Chapter One: The Frost King
Dean spent a long time in a haze of being half-asleep and half-awake, not really sleeping, working when and where he was told, not paying attention, not feeling, not aware of anything except a pressing need to get outside at the darkest hour of night. Every night, Sam stopped him, and for a few moments, he remembered himself, who he was, and that something wasn't right, and then the haze would return and he would go back to his not-dreaming state.
Finally, though, finally he found himself where he was trying to be. He was in a sled that wasn't being pulled by anything, and he wanted to be curious about that, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. That was because he was sitting next to the most beautiful creature he'd ever laid eyes on.
"Snap out of it, kid," the ethereal beauty ordered him, so he did his best to obey. He wanted to do everything it told him to do. He called it an "it" because he still wasn't quite sure if it was a man or a woman. Its features were sharp like a man's, but there was something feminine in the curve of its cheek and its full, plump lips. The voice, though…deep, dark, rough. Male? "I'm Castiel, by the way," it said, the name not helping Dean in the least. "But most people call me King Frost. You have no idea the trouble you're in, boy."
King frost. So a male then. Dean could work with that. He smiled his usual winning smile. "Hey, handsome," he said, not sure he was heard over the howling of the wind.
Castiel rolled his eyes. "Hello, Dean."
Dean smiled again. So he did hear him. "Where are we going?"
"My place."
"Excellent," Dean decided, then leaned over and kissed Castiel on the cheek, wrapping his arm around his shoulders.
Castiel glanced at the boy, not even trying to hide his annoyance. "You're going to freeze to death," he warned, pulling up the heavy rug and wrapping it once more around Dean, trying to trap his arms in the heavy fabric. Castiel, of course, was not cold. Cold was his domain.
"Why don't you think of a more creative way to keep me warm, beautiful?"
Castiel glared into the warm, flirting face of the boy next to him. This was going to be a long trial.
Dean wasn't sure what Castiel's problem was. As far as he could tell, he was in a sled with a beautiful king under the moonlight and stars, getting hit in the face with some cold wind that, okay, was kind of making his nose run and probably not in an attractive way. But still, a little more cuddling and a little less glaring was surely in order.
"Hey, got some coffee or tea or something?" Dean tried, changing tactic.
That did seem to get Castiel's reaction. The king looked up at him sharply and placed a hand against his cheek. "I told Gabriel I wanted a covered sled," he mumbled. "Maybe that's one more thing you can do for me."
Dean was about to say that he would do anything Castiel wanted him to do when his hands were full of a huge steaming mug of tea. He sipped at it while glancing at Castiel now and then, becoming more aware of his surroundings as they drove towards the sunrise and a huge white-capped mountain. At the very top of the peak was a castle made of what appeared to be blue ice and Castiel directed his sled to the high tower and set it down beyond the walls.
Castiel swished out of the sled in a few elegant movements, his dark blue silk velvet robe with white brocade trim swirling beautifully around his legs and butt, drawing Dean's attention like a magnet. Lamely, Dean managed to unwind himself from the stuffy cocoon of warmth that Castiel had wrapped him in and stumbled out after the king. He was still barefoot and in his nightshirt and no amount of enchantment could keep him from feeling cold against the icy blue marble of the castle.
The stairs to the tower followed the outward curve of the wall and were made of granite cobbles. At the top stood a small man in a dark red robe over a pristine white shirt, tight black pants and gold and red brocade waistcoat. He smiled happily at Castiel, and Dean immediately began to feel jealous. Could this little imp be the reason his flirting had no effect on the king?
"Cassie, I see you've found your prize!"
Castiel bestowed the man with the same glare he'd given Dean during the entire ride there, so Dean started feeling marginally better about his chances. "Yes, Gabriel. Thank you so very much. Dean, this is my cousin and waiting gentleman, Gabriel. He was in line for the throne until a certain scandal took him out of the running."
Gabriel held out a hand. "Don't worry, the role was Cassie's from the get go. I think old Uncle Zachariah liked him better than he ever liked me."
Dean shook hands with Gabriel, somewhat glad in a detached way that his mind couldn't swim around him. He was pretty sure this whole thing should be freaking him out right about now.
