Chapter 3
Age 18
For the first time that he could remember, Dean felt hesitation as he headed west. The past year had been an endless ouroboros of hope and expectation, anxiety and fear. When he'd found the Cain book, he'd been so sure that the answer to their struggles had found its way into his hand, but now all he could think was that was not enough. Every day he would steel himself before meeting Raphael at council. If there was a message for him, for them, it could be news of a breakthrough, tidings of joy, or it could be a dire report of a man, of Cas, gone and disappeared into madness of power. Day after day, nothing had come, until the lone missive of a location for their next meeting.
The sun was nearing the tree line by the time Dean left the straw hut and its festivities. He told himself he was staying for Sam, that it had been a year since he'd last seen his brother. Sam had grown like ivy, gangly and fast, shooting up to Dean's chin. He'd grown in other ways, too, arguing with their father until the explosive fallout sent the teenager storming out in a fit, taking with him Dean's excuse for staying put.
"I'd heard that boys tend to grow away from their mothers as they get older," Mary said with a gentle smile. "But it seems I have one boy that can't leave and another who's retreated behind my skirts."
Dean flushed and fiddled with belt, trying to tamp down on the sense of panic that seized him at being caught out. There was nothing to be ashamed of. Friends grew apart. Certainly he had many a companion who had disappeared with the changing of each season. It meant nothing that he'd spent nearly every day of the past year with his heart in his throat at the very thought of Cas, and the past month preparing for this visit had rendered him inattentive and irritable. "I hardly see you or your skirts. Perhaps I'm reacquainting them to memory in case I forget."
Mary lifted an eyebrow and patted the seat next to her. "Why are you really still here?"
Dean's breath caught as he sank down into the crude wooden seat. "The last time I was here," he started, voice low and gruff, "Cas was, well, you probably have a better idea than I do. Something broke inside him."
His mother turned sad eyes towards the sun peeking through the western window, but the smile that stayed on her lips kept Dean's blood from running cold. "Yes, it is difficult out here for all of us. Even prisoners rarely see such cruelty as isolation. It is a burden for an old woman like myself―"
"You're hardly old," Dean snorted, but Mary dismissed the sentiment with a shake of her head.
"It's even worse for the children. This is when you learn how to interact with the world, and all Sam, Castiel, Gabriel, and even Anna have is their family. Everyone reacts differently. Sam has his idealism, which is in its own way a sort of denial that life could be better than the travelling the world with his mother and his best friend."
Dean grimaced at the thought that Sam had Gabriel as his best friend, of all people.
"Castiel has his mission. He lets it consume him until he forgets that there's life outside the hole he has dug himself. Then you come along, once a year, a breath of fresh air at the back of that musty cave and you remind him of everything that he can't have."
"Are you―" Dean swallowed and clenched his eyes shut. "Are you saying I shouldn't go see him?" And the thought of that, of severing himself from Cas, of being so close and not seeing him was almost enough to tear him away from his mother's side and send him running to the west.
"I would never suggest that," Mary said firmly and Dean peered up at her face, golden and bright in the sun. "I mean that you shouldn't be so hard on him. No matter what you think, Castiel isn't perfect."
"I don't think he's perfect," Dean objected, a little too quickly.
"Of course not," Mary said with a light laugh. "He made a mistake and now you're afraid of losing him, but you haven't, Dean, not if you don't want to."
Dean headed west, with his mother's kiss still lingering on his cheek, her words echoing in his ear keeping him moving forward rather than turning back. Running away. Dean clenched his fists. There was nothing to fear here, not like there was at the end of a sword or in the maw of a beast. If nothing else, he had his trust in his mother and, he tried to remember, his faith in Cas.
After he'd walked for nearly a candle mark, he was stunned to hear a familiar whistle and the responding twitter of birdsong. The tall grass parted and he was standing on the end of a shabby old dock. An old boat, sunken and half-rotted, was moored to the broken bollards on his left. And at the other end, legs dangling into the still water, sat Castiel.
His robe was on this time, Dean noticed, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Robins with red breasts and gray wings hopped about on the planks around his fingers, and swooped lazily through the air. There were even a few brown ducks paddling near his ankles, listening to the reedy lilts of Castiel's song and nibbling at his toes.
