his rebellion against your father," Castiel announced with certainty. "No, hear me out," he begged when Sam shook his head in disagreement. "It's only wise to ascertain that at some point in life, one decides that in order to completely change the way things are done, they will do whatever it takes. I might be just…perhaps…the means to an end."
"You aren't," Sam demanded passionately. The wind coming through the window lifted his incredibly stylish hair. "Believe me, you aren't. You should hear the way he talks about you. There's this look in his eyes that I haven't seen in ages."
Castiel was sinking into a softness that he wished not to experience. A look in Dean's eyes? What look? He fought against his mind to admit that he loved Dean's eyes but his heart won.
"Afterwards," Sam continued, "Dean's been putting on this show for the whole world to see, because sure, he wants to prove that the Royal family is becoming modernized by him. In this day and age, we can't even decide who we want to marry."
"It's just the way things are done," Castiel said softly to a brother who was much more in tune with his innermost feelings. "It's what you may call, strategizing to keep the essence of your family strong enough to live on."
"You seem to like us very much," Sam teased.
Castiel shrugged. "The very presence of such an institution in the world is beyond amazing."
Sighing, both of them studied the view outside of the window that comprised of the bustling activity in front of Westfordshire Castle. Guests were still arriving and some leaving, as cars crawled along the curb to swallow up people dressed in an abundance of styles.
"Dean's a wonderful brother," Sam pressed on. "I kind of got myself into a fix with a reporter about two years ago. And whilst I thought it was love, it couldn't last because she turned out to be just trouble." Sam didn't notice Castiel's change in demeanor. "Dean was the one who advised against the match because of her background. She was bad news for me."
"Who was the reporter?"
Sam sighed, never quite latching on to the stunned look on the other man's face. "The same one who works with you. Ruby. Meg's okay. But Ruby's bad news."
After the two of them had left the window in wake of fluttering blinds, Castiel felt as if his chest would combust.
He was presented with bit of news that seemed to fry his mind, pushing him into an angered mood that was not too long ago, softened as he was beginning to somehow let go of Dean's statements made to his father. Because Sam had cleared up that part; of Dean feeling like he needed to put up an act to conceal whatever he was feeling for Castiel.
But he had no right to defame Ruby's character in such a way.
Of all the things she had done; being reckless with men, trying to squeeze stories out of people by patronizing them. Ruby had always been the most genuine person he had ever met in his life because she never held back on the truth. She lived her life dangerously since she never had an easy one to begin with.
Ruby had spent her first six years as a frightened child in one of the cruelest orphanages that ended up being shut down by the government because of their methods of discipline. Then she was adopted by a couple from England and spent a considerable amount of time struggling with her demons.
Eventually, they had enough of the indiscipline from her rebellious character and kicked her out into a cold world at the age of sixteen. From there, she started to use her only means of escape; photography, to make money.
Then the worst part of her life ended up happening in quick failures of digging into the discovery of who her parents could be. Her mother turned out to be deranged inmate serving a life sentence in a prison in the USA. And her father wanted nothing to do with her.
It was unfair, to say the least.
It was enough to boil Castiel's blood because he was certain of one thing; since Dean had managed to dig up enough about him to figure out that he was an outcast, then he most definitely discovered everything about Ruby's life. And still, he deliberately chose to disregard her struggle, to advise against his brother's love and attachment to someone he viewed as a bad match.
It was a completely and utterly hurtful resemblance to Darcy's character from Pride and Prejudice.
For a long time, Castiel segregated himself within his mind whilst Meg led conversations with other people. He stood there in a stiff disposition, quite present but distant, clutching a fluke of champagne, downing it slowly and reaching for another. Then another.
He stared at the band's lively performance and thought of the kind of young man Sam was; very open-minded, compassionate and honest. And he bet that the youngest Winchester would have gone out of his way to encourage Ruby's affections.
When Castiel felt a tap on his right shoulder, he startled a little, coming out of that other wavelength consumed by thoughts. But then, turning around to immediately gaze into familiar green eyes only ignited more anger that had been brimming on the surface.
It was him; in all his glory, up close and an instant reminder of the Darcy's inflamed flaws.
"Hi," Dean said lightly, with a cautious countenance.
As handsome as he appeared, apparently the tables had turned. He wasn't handsome enough to tempt Castiel with his arrogance and complete disregard for other people's feelings.
"Can we talk? I'm…" the Prince immediately detected the storm brewing inside the other man's eyes and swallowed hard, the light dulling in those sparkling orbs. "Cas, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean what I said."