Castiel unhooked the collar of his robe, revealing a similar outfit to Gabriel's only his pants were white and his waistcoat silver and several different shades of blue. Dean grew up on the road with his father before he moved to Bobby's tiny village, so finery was not something he was familiar with. He liked the way Castiel's white trousers hugged his thighs, and the contrast between the pristineness of the trousers and the shiny black of his knee-high boots was completely new to Dean. He had never been to Copenhagen to see the palace guard in similar breeches, and certainly no one of consequence would ever drive through his town. In his plain bleached linen nightshirt, he felt grubby and silly.
"He's freezing to death," Castiel was saying to Gabriel. "Look, his lips are turning blue. Bathe him and dress him warmly. The green jacket, I think. Do not, under pain of death, follow through on your threat to paint dogs playing poker on it."
Gabriel gave his cousin a pat on the shoulder. "Don't worry, Cuz. I'll take good care of Deano."
Castiel mumbled something that sounded like, "That's what I'm afraid of." Dean didn't want to go with Gabriel, he wanted to stay with Castiel, but Castiel smiled at him fondly, placed his hand on his shoulder and said, "It will be all right, Dean. I have some work to do now, and it will help me if you go with Gabriel, eat, and maybe sleep a little. Okay?"
Dean nodded because he wanted to be good for Castiel, and followed Gabriel through the castle. The room he was shown to was larger than both the little cottage and the blacksmith shop put together. The walls were the same blue ice that the castle was made of and the floors the same cobbled grey, but there were plush rugs to cushion his feet and beautiful, colorful tapestries to hold the heat in. On one wall was the door to enter, another wall held a huge fireplace with a cheery fire already crackling in it, the wall opposite the door held a floor-to-ceiling window covered by heavy draperies that were currently closed, and the last wall held a huge bed, draped with the same cloth as the windows and covered in a fluffy coverlet, stacked high with pillows.
Next to the bed, by the corner, a door was hidden by a tapestry. Gabriel pulled the tapestry to the side and ushered Dean into a dressing room with a huge copper bathtub. The walls appeared to be paneled in wood, but Dean realized after a moment that they were actually cupboards of some sort when Gabriel opened one to reveal a stack of fluffy white linen. A flick of the small man's arm filled the tub with steaming water, and another flick lit a fire in the little stove at the corner of the room. Dean stared in wonder. Baths at Bobby's house were wet, messy affairs in the kitchen where they tried to be as close to the fireplace as possible because otherwise the water went cold after about five minutes. He had never heard of a bathing room, nor would anyone of his acquaintance be able to afford a room devoted only to bathing. The houses and cabins of his village were small because small meant easier to heat in the cold winters that lasted six months out of the year. Small was also easier to build and maintain. Bobby's house was warmer than most because of the forge in the basement of the shop which stayed lit night and day because it was cheaper to maintain the fire through the night than to try and start over again in a cold forge at the beginning of the day, especially in the middle of winter. Poorer families were often given license to stay the night at the smithy during the coldest parts of the year, and in exchange they would allow Bobby to sleep the night while they fed the fire for him. The Frost King's palace was simply beyond Dean's comprehension.
"All right, let's get you cleaned up, eh?" Gabriel said kindly, lifting Dean's nightshirt. Dean panicked and swatted his hands away. "Hey, it's okay, Dean. I'm not going to hurt you or bad touch you. I'm here to help, okay?"
Dean regarded the little imp for some time before nodding, but he still grasped the hem to his own dress and pulled it over his head. Gabriel nodded and waved him into the bathtub, which was still hot and soothing. Dean's baths were usually in tepid water that Bobby had already used, so clean, warm, clear water was a luxury he decided to enjoy, barely paying heed to Gabriel as he puttered around the small room.
There was a tray resting on the rim of the tub holding a cloth, a sponge, oil, and a bar of soap. He had never seen such a perfect, white, rectangle of soap before, and he loved the way it made large, iridescent bubbles against his skin. Gabriel came up behind him and used the cloth to soap up his back, something Sam or Bobby usually did for him. When Gabriel took the oil and started rubbing into his scalp, he tensed up, unused to being treated like this.