Even from the back, Dean could see that Cas had changed. He was taller and broader, but there was something else, not necessarily something new, but something lost that was found again in the careless slump of his shoulders contrasted against the rigidity of his spine.
"Cas?" he asked, tentative as he stepped onto the worn wooden planks.
The whistling stopped and Castiel turned his head slowly. For a split second, Castiel smiled without reservation, grin spilling from his lips and making him glow in the sunlight. Dean's breath caught in his throat and a year's worth of tension drained from his shoulders. Then the smile flared away, dimming into a small self-conscious flash of teeth, like Cas was laughing at his own joke. His head dipped, and Dean could barely make out the glimpse of blue from under his lashes.
And entirely new ache filled Dean's chest as his feet started moving forward without his say. Without saying another word, he dropped down on the planks next to Castiel and wrapped his arms around his shoulders. It was awkward and uncomfortable until Cas turned into him, tucking his face against Dean's neck, arms coming up to circle Dean's waist. Then it was perfect and warm and the Wizard's robe slipped like silk between the fingers he had bunched up over Cas' shoulder blades.
This time he had his Cas back, the one who made the whole world look shiny and new.
"Hello, Dean," Castiel said against his ear, and a shiver ran through him. It made his knees shake. It was too much. He turned his head so that his ear was further from Castiel's dangerous lips and his own nose was buried in Cas' hair. The Wizard smelled like sunshine and water and cloves.
"Hey, Cas," he said to the back of Cas' head. He indulged himself in one last squeeze before letting go. Still, when he sat down, their shoulders and hips were pressed flush together. He had to reassure himself that Cas was right there with him, that he was solid again, unmovable, a rock. Cas leaned into his side and that was even better.
The lake was much smaller than the ocean, perhaps even smaller than the fishing pond just south of the mill. But the water was a clear blue, reflecting the sunlight and clouds in the sky, and that made it more beautiful than the sea ever could be.
"So you managed to crawl your way out of your books," Dean said lightly, all the questions and accusations bleeding out from the soles of his feet and into the cool water to be swept away by the lapping waves.
"Yes," Castiel replied, eyeing him serenely. "You were worried."
Dean sagged, dropping his head onto Cas' shoulders and huffing out a breath of laughter. "Yeah, Cas."
Castiel stared down at him from the corner of his eyes like he did when he wasn't quite sure what a joke was about. After a moment he nodded and went back to looking out over the water.
"I have found a possible solution to our problem," Castiel told him and squinted against the sunlight. Dean's head shot up, because this was a big moment and Cas shouldn't be telling him that with a grumpy pout on his face. Elation, disbelief, trepidation, and relief run through his mind, leaving him in a surreal haze.
"There's a catch," Dean guessed.
"It's not ready yet," Castiel groused, worrying at his bottom lip with his teeth, making it shiny and red. "I wanted to have something to show you when you visited today, but all I have are a bunch of calculations that don't mean anything yet, but I am certain I am on the right path. I am sorry that I have no substantial proof. You shouldn't have your hopes raised―"
But it was far too late for that. Already Dean had jumped to his feet, grinning so hard his cheeks ached. The only thing that kept him from shouting and dancing a jig right here on the dock was the startled look Cas gave him. Only Cas would expect disappointment and chastisement when all Dean wanted to do was share his joy and gratitude and pride.
He didn't even think before he leaned down and tilted Cas' face up to meet his. The kiss was soft and short, just a gentle brushing of lips that lasted as long as it took for the grin to take over Dean's face once again. When he pulled back, Cas was beet red and out of breath even though they'd done nothing more than touch for a second.
"Dean, what―" Cas started before his tongue stopped working, leaving him gaping like a fish.
He laughed as he sank back down onto the planks, noting with mirth that Cas' wide eyes never once left his face.
"I want to add this place to the list," Dean proclaimed, plunking his feet into the cool water and scattering the ducks, ignoring the obvious question that hung between them. He didn't want to talk about the kiss. He just wanted to bask in the aftermath, to preserve this moment forever in time. "We'll come back," he continued, "And build a big manor right there, like the summer home we have in Harvelle."