"Forgive me but your apologies have become too ridiculous enough to bear. And I am in no mood to encourage a conversation," Castiel took Meg's right elbow lightly. When she discovered who his companion was, her eyes flashed.
"Right, Clarence. Let's be anywhere else but here."
"Certainly," Castiel allowed himself to be led away, without even throwing another glance at Dean who was left staring, obviously deeply affected and speechless.
But after taking several turns around the room and finally settling on a group of Americans who were enlightened to meet him, Castiel survived an hour more.
The light conversation on their community service and programs for the homeless in England more than piqued his interest. He was informed along with Meg's surprise, that they had met the Queen and spent an evening with her just this February.
"The loveliest woman I've ever met in my life," Bill Savory complimented in good humor. "You know, she actually visited a few of the sites where we were building shelters earlier this year?"
"The kids were ecstatic," Anne, his wife added. Her resemblance to Jennifer Aniston was uncanny. "She spent the entire afternoon playing with them in the yard. Then she spent the rest of it reading and telling them about her sons when they were younger."
"The Duke of York followed suit a few times too," Bill said, immediately capturing Castiel's interest although he didn't wish to care. "He comes out and checks up on what we're doing even if we aren't here. He's good with the kids. Always brings more than enough bags of treats for them on every visit."
"Well, we don't call him the world's favorite Prince for nothing," both her and her husband laughed. Meg followed softly and Castiel smiled.
The entire evening was beginning to tell on his nerves because there was nothing more insulting than feeling like he was someone else's chew toy. And when he was speared many times by injustices, Castiel entered a sour mood that was unbecoming. He grew restless and irritated. He knitted his brows more than before. His lips pressed into a fine line and he contributed nothing to the conversations.
Then if the whole damn chain of calamity couldn't get any worst, it did.
Just as he was by Meg's side, the Queen announced a preferred dance involving her sons to 'Jenny's Market'. And she allowed Adam, Sam and Dean five minutes to seek out someone other than their significant others, even a friend to share a dance with.
Whilst the room settled into a buzzing that resonated with those who were hoping to be selected, Meg tugged Castiel out onto a balcony. She was frantic. After meeting eyes with a man who she believed to be Peggie, her girlfriend's ex, she wasn't in the mood to entertain a sudden encounter.
"What's not to like?" Castiel tried to smile. "You have the girl now. He lost her."
"I stole her away from him. Hardly something to talk about," it was Meg's turn to appear entirely cross. "The only thing nice about Jeffrey is his very good sense of suits."
"Then again, you might not be a good judge of character in his case. The guy looks practically harmless. And well-endowed judging from the bulge in his pants."
Meg's spirits lifted. "You're not gay. Sure, Clarence. Keep fooling yourself."
"I was merely trying to lighten the—"
"There you are," someone said suddenly and breathless behind him.
Because Castiel was standing with his back towards the room, he tried to search Meg's eyes. But she merely stared at the person who had spoken with nothing but alarm. And when he did turn around and discovered that he was just a few inches away from Dean, Castiel stopped breathing.
Not because he was choking on anger. But he was suddenly washed over with a cold, nervous kind of feeling that weakened his knees and forced him feel like a teenager all over again, gazing into the eyes of someone that everyone had a crush on. And because he was so ridiculously captivated in the moment, Castiel had to fight to push through the haze of his undoubtfully tremendous attraction towards the Prince.
"Since you escaped earlier, I…have…been looking literally all over for you," Dean was smiling, maintaining his lively and playful disposition. "Where were you? Did you step out?" he seemed breathless still, his cheeks taking on a light flush.
Castiel on the other hand was slowly gaining back his composure. Whilst he was obviously deeply affected by the other man invading his personal space, there was nothing more annoying than the reminder of being considered as not handsome and egotistical.
His brows knitted and fists clenched. "No, why does that concern you?"
"Will you dance with me?" Dean rushed out, his eyes never even registering Meg who was standing behind her friend, in awe.
"I beg your pardon?" he hadn't heard right. Castiel hated that the damn butterflies in his chest flitted around like they had consumed ecstasy when the other man was in close proximity.
"The dance," Dean gestured with his thumb towards the interior of the palace. "We get to choose someone that's…special to dance with. It's Jenny's Market. I'm pretty certain you wouldn't mind because I'm going to show you the steps. All you have to do is follow my lead."
"I'm sorry," Castiel inclined his head and appeared terribly confused. "Are you really and truly asking me to…go out there and dance with you? As your partner?"
Dean's smile stayed where it was. Hands behind his back, he nodded. "Yeah. Adam is dancing with his buddy Marcus. It's fine."