"Relax, Dean. It's okay. It's my job."
Dean tried his best, helped by Gabriel's nimble fingers that massaged his scalp, neck and back with the oil. It felt nice, and Dean mused that he could get used to such treatment.
"Okay, kiddo, let's rinse you off."
Gabriel had done as Castiel had asked and laid out an outfit for Dean. He wasn't sure about the fit of the trousers and waistcoat, but he could magic those easily. He waved a hand to pull the plug on the tub and had Dean kneel so that he could pour a bucket of warm water over him. After that, he wrapped Dean up in yards of fluffy white towel and started to explain the clothes to him. Dean just stared at the complicated hose, breeches, buttons, undershirt, shirt, and waistcoat.
"I know it's a lot of layers," Gabriel said apologetically, "but it really can get very cold in the castle, and you'll be happy for all of this."
Dean didn't really care about the breeches, but the hose gave him pause. He'd never worn something like…like that up against his skin, and he was dubious. He was…well, there was no kind way to put this, but when the gods handed out the manhood, they gave him a little extra. The hose looked confining and uncomfortable. Still, Castiel had been pretty explicit about Gabriel dressing him warmly, and Dean wanted to please Castiel, so he let Gabriel put the knitted contraption on him, thankful when it just slid over his junk and held him like a fond caress rather than like the chastity belt he feared it might be. The undershirt was also knit of something finer than linen, soft and silky feeling, and it hugged his well-formed shoulders nicely. There was a mirror near the door, and Dean was amazed at how well the close-fitting garments showed off his iron-forged muscles. He looked good, he decided, and was suddenly glad that he trusted Gabriel. Castiel would surely think he was handsome like this.
The breeches came next, and Dean became doubly happy for the hose because the breeches fit him so much tighter than his loose canvas trousers. They were buff colored with buttons going up the sides of his calves.
Next came the shirt. It was silky and soft to the touch. Rough cotton and linen were generally worn in his village, so he had no name for the substance he was currently being buttoned into. He just knew he liked it. After that, a gold waistcoat with a spotted pattern was held out for him to slip his arms into, and Gabriel buttoned it quickly, murmuring under his breath until it fit Dean snugly.
Satisfied, Gabriel stood back and admired his work. Dean still needed to don the long green coat and a pair of shiny black boots, but already the tailored clothing put his rough blacksmith garb to shame. If Castiel had found him handsome all sweaty and sloppy, Gabriel was pretty sure his cousin would practically faint at the sight of Dean in courtly garb.
"Well?" Dean asked.
Gabriel smiled. "You look perfect, kid. Cassie won't know what hit him."
Dean smiled, glad that he had Gabriel on his side. "Awesome."
}O{
Castiel stalked to his throne room, gathering his magic around him. Sam Singer was a smart boy, and Castiel was pretty sure he'd figure out in no time what happened to Dean. He couldn't just have the boy go off half-cocked, though. Dean would never forgive him if he allowed Sam to come to the slightest bit of harm, so a lot of markers were going to be called in on this one. Sam needed to be put on the right course from the beginning, and that meant the very first moment he awoke.
Castiel watched in his mirror as the boy opened his pretty hazel eyes, currently brown from his drowsy state. Sam stretched, his young muscles moving handsomely under his rough nightshirt. "Where's Dean?" Castiel murmured, trying his best to mimic Sam's internal monologue. "Dean usually sleeps in for hours if we don't wake him up," Castiel reminded Sam, feeling a little urgent.
Sam jumped out of bed, calling for his surrogate brother. He pulled on a pair of thick wool socks and raced down the little ladder of his loft, wandering around the tiny ground floor of Bobby's cottage. Dean's wool coat, scarf and cap were still hung on the knobs by the door, his wooden shoes still sitting there. Sam slid his feet into his own clogs and opened the door, wrapping a shawl around his shoulders as he peered into the cold pristine morning. A thin layer of frost lay on the ground, revealing the deep troughs where Castiel's sleigh had cut into the ground outside the house.