He slung an arm around Cas' shoulder, turning him towards the length of dry shore on the south side. Already he was picturing the dock fixed, the water teeming with hickory shad and rainbow trout, fresh fish at the supper table. He pressed Cas against his side, like if they were close enough, they could share the image, and the Wizard came easily.
"Yes, this would be a good place," Cas confirmed and shot Dean a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Perhaps you should tell Gabriel about the list," Cas continued and pulled away. The Wizard tucked his feet onto the edge of the dock and rested his chin on his knees.
Dean frowned, all the ease from before turning into an itch under his skin he couldn't scratch. "Why would I do that?"
"You two share a certain brashness and you would certainly appreciate his sense of humor. If you spent more time together, I'm sure you would get along very well."
Dean shifted anxiously. Cas had been comfortable and close, so now Dean didn't understand why he was pushing him away. "I don't want to," he said petulantly. Gabriel was abrasive and loud, but he was more interesting than a lot of the dung-heads at court. Still, Dean never found him as fascinating and captivating as his brother. There was something about Castiel that was implacable and calm, even when he was laughing or angry or sad. Gabriel was spark and spectacle, but Cas was a gentle mage light tucked under his skin and Dean never quite grew tired of looking for its glow. If he said that out loud, Cas would think he'd gone soft in the head. "I like you better," he said instead. "You're my best friend."
He watched Cas' face intently, hoping for a quirk of his lips, a genuine smile. It wasn't there. Instead, Cas looked helpless and resigned as he repeated Dean's words. "I'm your best friend."
"Of course," Dean insisted, thinking that maybe Castiel didn't believe him. He couldn't think of any other reason why Cas looked like he was headed for the hangman's noose. This was supposed to be a celebration. It had been a celebration and Dean couldn't tell where it had gone wrong.
"Is that why you kissed me?" Cas asked, turning his head in his arms so his eyes could bore into Dean's. Dean swallowed around a sudden lump in his throat. That wasn't why. He could lie, but Cas had always been able to see right through him.
The real reason was that he spent the past year more worried about Cas than he was about Sam. The thought of his brother dying was terrifying but distant - Lucifer was more myth than man by this point - but he had been so close to losing Castiel. He feared that the next time he looked into those blue eyes, he wouldn't recognize him anymore, that all of Castiel's inherent grace and compassion would be stripped away by hatred and desperation. He realized that he didn't just need Cas to save Sam. He needed Cas to be safe and happy. When Cas told him he had found a cure, Dean realized he wanted Cas to be safe and happy and there with him. He wanted to see that smile every day. He wanted to feel it against his skin, to press it into his flesh and wear it like a badge. Even now he could feel it tingling against his lips.
Dean could talk a man out of his house, a merchant out of his profit, a kingdom out of a war, but he couldn't find the words to let Castiel know everything he was to him. "No," he managed. "I kissed you because I wanted to."
And it was that simple.
Age 19
It was good news. It was fantastic news. Sam wasn't going to die. Cas had figured out some sort of dissipation trick from the notes in Cain's book. Should Lucifer cast the second Mark, it wouldn't kill Sam. Instead, it would diffuse into the area around him, putting everyone there to sleep. Sam would be forced unconscious, and they had yet to find a definitive way to wake him, but at least he wouldn't be dead.
And if Lucifer was close enough, he'd be knocked out as well.
Dean chewed on his lip and shifted on his feet, antsy in his ability to do anything but wait. His father was a statue beside him, eyes fixed intently on the ring of Wizards gathered around Sam. Michael, Raphael, Anna, and Gabriel stood at cardinal corners as they worked the new spell. Cas was the only one missing, too sick and sensitive to light to emerge from the back room of the cabin.
The spell wasn't that impressive for how powerful it was supposed to be. There were no flashing lights, no sound of crackling, no static in the air. The only indication that magic was present in the room was the scent of the burning herbs and the low chant of voices that sounded more like gargling water than any human language.
"You doing good, Sammy?" he asked when it was all over.
