Part III

Castiel could not believe the transformation Meg had created in the caves. It had been a tranquil space before, a long-ago haven from simpler times. Now, however, with her touch and presence, so much beauty was displayed around him.

Though none as radiant as the woman who had inspired it.

And though she had been terse at first, gradually that hardened exterior melted away, and Meg's attitude toward Castiel softened. They would sit in the decorated cave and talk for hours upon end. Meg would show him the various items they'd collected, explain their uses and the human things related to them. It rekindled his love for his human mother's world.

In turn, he showed her the secret places of his island: the glistering pools in the crook of the mountain's neck where they went for a refreshing swim, the glade near its peak where white jasmine bloomed only in the light of the moon, and caves down near the shore where cyan and cerulean stalactites dripped down from the belly of the island to cast glittering ripples across the rocky surface.

His dragon remained a constant, raging maelstrom inside him, furious to break free, but Castiel managed to keep it locked down. He'd found a musical instrument among the sunken treasures, and when he played it, the music would help calm his inner beast, lulling the dragon to sleep with a lilting lullaby.

And so Castiel, too, was lulled into a state of serenity, and he began to feel…happiness. He enjoyed Meg's company.

His joy was tempered, though, with the knowledge that one day she would leave. Her brother had yet to come, but Meg seemed to hold a conviction that he would, eventually. Castiel grew more and more sorrowful at the prospect that she would soon depart, but he knew he shouldn't selfishly hope for her to stay.

It was a warm afternoon, and they had gone down to the beach to wash their clothes in one of the fresh water tributaries. Or, well, Castiel was doing the washing. Meg was sitting on the sand, idly playing with a kite shaped like a bird that she had found and repaired. Yet every time she tossed it into the air, it nose-dived.

"Stupid thing," she remarked sullenly.

Castiel glanced over at her. "You're doing it incorrectly."

She shot him a scowl. "There's no wind to make it fly."

He canted his head in confusion. "Of course there's wind. Can't you see it?"

Meg barked out a laugh. "Of course not. You can't see the wind."

"I can."

Meg looked doubtful, but then gave him a sultry smile. "Alright then. Can you show me how to 'see' the wind?"

Castiel couldn't tell if she was goading him or genuinely asking, not to mention he found the request strange. Seeing the wind was as natural as seeing the waves lapping at the shore. How could he show her?

He shifted awkwardly at first, but then went to grab a fistful of flower petals Meg had gathered in a basket to take back up to the cave for their fragrance. He moved back a pace and centered himself. Tilting his head up to watch the currents, he waited until the right moment to open his hand and let the petals fall. The wind caught them, carrying them back up and around in gentle spirals of plum and mulberry.

Meg's expression slackened in wonder, and her mouth slowly curved upward into a smile that reached her eyes. She set the kite down and stood, taking a step forward into the circle of wind and pressing close to Castiel. So close that he felt the heat radiating from her skin. And a part of him desperately yearned to reach out, to feel the softness of her hair, the smoothness of her cheek.

But he knew the consequences if he did. And so after a long, tense moment, he stepped back. The wind current arced higher, carrying the petals away.

Meg's eyes almost seemed to hold the same desire and regret, but also understanding, and without a word she returned to sitting on the beach with her kite while Castiel turned back to finish the laundry.

Perhaps it was better if her brother came soon. Castiel didn't know how much longer he could resist the dragon—or his own heart.

—\_/—

After many harried days and nights at sea, the crew finally spotted land through a shroud of mist, an island that looked unfamiliar to those who had traversed a vast amount of the ocean. A lost isle of dragons, perhaps? Sam didn't spot any of the great winged beasts circling the large mountain on one end of the island. Maybe it was just the one that had come to the village.

They laid anchor in the shoals and Dean told the men to stay put, that he and Sam would go ashore and look around. No one was keen to argue. They were sailors and fishermen, not hunters like the Winchesters.

Sam and Dean jumped down into the shallows, their boots splashing in the aquamarine water. Armed with swords and knives, they ventured onto the island, keeping their eyes and ears peeled for the dragon. It was eerily quiet, like no other animals lived here. For good reason.

"Thing's probably nested somewhere up on the mountain," Dean speculated.

Sam raised his eyes up toward the craggy formation, jagged peaks looking foreboding as they poked through tendrils of ghostly fog. He'd been to some harrowing dens in his time hunting monsters, but the prospect of sneaking up on a sleeping dragon made his blood turn to ice.

Nevertheless, they started the climb. There was a lot of ground to cover, though, and as the terrain became steeper, they silently agreed to split up in search of a cave or something a dragon might make a nest in.

Sam skirted the edge of the mountainside. The view was breathtaking this far up, not that he could allow himself much time to appreciate it. There seemed to be a well-worn path weaving its way around the mountain, and Sam followed it curiously.