"Come on, Sam, you know the story," Castiel reminded him. "Remember how strange Dean has been acting? Touching his cheek? He stays up at night sometimes, right? Looking out the window for his father. Maybe King Frost kissed him."
Sam's eyes got wide at the thought Castiel embedded in his brain.
"Papa!" Sam yelled, turning back inside and running into the kitchen, not bothering to kick off his wooden clogs. They clacked horribly on the wood slats of the floor.
"Sammy, how many times do I have to tell you to take your shoes off inside the house?" Bobby's gruff voice sounded from the kitchen. "And why are you still nekkit, boy? Go get yourself dressed.
"Papa," Sam said, ignoring his father's tirade and grabbing the old smith by the arm. "Papa, Dean's gone!"
Bobby made a sound in the back of his throat. "Dean!" he shouted. "Dean, get your ass down here right now!"
"No, Papa, he's gone," Sam insisted again.
Bobby scowled at his son. "No," he said flatly, looking into the living room. "His coat and hat are still here, where would he go without them? No, he's around, son. Go get dressed. He'll be here soon."
Castiel watched as Sam went back to his room slowly, his scrawny legs looking funny in the big woolen socks. Soon, the boy was dressed in his usual thick trousers, rough linen shirt, wool waistcoat, and thick stock around his neck for warmth. He pulled the shawl back around his shoulders and went glumly to breakfast, all the time Castiel whispered to him, reminding him that the Frost King took those that he kissed to his palace beyond the forest.
"I'm gonna tan that boy's hide when he gets in," Bobby grumbled, clearly as worried as Sam was. Both Singers picked at their porridge, glancing every now and then at the empty seat where Dean usually sat and smiled, his green eyes bringing them light and warmth. "Probably should have done it ages ago," Bobby humphed again. "Idjit."
Sam wiped a tear from his eye, and Castiel felt wretched. Poor kid. Dean was all he had in the world. "You have to find him," Castiel urged Sam. "But don't go off half-cocked. You need a plan. A good plan. Think."
"Papa, I need to stop at the library before I come home today," Sam said quietly.
Bobby grunted his reply, his eyes on the empty chair.
Castiel turned his mirror towards the town "library," if the small building could really qualify as that. Still, it housed a collection of books that Sam would find helpful, and it was run by a woman who was ardently interested in educating the village. She was the sort of librarian who loved books and knew each of them intimately. She would be perfect for helping Sam find the right ones. Just in case, however, Castiel reached out to the three he knew would serve Sam best and touched them slightly with his magic.
By this time, he had used enough of his magic to make him feel chilled and sag against his throne. He retreated to the high-backed chair by the fireplace and put his feet up on the footstool, covering himself with a warm wool blanket. He was so tired that he had nearly forgotten about Dean, but that all ended when Gabriel escorted the boy into the room, his figure showing to perfection in tight breeches and a cutaway high-necked velvet coat. His cravat was simply folded, showing even better just how built his chest was, and Castiel's mouth went dry at the sight, too drained to fight against his attraction to the young smith. Gabriel just smirked and waggled his eyebrows at Castiel.
"You need anything, Cuz?" Gabriel asked, his voice concerned once he finally noticed Castiel's wan state.
"Bring me tea, will you, Gabe?"
"Sure thing, kiddo. Dean, make sure he's okay while I'm gone, okay?"
Castiel wanted to roll his eyes. Dean was immediately kneeling next to him, tucking the blanket around Castiel. "Are you sick, Cas?"
Castiel raised an eyebrow. "Cas?"
"I, uh…it's shorter," Dean blushed.
"Very well," Castiel decided. "You may call me Cas. And no, I am not ill. I have simply used my magic over a long distance, and I am drained. Please sit down and rest yourself."
Dean obediently sat across from Castiel, still staring intently at him, as if memorizing his features. It was all a part of the curse. Dean fancied himself in love with Castiel, and would do anything for him. It wouldn't last, however. As soon as Sam came for him, Dean would wake from the curse and remember himself, and then he would surely begin to hate Castiel. The only card Castiel had to play that might keep Dean's hate from being too strong was that he knew where John Winchester was, and he knew how to break his curse. That was his only saving grace.