"Yes," his brother replied, sounding completely unfazed, like nothing had changed. That seemed wrong to Dean, somehow, but his brother was safe, so who was he to complain?
"You sure the spell didn't turn you into a girl?" Dean teased. At Sam's scowl he added, "I mean more of a girl."
"You are such a pig!" Sam said, shoving his brother who returned with a headlock and cuff. It was good. He didn't get to do this often enough. At fifteen, Sam was getting tall, almost as tall as he was although he was still a mess of spindly limbs. It made him feel slightly better when he invariably won their wrestling matches.
"Dean," his father's voice cut into their brotherly play-fighting. "We're leaving."
"Aw," Sam whined and turned big sad eyes on their father. It didn't work. Nothing really worked on John Winchester. Dean pulled his brother up off the ground and dusted himself off.
"I'm going to go say bye to Cas. He's going to be so pissed if he finds out we were here and I didn't even bother to see his sickly face."
He headed to the door that lead to the back, but before he was even halfway there, Gabriel intercepted him, placing himself between the prince and the door.
"Sorry, Dean. He can't see anyone right now."
"Oh come off it, Gabe. I promise I won't catch his vapors."
Normally this would be where Gabe would tease him about wanting to get more than Cas' cooties, but this time the short little wizard stayed serious, showing the rare side of him that was obviously molded by his father. "No can do, Dean-o. Not this time."
"Let me through, you little twat." This was starting to scare him, and when Dean was scared, he got pissed. He placed both hands on the Wizard's shoulders and shoved, except the man didn't move an inch. The little rascal was using his magic on him. "Get out of my way!"
"Dean," Michael growled in warning.
"You need to tell me what's wrong with Cas. Why can't I see him? And don't give me that light-sensitive heap of lies!" Dean yelled at the Wizards.
"Please, Michael. I'm sure Castiel can handle just a few minutes," Mary mediated calmly, placing a restraining hand on her eldest son's arm.
"I'm sorry, Mary. It would not be safe for either of them. Castiel is very ill," Michael said, surprisingly gentle though Dean could see his finger tapping against his robes. For him that was incredibly agitated.
Dean was about to demand entrance again when Sam intervened. "Dean, I'll tell him you came by. I can give him a message if you want?"
"I don't want to leave a message. I want to know what's going on!"
"Dean Winchester," his father's voice boomed through the room, and Dean was instantly mollified. "We are leaving."
Dean gave his mother a quick peck on the cheek and thumped a hand against Sam's back. "See you on your next birthday, kid. What're you turning, ten?"
"Sixteen, you pig!"
Dean smiled and murmured, "Chicken."
He shot the backroom a final look before Raphael took his hand and the walls shifted from the rough logs of the cabin to the cut stone of the castle.
Age 20
Dean pushed out of the crowd and up the stairs, collapsing against his door in a drunken buzz. Benny had sent Theresa or Tanya or Tiffany, something with a T, up to his room ten minutes ago, then told Dean not to keep her waiting. It seemed everyone was willing to indulge the crown prince on his twentieth birthday.
In truth, he just wanted someone to take the loneliness away. Somehow, he'd come to rely on Sam's birthday to bolster him through the rest of the year, but last April, there'd been rioting West of the Narrow Strait that threatened to spill over into Winchester lands. They'd only managed to take enough time for Raphael to complete the spell with the other Wizards before they came straight home. Dean had gotten to speak with his brother for less than an hour and hadn't seen Cas at all. More than anything he missed them and their absence burned a hole through his heart.
The girls helped, if only for an evening or two every so often. He expected Tina to be only a brief reprieve, but it was his birthday, so he might as well try. What he wasn't expecting was for her to be joined by a man, an angry dark-haired man with stormy blue eyes who was tucking the unconscious girl into Dean's four-poster bed.
Dean's downstairs brain hadn't registered the change, or maybe it just didn't care, but his big boy brain was still lucid enough to feel shame and a tinge of fear. Cas could be terrifying when he wanted to be.
"Cas! What are you doing here?"
"You invite me to your birthday every year," Castiel replied calmly, though Dean could see the accusation in his eyes.