A high-pitched chitter was his only warning before something crashed into him from above, sending him sprawling across the ground. He heard a growl and skittering of claws, and immediately whipped out his knife as he rolled into a crouch. A hideous creature unlike any he'd ever seen stood across from him, head hunched low and fangs bared. A tail flicked back and forth behind it, hind muscles rippling with the anticipation of striking. Sam adjusted his grip on his knife.

A flash of its yellow eyes telegraphed its attack, and Sam dove to the side, swiping out with his blade at the same moment. He missed, and the beast circled around again, snarling viciously.

Sam sidestepped to keep it in front of him. The thing growled and feinted another attack, darting forward and back quickly, but the movement was enough to make Sam jerk backward a step—and his foot slipped off the edge of the cliff.

His stomach lurched into his throat as he slid off the ledge, dropping the knife as he frantically scrabbled to catch himself. One hand snagged an exposed root and halted his fall, while the fingers of his other hand found purchase in the rock face. He clung to them, wind whipping around him as the several-hundred-foot drop loomed beneath his flailing legs. He managed to get a boot onto a small cleft, but now he was stuck.

And the monster was above him.

Sam heard a deep rumble and craned his head back enough to see the creature peering over the edge. He was within reach of a swipe of claws.

"No!" a voice shouted.

For a moment, Sam thought it was his brother, but the texture was all wrong—too deep and gravelly.

The beast disappeared from the edge, and a moment later a man appeared. He immediately dropped down onto his stomach and leaned over to reach for Sam's hand.

Sam gritted his teeth as he fought to hang on. Even when his would-be rescuer wrapped a firm grip around his wrist, it would still take a lot of leverage to lift him up.

The man paused long enough to glance over his shoulder. "Go back," he said.

In the back of his mind, Sam had to wonder if the guy was talking to the thing that had attacked him. He didn't hear any more chittering or growling, nor had he heard a death cry of the animal being slain. But that wasn't important at the moment. The silt around his purchase was crumbling and he was slipping.

The man reached down with both hands to hold onto him, but he was obviously straining just to keep Sam from falling.

Dean's harried voice suddenly echoed from above, and out of the corner of his eye, Sam saw his brother come running up the edge of the path. Dean skidded to a halt at the sight of them, eyes instantly hardening with suspicion and the promise of retribution for his little brother being in danger. Dean wasn't one to ask questions first.

Yet despite the man with the sword bearing down on him, the stranger didn't let go of Sam in order to jump up and defend himself, but continued to inch even further over the edge of the cliff to get a better grip. Sam thought they were both going to end up falling, but gradually he started to rise an inch, and in so doing, he found a better foothold in the scarp. With one final surge of strength, the man heaved him up and over the ledge where they both immediately collapsed onto the ground.

Dean rushed to Sam's side and dropped down next to him. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Sam said breathlessly, and lifted his gaze to his savior. "Thanks."

The dark-haired man stood slowly and backed up several paces, his mouth set in a tense line. "Have you come for Meg?" he asked.

Sam quirked a puzzled brow at him. That was a weird question to ask people on a first meeting.

"Wait," he sputtered. "Meg, as in the demon? She's still alive?"

That had been her name, Sam remembered. He hadn't even considered the possibility that she would have survived the dragon taking her.

The guy's brows furrowed in confusion, but before he could respond, said demon herself came striding down the path, brandishing a crossbow.

Dean leaped to his feet, sword still in hand, and Sam scrambled upright, but didn't have a chance to draw his own weapon before she was aiming hers at them.

"Back off," she warned.

Dean glowered at her, but didn't drop his sword. "So the dragon didn't kill you, huh? What, you too sour for its taste?"

Unlike when they'd first caught her and she returned every quip with a barb of her own, this time her voice stayed low and deadly. "Turn around and leave this island. Now."

Sam was honestly stunned. They'd come here searching for a dragon, and so far hadn't found it. He'd almost died, been saved by a stranger, and now a demon was telling them to leave rather than trying to kill them outright.

"Meg," the man spoke up softly. "Maybe they can be your way off the island."

"They're hunters," she said bitingly. "They'd rather kill me. Besides, they're not here for me; they're here for the dragon."

The man's eyes widened a fraction in understanding.

"Where is the dragon?" Sam couldn't help but ask. "And how are you living on an island with it? Wouldn't it constantly be attacking you?" He glanced over his shoulder at the slope and beach. "There doesn't look to be many places to hide."

"It doesn't attack without provocation," Meg rejoined. "And if you don't leave now, you just might make it angry."

"We're not going anywhere," Dean said, still gripping his sword threateningly.

The man—dressed in a simple shirt and trousers and the only one of them not armed—cleared his throat. "Perhaps we should invite them inside for some food and drink," he suggested. "They've obviously come a long way and must be tired from the hike."