}O{
Sam was scared. More than scared. He'd never been beyond the confines of his little village, never felt a moment of wanderlust or restlessness. He thought Dean's life before he came to live with the Singers to be odd; flitting from town to town, sometimes living in other countries.
Other people dreamed of growing rich, buying large homes, moving away from the poor little village that they felt stuck in. Sam dreamed of being happy in his old age, married to Jessica, living with her and Dean in the smithy. He'd add to it in his dream, making a few more rooms for his and Dean's children, adding a dining room for their large family dinners. It wasn't that Sam was unambitious; it was that he was content with who he was. Grandiose dreams and summer homes on the Rhine were nothing to Sam if he didn't have love in his life.
There was only one thing that could pull him away from the village, and it was Dean. Dean was in trouble, Sam was sure of it. He had been kissed by King Frost, and it was up to Sam to go and save him. His dreams had suddenly shifted. Now they included saving Dean from a demon.
Castiel watched anxiously in his mirror as Sam prepared himself both mentally and physically for the journey he was about to take. Whatever he packed, however, would never be enough. Castiel needed to put him on the right path that would bring him to help.
"Is that Sam?" Dean asked, sneaking up on Castiel and peering over his shoulder.
Castiel gave a little start. He wasn't used to Dean's presence in the castle, or the proximity the boy seemed to feel was necessary when they were in the same room together. "Yes. He is coming to rescue you."
Dean looked genuinely alarmed by this pronouncement, which made Castiel happy. At least he retained some of his old personality.
"He'll be killed," Dean breathed. "Cas, you have to stop him!"
Castiel turned to the boy whose face was actually showing true concern. It seemed that he had hit on the one area of Dean's life that the curse couldn't touch, and that spot was Sam Singer. "Dean, you must believe me when I tell you that I will never allow any harm to come to Sam if I can help it. I will keep him safe, but you need him to come and break your curse. He's the only one who can do it."
Dean was standing incredibly close to Castiel and he decided to move even closer. "But I don't want to be rescued," he murmured before leaning in and kissing him. "I like it here."
It took all of Castiel's self-control to push the boy away. "You do now, Dean, but it's just part of the curse. It lies to you and tells you things that aren't true."
Dean frowned and grabbed Castiel by the lapels of his waistcoat, pulling him against his chest. "Dammit, Cas, I know what I want! You can't tell me that you don't want me too!"
Castiel sighed and let Dean kiss him. "I never said that I don't want you," he said patiently when Dean pulled away. "But Dean, you'll regret this later."
"I'm not a kid," Dean insisted. "I know what I want."
Castiel put his hand against Dean's cheek and stroked his lower lip with his thumb, trying to keep the blush his kiss had blossomed there. "I know that you want it too, Dean, and I know that you are not a child. You don't understand now, but when Sam comes and lifts the curse, you'll see that I'm right. Now I need to help him out, okay?"
Dean nodded, concern about Sam managing to pierce the fog in his brain. When Castiel said, "Oh no!" the fog lifted even more and Dean was able to turn his eyes away from the perfect curve of Castiel's neck to peer into the mirror Castiel had been watching for the better part of an hour.
"What is it? Is Sammy okay?"
Castiel shook his head. "No," he said shortly, his voice betraying his deep concern. "While you were distracting me, your brother walked down the wrong path. Damn damn damn!" Castiel gripped the frame of his mirror, upset that poor Sam had already started out wrong. "He should have taken the path to the left and he went to the right." He was currently going down the road that would lead him to a Baba Yaga. The old witch probably wouldn't kill him, but she would likely enslave him and feed off of his life force for a good long time. Someone as pure and beautiful as Sam could probably feed her magic for a good hundred years, and to him it would seem but the work of a minute.
Dean wasn't sure exactly what the issue was, but if Castiel was upset, then he figured it was pretty bad. "You can help him, though, can't you?" There was that concern, piercing the fog again. "You're so smart and beautiful, you know what to do." He kissed the little patch of hairless skin behind Castiel's ear. "I have faith in you."
"That makes one of us," Castiel said dryly, not bothering to shrug Dean's arms away from his waist.