"Sure," he shot back, "and you never come." The first flickers of anger had the bonus side effect of sobering him up a little, enough to process the resigned tilt downwards of the Wizard's shoulders.
"I should not have this year either," Castiel sighed and rummaged inside the sleeve of his robes. He produced a small brown package and strode over to Dean. "Happy birthday," he said, placing the gift in the prince's limp hand. "This is from Sam."
"Wait," Dean shot out his other hand to grasp his friend's arm, preventing him from moving, preventing him from ileaving/i. He plastered a cocky grin onto his face, the same one that had convinced Tara to join him for this evening's festivities. "What, you didn't get me anything?"
Castiel bristled with fury. Dean could have sworn that he was using his powers, somehow, to make the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. "I have far more important things to do than procure trinkets for your debauched amusement."
For some reason, the shivers that ran up Dean's spine were far too pleasant to be from terror. He was undeterred, boosted by the alcohol coursing through his veins. "I'm not interested in trinkets. In fact, I think you did get me a present."
The look of confusion Castiel shot him was adorable. Dean almost regretted having to wipe it off his face. A sharp tug was all it took to get Cas pressed up against his chest. Once there, it was easy to lean down and press their lips together.
Castiel went as rigid as a board, but only for a moment before he grabbed onto Dean's shoulders and was kissing him back with the same subdued fire that he always held within him.
It was nothing like the first time they kissed. After that first moment of hesitation, Cas moved with purpose, a slow methodical glide of lips that had Dean wondering where he learned it, who he learned it from. He wanted to wipe them from Cas' mind, to replace all those memories with new ones of Dean. He caught Cas' bottom lip between his teeth, sucking it into his mouth. Cas' moan gave him the opportunity to dip his tongue into his heat, to really taste him for the first time. His hands had snaked into Cas' hair, clenched in those curls that he'd touched in his dreams. Cas was like a fine wine, delicious and heady and leaving Dean craving more.
By the time they parted, they were both spit-slick and out of breath. A beautiful flush had settled high in Cas' cheeks and his eyes shone liquid and dark, luring Dean forward again, but this before he could touch him, Castiel placed a steady palm against his chest.
"Dean, I can't do this. I'm sorry," he whispered, not looking the prince in his eyes. In the next moment, Dean was left holding a brown package in one hand and empty air in the next.
The sleeping girl in his bed let out a quiet snort.
All he could do was slump down into the armchair by the window, lean his head back, and murmur, "Ass."
Tessa sat up and regards him with bleary brown eyes. "Someone was here, waiting for you," she slurred out.
His laugh was short and bitter. "Not anymore."
Age 20 - 3 months later
It figured that they'd choose a place where the very weather would fight against his quest to apologize and fix things. Wind whipped the fallen snow off the ground and into his face, loose fluffy flakes soaking blurring his vision and creating a sheen of frost on his scarf.
Castiel always took the post to the west, because the sun would set on him last, so Dean headed west. Except when he found a Wizard, it was the wrong one.
"Hello, Dean-o."
"Gabriel."
"So what did you do to Cassie to get his panties all in a bunch?"
"None of your business. Where's Cas?"
"He took east watch this time. Wouldn't tell me why but from the look on your face, I'd say it's because you screwed up somehow."
"Troll's teeth." East watch meant that Cas was at least two leagues away. It'd take him at least two hours to fight his way back through the snow. As he turned towards the east, Gabriel called out to him again.
"Dean, believe it or not, I want the best for my brother."
That got his attention. "What?" Gabriel was a complete dick to, well, everyone. While his brothers had emulated their father's gravitas, Gabriel seemed to have launched himself in the opposite direction, constantly joking, lying, and playing pranks on his siblings.
"Geez, I've been watching you two dance around each other since you were babies. I was jealous at first, you know? When you pick Michael's successor, there really wasn't going to be any competition. But then I realized that wasn't the reason you would want Castiel at court."
"What are you talking about, Gabriel?"
The shorter man rolled his eyes and manifested an armchair in the middle of the clearing. He plopped down into the giant cushions before explaining. "You get to see your brother and mother for one day every year, and yet every year, you spend at least two or three hours with imy/i brother."