"No," Castiel said almost too quickly. "I most certainly will not."
For a moment, those green eyes, the same pair of eyes that had managed to bewitch Castiel lost their sparkle. Dean's smile evaporated and then finally his gaze flicked to Meg then back to the man standing before him.
"Can I ask why?" Dean's tone had softened. "Although Sam told me that he basically convinced you that what I said—"
"What you said?" Castiel interrupted in a clipped tone. "Is that all you think there is to be remedied?"
The Prince appeared genuinely stunned. "I've acted recklessly, I know that. By my public embarrassments that are constantly treasured by me, believe me. I don't regret the things I did to prove how much I…" Dean paused, their gaze deepening. "I know that what I said to my father was wrong. It's not the truth. There has been nothing but admiration for you."
Castiel could feel the fire licking beneath the surface of his calm countenance. "Your views on everything thus far have been taken too lightly."
"Cas, come on," Dean pleaded, his chest heaving. Obviously, he was fighting to control his emotions.
They were only a few inches away from each other, Castiel realized, and he could feel the warmth radiating from Dean. The caress of his breath on Castiel's face. The way the Prince's eyelashes fluttered like a gift of nature. His features, as if sculpted by an angel were severely affected by the exactitude of their conversation and the intensity of their attraction that he was struggling to contain himself.
Castiel didn't fall short of whatever was happening to Dean though. But it had to be illegal for the Prince to just stand there, looking so dashing and clearly tempting, and he had to fight against everything; the urge to just encourage the conversation, and to forget his anger. His heart was trying to force him to ignore the injustices and to dance, just dance with Dean, because then he guiltily would be able to experience the overwhelming rush of stretching his boundaries.
"I'm just trying to not screw this up," Dean said, and he swallowed.
But then, Castiel remembered Ruby. He remembered how unjust it was for the Prince to interfere, to stick his nose in and base his judgments wrongfully. Of how he felt compelled to deprive other people of happiness whilst he really wanted it the easy way by pretending and acting so bold and reckless and immature.
"You know what," Castiel said afterwards, feeling his chest overwhelm with anger. "Go find someone else to dance with, besides this unworthy, egotistical American." And just like Cinderella on the night of the Ball, he excused himself from Meg, slipped past Dean and bolted to the exit.
Not in a manner of exerting energy by running though. It was more like an easy jog comprising of long strides through crowds of people who really didn't care for his intrusion because the dance had already started. Without Dean. And because Castiel was so determined to leave that godforsaken place, although the beauty was unforgettable, he descended the red carpeted stairs in a haste.
Then after being directed by the doorman away from the entrance towards a hallway, he took it and could already taste the cool night breeze coming in from a doorway fast approaching.
From the moment Castiel stepped outside, he was faced with the gardens illuminated by strings of yellow lights that wound around archways. And the air was heavy with the fresh scents of flowers, which only contributed to stirring up memories of an afternoon prior.
When Dean had handed over a lily in front of flashing cameras.
Now, he sought out what he believed to be the path leading towards the front of the palace. But he ended up trapped in a maze that forced him to come to a standstill and to catch his breath.
With deep mouthfuls of fresh air, Castiel tried to dull the ache in his chest. His vision blurred seconds afterwards from tears, becoming entirely frustrated and irritated. But most of all, disappointed in himself for the way he felt because tragedies like this never happened to him. These approaches never seeped through his walls that he had built over the years to keep out romances.
He wasn't the kind of man who brushed shoulders with a woman and fell instantly in love with her. So why was he flailing in the deep end now?
Why did he agreed to come to England without following Zachariah's warnings about 'finally getting laid'? Possibly, all of it had been a premonition, of coming here to fuck up what was already a normal life for him.
There was no way on earth that he was actually having these disturbing desires for another man. A young man who wasn't just an ordinary human being but a titled one.
Dammit, it was like being pulled into a newer version of a Jane Austen novel, where everything about his character, was being reassessed and changed because of Dean's advances. And he hated it.
Castiel didn't want romance. He liked being alone. He liked living with his cat and drinking copious bottles of wine. He liked living every day in the same routine. He liked being independent and sure of himself. And never in a million years would he have ever imagined that he would be standing in the garden of Westfordshire Palace, questioning his sexuality.
He was on the brink of crying out of frustration when footsteps pattered behind him on the concrete walkway. And Castiel felt his presence before he even turned around.
He felt Dean's warmth instantly, the kind of warmth that was supposed to anger him but rather much melted the ice slowly. And before Castiel could gather his wit, he started to drown in Dean's eyes and was completely convinced in that moment that he was really losing his damn mind. That he was in every sense of the word…fucked.