Sam wouldn't reach the hut until the morning, and it was currently the evening on the second day of Dean's disappearance. Sam hadn't slept well since Dean had disappeared, and Castiel tried to use that to his advantage. He could delay Sam's arrival until after the old witch had eaten, which might help keep her from gobbling him up right away. Castiel scried the area and found an inviting-looking tree with a hollow area in it. He touched it with his magic and directed Sam until he reached it, suddenly feeling overcome with fatigue, and fell into the hollow.
Castiel gasped for air as he pulled away from the mirror, sagging against the hold Dean had on him. The boy's hard, muscled chest felt warm and nice against his back as the cold of the castle crept past his magic and began to assault him. He'd taken off his thick velvet robe earlier and his thin blouse and undershirt were inadequate in his cavernous throne room.
"You're cold," Dean said with some surprise. Castiel nearly squawked with surprise when Dean scooped him up and carried him to the fireplace. Dean sat down in one of the plush chairs and pulled the blanket over Castiel and himself, hugging him tight. "Is this better?" he murmured, licking at Castiel's ear. The concern that had been breaking through the fog in his brain grew a little more when Castiel didn't push him away or tell him to stop. He was clearly drained from whatever he did. "Cas, are you okay?"
Castiel dropped his head down on Dean's shoulder. "I am well. Taking care of Sam is quite tiring."
Dean huffed a laugh and stroked his fingers through Castiel's soft curls. "Tell me about it. That kid would be lost without me." He looked down at Castiel, surprised to find the king sound asleep.
Well, he had said that working his magic over a long distance was draining, and Dean couldn't really recall him sleeping the night before. Of course, Dean had slept quite well in his soft bed with its many pillows and downy duvets piled high all around him, so he hadn't really noticed. But he honestly didn't think Castiel had slept at all.
Carefully, he lifted Castiel once again and carried him up the stairs. Gabriel had shown him over the castle, so Dean knew which room belonged to Castiel, but he wasn't prepared for the opulence he found inside the tall, ornately carved double doors.
He had thought the rooms Castiel had granted him were large, but they were nothing compared to the high-ceilinged master suite. It was literally fit for a king from the bed that was practically as large as Bobby's cottage and hung with ice blue velvet curtains that probably cost more than the yearly gross pay of the combined inhabitants of Dean's sleepy little village. Probably more than two years' worth, come to think of it.
The woven silk tapestries told the story of Sigurd Dragonslayer in such vivid detail, it looked as though Brunnhildr's chain mail was actually made out of metal. Later Dean would discover that it was silver thread. At the moment, however, he had to tamp down his curiosity and take care of Castiel. In a sort of detached way, he understood that he would normally let his curiosity take over, but he was compelled to take care of Castiel first, and he couldn't quite make it through the fog to understand why everything was so different. Any time his mind tried to go down that path, he was blocked and brought back to Castiel, who was so beautiful and helpless at the moment, his dark head resting heavily on Dean's shoulder.
Dean carried him to the huge bed and laid him on top of the covers, wondering not for the first time why everything surrounding Castiel was silver and blue. Sure, they were good colors for him, but the colors combined with his title were more than overly exaggerated. Castiel was alive and vibrant, and the colors made him seem cold and aloof. Even through the fog of enchantment, Dean could recognize that Castiel had heart and strong feeling, and what he had done for Sam had clearly taxed him so much, he had fainted not just once, but twice from exhaustion.
Sam was the only person Dean knew of who loved him unconditionally. Not that Bobby and his dad didn't, but it wasn't the same. There was something so pure, so good about Sam's love. Dean knew he could search the world far and wide and not find the likes of it again. Just thinking about how trusting and open Sam was with him lifted the fog a little more. He knew he was enchanted, enough to resent the feeling, enough to know that he wasn't behaving normally. Beyond that, however, when he tried to think or recall anything, his mind was completely overtaken by thoughts of the Frost King.