"He's my best friend."
"He is not your best friend."
"What? Of course he is!"
"Dean, he was your best friend until you were thirteen. But then we left. You aren't best friends with someone you only talk to once a year."
"What could you know about me and Cas?"
"More than you know about him or he knows about you," Gabriel shot back, eyes blazing from beneath the ruff of his hood. "Face it, Dean. You don't know that the only way to get Cas up before sunrise is to ply him with coffee. You don't know that he always picks the chair closest to the door. You don't know that he actually likes dancing, not the stiff court dances, but the flowing forms of the Red Desert. You don't know that he favors his left hand because a Gate Shaman told him it would bring him luck. And I know you're too dense to fess up to what you want unless you're drunk."
Suddenly the woolen layers seemed to do nothing to protect him from the chill. "He told you."
"Of course he told me. Guess what, Dean? It's just the six of us out here and my brother is my best friend too."
"Then what in the king's name was that about?"
"I wanted to see if you'd have the mettle to tell me yourself. Looks like you don't."
"I hope trolls chew off your toes!" He turned to leave.
"Dean," Gabriel lost the smirk in his voice. "Don't."
"Don't what?" he asked over his shoulder.
"Don't go and make whatever grand romantic gesture you have planned. Just leave him alone. It's hard enough for him without you playing with his affections. And if you can't even handle telling his brother you'd kissed him, you can't handle what's coming."
"What's coming? What affections? Gabriel, what aren't you telling me?" he narrowed his eyes and took a step towards the Wizard. "Does this have to do with Sam? With Cas' blessing?"
Gabriel heaved a deep sigh and said with a mocking lilt, "Of course not. This has to do with Castiel. Just leave it. Go back to your castle. Go back to Tessa and every other girl that's waiting for you in your bed. What were their names again? Lisa, Lydia, Jamie."
Dean winced with each name that came out of Gabriel's mouth. He hadn't realized Cas would tell his brother. But it was just the four Wizards, his mother and Sam. Who else would Cas have to talk to the other three hundred and sixty-four days of the year?
"Oh, and my favorite: Cassandra. You called her Cassie, didn't you? Hilarious, isn't it?" Except there wasn't a trace of humor in Gabriel's face.
"I can't believe he told you about all of them. That was private," he couldn't help muttering.
"Who did you think would be the one to put him back together every time?"
"He pushed me away!" Dean blurted out.
"For your own good," Gabriel's eyes glinted like polished steel in the harsh mountain light. "Everything he's ever done has either been for you or for Sam. Just this once, don't fight him on it!"
Dean opened his mouth to protest, but then Gabriel uttered one word Dean had never heard before without sarcasm or disdain.
"Please."
His teeth came together with a click.
"Don't make this harder for him."
Dean opened his mouth to speak again, but nothing came out. His silence seemed to satisfy something in the Wizard, who gave him a curt nod of dismissal. Before he knew why, Dean's feet were taking him back towards the cabin near the mountain's base. As much as he pushed it away, the idea that Gabriel might be right would not leave him be.
Castiel had always been the one person who he could be honest with. Ever since they met when they were five, Castiel had known every fault, every weakness, every embarrassing detail about Dean. There was nothing left to hide. But over the years of separation, how many times, without even meaning to, had Dean left out an embarrassing story in favor of one that painted him in a more favorable light? Dean stopped beside a tree, staring at nothing. How many times had Cas done the same? The bark bit into his knuckles despite the layer of cotton between his fist and the tree trunk. The pain did nothing to quell the ache in his chest, the horrible suggestion that he and Cas had been painting themselves so thickly so that all they knew of each other were these shallow masks, and if they could see beneath them, there wouldn't be this selfish impulse to grab Cas and never let him go. To ask him to stay. To doom Sam.
He couldn't do that, not when he wasn't even sure if he was asking for something that existed as anything more than an illusion.
Dean put Cas out of his mind. He spent the rest of the day with his family, losing himself in the warmth of the three people he had always loved the most. And if Michael seemed a little colder than usual, it couldn't reach him through the chill of his own heart.