Sam blinked, taken aback by the casual offer in the midst of what was obviously a standoff.

Meg shot him a bewildered look. "Why the hell would we do that? Did you not hear me when I said they're hunters?"

"Because it's the human thing to do," he replied.

Sam was bewildered, and Dean shifted his weight, suddenly looking lost as well. But whatever was going on here, one thing was clear—this guy had saved Sam's life.

"That'd be nice," he said, jumping in before Dean or Meg could escalate tensions.

The man smiled. It was small and tentative, but sincere.

Meg appeared to be fuming, but she slowly started to lower her crossbow. "You gonna put your sword away, slayer?"

Dean snorted, but Sam shot him a pointed look. He really wanted some answers and the only way to get them was to play nice.

Scowling, Dean sheathed his blade.

"This way," the man said, and started leading them up the path, which Sam now realized was an actual path.

Meg frequently cast dark looks over her shoulder, but didn't make a move against them, and they soon arrived at a large cave with a small, makeshift dwelling in the back corner lined with mats, and a cooking area off to the side.

The man walked to a pitcher and poured some water into two wooden cups, then brought them over to the Winchesters. "My name is Castiel," he said.

"I'm Sam, and this is my brother Dean," Sam replied, giving a nod of thanks as he took the cup.

"The ones who tried to burn me at the stake," Meg put in sourly.

Castiel paused, looking like a deer startled in a thicket. "Oh," he said, shifting uncomfortably. "I hope you won't try that again here. It would be…rude, after all."

Sam thought this guy was strange, but who knew how long he'd been living on this island, which seemed empty of any other inhabitants. Had he been shipwrecked? But what about the dragon?

"How are you still alive?" Dean asked abruptly, glaring at Meg.

"Yeah," Sam added. "Where's the dragon?" He looked around the cave. "I mean, this looks like it could be its lair, and yet you're here, out in the open…"

"The dragon won't hurt you," Castiel said confidently. "And as long as your people never sing the Ritual Song again, it will never return to your borders."

Sam straightened. "So I was right, it was the song." He quirked a brow. "But how would you know that?"

Castiel averted his gaze. "I just do."

"Can't risk it," Dean said. "The dragon's a monster and needs to be put down."

"No, he doesn't," Meg snapped, hand going to the crossbow again.

Dean's eyes flashed darkly, his own hand landing on the hilt of his sword, though he didn't draw yet.

Sam frowned at her. Why was she defending the dragon? Wait… 'he'? Sam's eyes blew wide with a jolt of suspicion as he glanced between Meg and Castiel. "Wait," he spluttered. "You're the dragon?"

It didn't make sense. Well, it did, because there was no sign of the fire-breathing beast and Meg hadn't been devoured by it, but this guy looked like a man, not a scaly monster with wings.

Castiel lowered his eyes to the floor, not denying it.

Sam saw his brother immediately stiffen, hand tightening on his sword hilt. Sam was stupefied, too, but he managed to keep some measure of level-headedness, and grabbed Dean's arm to stay his hand.

"I don't understand. How are you the dragon?"

Castiel slowly raised a hand and pressed it to his chest. "The dragon is within me. I keep him suppressed most of the time, but when he does break free, there is a crevice in the back of the cave large enough for a man to fit inside, but too tight for a dragon to get out of. When I feel the change coming, I always go there, to keep the dragon from leaving the island."

Sam's brows rose in dismay. Dragons were shapeshifters?

Castiel's expression turned aggrieved. "But when I heard the Song, it was so powerful, and I couldn't make it to the cave in time." He turned earnest eyes filled with anguish toward them. "You must make sure your people never sing it again."

"I know another way to make sure it doesn't happen again," Dean said in a low tone.

Sam tensed, and shot his brother a scathing look. Yes, they'd come here to hunt the dragon, but given what they'd discovered, could Dean take a step back and reevaluate, for once?

Castiel gazed back at him solemnly, apparently unmoved by the threat. "If you feel that is necessary," he said softly.

"Over my dead body," Meg interrupted.

Castiel flicked an almost fond look at her, then turned back to the Winchesters. "I would ask that you forgive Meg for the crime she committed in your village. It was self-defense. I'm sure if you take her away from the island and let her go free, she will never bother your lands again."

Sam was taken aback once again, and even Meg's mouth had parted slightly at the heartfelt plea as she gaped at Castiel.

Dean's expression remained like granite, but Sam still had a hand on his arm, keeping him from making any sudden movements.

"Uh, can you give us a minute?" Sam said, tugging his brother back toward the cave entrance. Even with the distance, he kept his voice low. "Maybe we had this all wrong."

"If this guy is the dragon, then we have it all right," Dean countered. "And we can finish the job on the demon while we're at it."

"We can't just kill him," Sam argued. "He hasn't done anything. He sounds more cursed than evil."

"Same thing."