He frowned at Castiel, still fully clothed, slightly pale even for him. Dean knew somewhere inside that if he had his brain to himself, he'd resent the hold Castiel had over him, but he also knew he'd enjoy seducing and bedding him. Dean was always the sort that when handed rules, would work hard to find loopholes. Just like now. Castiel wouldn't allow Dean to undress him normally, but passed out and helpless, Dean felt it his duty to remove Castiel's restricting clothes, dress him in the silky gown hiding under one of the pillows, and tuck him safely into bed. He couldn't object to that. He didn't need to know just how long it took Dean to perform the simple task, or the way Dean's eyes and hands roved over Castiel's strong limbs, broad shoulders and narrow waist.
Dean was just pulling the covers over Castiel when Gabriel came into the room, golden eyes narrowing at the boy. "What's going on in here, kiddo?"
Dean explained what happened and Gabriel shook his head. "He didn't even eat dinner. Well, come with me, we'll eat what he doesn't, and I'll be sure to make him a big breakfast tomorrow."
Dean followed the smaller man down the grand stairs and down some more until they were in the neat kitchen of the castle.
"Can I ask you a question? Why are you the only servant here? I thought you royal types had servants for your servants."
Gabriel smiled and sculpted mashed potatoes on a plate until they were in a bowl form, then spooned thick meat stew into the divot. Dean stared at the concoction that was so foreign like everything else. At home, he was given either potatoes or meat, but not both, and if they made a stew, the potato would go into it, not used as a dish of some sort, and it was always brown. This concoction was definitely red-tinged. He probably seemed so ignorant and uncouth to Castiel. No wonder the king was always pushing him away. Dean was a rough boy with a checkered past, no family to speak of, just an adopted father and brother who, as humble as they were, were still far too good for the likes of him.
"We have magic to keep things tidy. It's only me and Cas, and we're sort of the black sheep in our family. We don't need much. I like to cook, so, we just fend for ourselves," Gabriel said with a shrug, then sat down across from Dean with his own plate. "This is called coque au vin, and I learned to make it in France."
"Wow," Dean said appreciatively, taking a spoonful of both broth and potato the way that Gabriel did. "French food, just for me."
"It might just be me and Cassie, but that's no reason for barbarism," Gabriel mused. "Here, try some wine with it. It's the same wine I used to make the broth."
Dean stared in awe at the blood red liquid Gabriel poured into a crystal glass. Wine was just one more thing he'd never done, one more thing that was too fine and nice for the likes of him.
He took a sip, surprised at how dry it was, yet thick and sweet. Nothing like the harshness of the grain alcohols he usually drank, or the wheaty brewed beers. It was warming and spicy and Dean decided he liked it. He suddenly hoped that he wouldn't acquire too fine a taste and be spoiled for the simpler life he knew at—at—
Thought suddenly fled his mind as the fog clamped down on his brain and he looked around in alarm. "Do you think Cas is okay?" he asked anxiously, setting the wine down, forgotten, turning away from the food that only moments ago had his mouth watering in anticipation of trying his first French cuisine. "I shouldn't eat if he isn't, it wouldn't be right. I should go to him..."
He started to get up, but Gabriel clamped a hand down on his wrist, stopping him. "Dean, can you tell me about Sam?"
Dean stared at the doorway. "Sam?"
"Tell me about him. Tell me about your little brother."
Dean relaxed just a bit back into his chair. "Sam," he said, eyes still on the door.
Sammy.
"Dean, I'm so sorry I did this to you and Sam," Gabriel said sadly. Dean managed to focus on his face, surprised to find him looking so sad. Gabriel generally smirked like a snake, but the corners of his mouth were currently turned down sharply. "This is my fault that you're like this, and I put Sammy in danger. I swear to you, I'm going to keep him safe."
Dean nodded, understanding what Gabriel meant about Sam, but not what he meant about the other thing. What was it? Why was it so hard to think? "Thanks, Gabe. If anything ever happened to Sammy, I'd...I don't know what I'd do."
"I know, Dean. That's why I'm going to take care of him. No harm will come to him. I swear this to you."
Dean picked up his fork and speared it into his food. "Thank you, Gabriel. And thank you for dinner. It's delicious."
So...this is sort of a filler chapter. The action will start next chapter. Next chapter will be uploaded next week.