"You're not an unworthy, egotistical American," Dean was breathless, completely riding out a high. "You're…" he clutched his sides, chest heaving, "adorable and beautiful. You're amazing. And…completely –"
"What the hell are you doing?" Castiel cut him off in a demanding voice that was a bit unsteady. "Would you just stop it? Stop saying these…things to me." He hated that he sounded as if he was pleading. In the moonlight too. It was so tragic.
Dean, however, caught on fast and his eyes softened. "I'm not going to stop because I can't."
"Are you trying to play with my feelings because you want to use me?"
"Cas, goddammit. No." Dean stared back in disbelief. His eyes widened and he took one tentative step forwards. Pleading. His chest heaved when the other man stepped back.
The tension between them was so electric. So thick and so alive. And it was everything Castiel had craved for; every single fleeting and dangerous emotion rippling between them. But at what cost?
"Why then?" he tried to square his shoulders and could literally feel his heart hanging on a thread.
Dean was still trying to catch his breath. Whether from running or riding high on a wave, there wasn't any kind of certainty established. "I told you before. I really meant it when I admitted that I'm attracted to you."
"Complete nonsense," Castiel waved it off and slowly turned on the spot. He also presented his back to Dean with the main intent to shield his weakened composure. "It's ridiculous, that's what it is. We hardly know a thing about each other apart from whatever it is that you dug up on me. We have nothing in common."
"We do," Dean said softly.
"We don't!" his voice pierced the silence. The sound of the band was faint from upstairs. Castiel was shaking. The windows were illuminated. This wasn't happening to him. Not like this.
Dean sighed from behind him. "I'm going to tell you about the things I like, and I'll let you make your own judgment on how similar we are. Because I can feel that we are. I see it in your eyes. And I just…know and I don't know how I could see all these things about you."
He needed to stop. Castiel wanted to plead with Dean to stop saying those kinds of words that had so much depth. But he couldn't. He didn't want stop him.
"I am…obsessed with Jane Austen," Dean continued in a light tone. "I have read her books excessively, probably more than six times." He stopped and gathered himself. The light wind couldn't numb his face further.
"If you don't believe me and you think that I'm making it all up. I've always spent my summers since I was old enough, visiting all the places, trying to trace her steps. Hampshire. Her house. I was there. Where she…spent the last years of her life. Chawton House. Basildon Park. Belton House."
Castiel didn't realize he had stopped breathing until his head began to grow dizzy. And he remained turned away from the other man because of his weakened state.
"Chatsworth House," Dean said softly. "Do you remember it? Darcy's house from the 2005 film. The one that Lizzie visited? I modeled my castle into the likes of it. I've opened a Jane Austen Museum not too far from here. I'd love to take you to see it."
No. All of it was too much. He was so breathless, Castiel couldn't believe that he could survive the agony of finding someone who was as captivated as he. As fanatic as he was in Austen. But he still kept his back towards the other man because he couldn't face him with the tears streaking down his cheek.
"I love cats. Uh, 60s and 70s music…I listen to nothing else. Also, Helen Shapiro is golden," Dean laughed nervously. "Call me old fashioned but I love a good old soppy love song than most modern ones."
And Castiel finally turned around to stare at him, as the Prince kept wringing his hands. The two of them locked eyes and implored something that was beyond understanding but more like honesty in the depth of their connection.
"What's your favorite?" Castiel whispered, his voice barely audible above the rush of the wind around them. "Song, I mean. The one from her that appeals to you the most."
"Cliché," Dean bowed his head and seemed too shy. He looked so stunning in the moonlight that magnified the beauty of his flawless skin. The lights danced in his eyes. "But…I think I'll have to go with Queen for Tonight."
"Mine too," Castiel was still in awe. "But I'm still not convinced. You could have known all that about me if you easily asked my cat."
When Dean laughed, he melted the other man's heart further because the decision to include humor had slightly dulled the tension between them.
"I'm a sucker for fairytales, Cas. Since I was a kid, I've always wanted to meet someone, fall in love with them whilst defying society's norms. And then have this whole big wedding with carriages drawn by horses dressed in fancy gear. I'm just telling you this because I get the feeling that you want the same thing. You've always wanted that. I can see it in your eyes, the way you look around the palace. The kind of fascination that only means that you've dreamt about it."
"How on earth could you know…that," Castiel said rather than asked. He was stunned from the other man's honesty, the way he spoke with such certainty on his character.