Sam huffed in consternation at his brother's dogmatic pigheadedness. "He saved my life. And I was right about the Ritual Song being the thing that brought the dragon down on us. If it wasn't for that, Castiel would have continued keeping the dragon locked away."

Dean scoffed. "And you trust him to keep doing it? What if he doesn't make it to his cage in time?"

"He's done a pretty good job all these years." Sam crossed his arms. "He could have let me fall earlier. And he was just in there pleading for us to rescue Meg from this island. He didn't even say he'd resist if we did try to kill him. Which, by the way, I'm not gonna do, just sayin' right now."

Dean scowled. "Fine. You want to leave the dragon alone, we can do that. But if it comes back and attacks one town, I swear to God, Sam…"

"Then we'll deal with it," he finished stiffly. "But can we punish those who've actually done something wrong, and not just because they might?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Whatever."

Sam took a deep breath, knowing his brother was going to blow his top at the next thing he had to say. "And I think we should consider taking Meg with us."

Sure enough, Dean's brows shot upward to his hairline. "Excuse me?"

"We know exactly what happened with the man she killed behind the tavern. If she'd been a regular human and not a demon, we wouldn't have tried to execute her. Hell, if she hadn't killed the guy and he'd done what he'd intended, we would have stoned him instead!"

Dean just continued to look flabbergasted. "But she is a demon!"

"Maybe she can try to be better," Sam urged. The fact that she was defending Castiel to them had to speak for something.

"What the hell has gotten into you?"

"Maybe I want to believe there's good in everyone, even those tainted by something evil. Did you ever think of that?"

Dean hesitated, mouth thinning into a tight line.

They didn't talk about the night the demon fed a six-month-old Sam its blood, the night their mom had died and their home burned down. The night their father had sworn vengeance on all monsters and began to train his sons to fight them as well. The family trade.

And Sam tried not to think about what it meant to have demon blood inside him, tried not to think about how their father had told Dean that if Sam turned evil, Dean would have to kill him.

Sam spent every waking moment of his life fighting for good in order for that not to happen. In a way, he could understand Castiel. And maybe Meg.

Dean stepped away, running a hand down his face. "Fine," he eventually said gruffly. "But I'm sleeping with a knife under my pillow until she's gone."

"You do that anyway," Sam replied, but he was relieved.

They went back inside where Castiel and Meg were waiting, the man standing somberly near the wide mouth of the cave while the demon paced in obvious agitation.

"Yeah, we'll give you a ride off the island," Dean said brusquely.

Meg narrowed her eyes skeptically at them. "Really? This isn't some ploy so you can toss me overboard halfway out to sea?"

"Don't tempt me," Dean grumbled.

"We promise," Sam interjected. "You can go free once we reach the mainland. But…no guarantees if we run into each other again down the road."

Meg smirked. "Ditto."

She turned to Castiel then, who looked at her with such grave sadness that Sam was struck by it, and he watched in bemusement as they moved to a mere breadth's from each other, yet didn't reach out to make contact.

"I wish you well," Castiel said.

"You too." Meg opened her mouth, hesitated, and then closed it. Without another word, she turned from him and walked away.

Sam nodded respectfully to Castiel and then followed, Dean right behind him.

As they made their way down the mountain, Sam couldn't help but notice how subdued Meg looked. It seemed she'd grown to care for Castiel in some way. Another thing that didn't make her a normal demon.

"Are you okay?" Sam asked.

Her expression instantly hardened. "Just a little on edge about whether you'll keep your promise," she snapped.

Sam dropped the matter, and they continued the rest of the way in silence.

When they reached the beach, they pulled up short at the sight of a short man in black clothes, with tendrils of red smoke curling faintly around him.

"Hallo, boys," he greeted in a chipper accent, then turned to Meg. "Whore."

"Crowley," she growled, eyes flicking to black.

His turned an opaque shade of crimson in response. "I got your message, pet. Or, well, after your brother traded it to me for some nice real estate in Hell proper."

"Why?" she bit out.

Sam exchanged a tense look with Dean, both of their hands drifting toward their sword hilts, though only one of their knives had spellwork that could actually kill a demon.

The red-eyed demon grinned. "The news of a dragon being alive is something I couldn't pass up. Imagine the prize that would be to have in Hell."

Meg surged forward. "You stay away from him."

The demon flicked his wrist, and suddenly they were all flung backward through the air. Sam landed on his back in the sand, winded for a moment.

This Crowley sauntered over and leered down at Meg. "I was going to offer you a deal for helping me capture it, but it seems there might be another way to bring the beast down here."

Before Sam or Dean could regain their feet, smoke whipped out from the demon and curled around them, forming into ropes that firmly bound them as though they were solid chains.

Meg struggled, cheeks puffing red with exertion and fury. The demon cackled with anticipation, and Sam looked back up toward the mountain in dread.