"Also," Dean inclined his head and smiled, "uh, if you're like me as much as I think you are, you have always been waiting to fall in love with someone who is thoroughly versed in Jane Austen."
Castiel was shaking his head, becoming too dizzy, he was afraid of fainting. "You're trying to butter me up. And it's working. But I'm not…gay. I'm not…I've never been." He stumbled on his words.
Dean took one step closer. But it was too much. The air between them filled with so much warmth that was inviting.
"Don't," Castiel shook his head again and stepped back. He swallowed hard and diverted his eyes to their shoes. "I am most certainly not attracted to you. You're…not. You're a man. Who is…immature and light humored and too reckless…"
The silence that followed was painful between them, and filled with angst and a sufficient amount of uncertainty.
It reached a point where Castiel's gaze flicked towards the other man's parted lips, then lingered there because he had a sudden unbelievable urge to discover what Dean tasted like.
Champagne maybe. No, whiskey. The finest from Scotland and his lips. His mouth was beautiful just like the rest of him. All of it made Castiel sigh inside and he regretted what he had said, completely lying about his feelings in every possible way.
"Okay, fine. You're not attracted to me. But keep trying to convince yourself that I'm all of those things; immature and reckless," Dean said afterwards and he sounded terribly wounded. "And that I'm the worst kind of person. You're probably right. I am all of what you say I am. But I behave the way I do for a reason. And maybe if you weren't so arrogant and conceited," he stopped, squared his shoulders and inhaled deeply when Castiel stared back at him in disbelief.
"You would realize that I'm so far gone. I'm severely broken from my past because you know about my past, don't you? Of course, you do. I have a war," he gestured at his head, "going on up there that I always lose. And the only way I can cope is by chasing wild dreams and adrenaline. By finding someone that I am interested in and trying to pursue that person doesn't make me immature or reckless. Maybe I'm the kind of guy who wants to take the risk and fall in love because I feel that you're worth it."
"Dean," Castiel said softly, regretting everything he had the guts to utter before. "I didn't mean…"
"No, it's fine. After all I've done to you, I deserve this." Tears clouded green eyes. "I'm a really a bad person."
Castiel was so embarrassed. "You're not a bad person."
"Then why would you go out of your way to avoid me, to turn me down and embarrass me in front of your friend and everyone else who caught on fast enough?" Dean's voice was so hoarse, and his eyes pleaded for understanding. "Do you think that I chose this? I didn't."
"Dean, this is ridiculous," Castiel returned in a soft tone, "and it can't ever happen."
But the other man was clearly upset enough to continue without sparing sympathy. "Of course, it can't because that's your choice, not mine and I have to respect that. I'm going to…go", Dean gestured towards the palace with tears in his eyes. "Thanks for proving to me that I'm not worth it to even someone as attractive and amazing and handsome as you are. Good night."
He didn't chase after him, just as he had been pursued though. And he hated himself for feeling the worst kind of pain as the distance between them lengthened. As Dean walked away in his black tuxedo and polished shoes with his hair ruffled by the wind. As he never looked back but climbed the steps and disappeared inside.
Later that night, when Castiel was sitting on the small balcony, almost at the bottom of the wine bottle, he kept replaying their conversation over and over again. He kept going back and experiencing the pain in his chest. How his heart was begging him to just let go of holding up his walls. To let the walls collapse and fall.
"Common sense leaving my body, Ruby would say," he muttered to the moon. "I'm evidently going through a midlife crisis. It's like high school all over again and this time," he gazed up as he spoke to the moon partially hidden by grey clouds, "I'm not the one who sits on the bleachers smirking at the girls who fell for boys and the girls who chased after the hottest guy. I'm the one being chased." He sighed, rested the wine bottle down and shook his head.
When his mobile chirped, he fished it out of his jeans.
Castiel stared at the screen for a long time before he opened the text.
Can we start over? I can't lose you. I want to get to know you. I want you in my life, Cas. Please give me another chance?
His lips trembled as he kept reading the text over and over again. And when the hot tears leaked down his cheeks, Castiel locked his phone and pressed it to his chest.
He couldn't do it.
He couldn't give up everything he worked hard to achieve in his life for someone he shouldn't have feelings for in the first place. For someone he could never have even if he wanted him.
Even if as he sat on the chair outside under the moonlight, his body began to ache so deeply and he began to long to be near to Dean more than ever. To savor the warmth of the Prince's breath. The depth of their gaze. The breathless pursuit to get him to dance. The honesty when he even told his brother about their connection.
For the moment, he realized…that he was falling in love so fast and so recklessly. And Castiel picked up the merlot, and drank and drank until he had consumed the entire bottle.