In the northern mountains in a castle of ice and stone lived King frost. It was said that his heart was as cold and hard as a midwinter's night and that the one unwitting enough to find himself caught outside during the first frost of the year would find himself spirited away by the king, forced to be his consort for eternity.

"He's insane," Gabriel said as he and Castiel watched Dean sneak out of the house, leaving a note to Sam and Bobby of his intentions.

"He shows a lot of faith in me," Castiel whispered, his hand stroking his neck. Hope flared in his chest. Dean didn't despise him. Dean trusted him enough to do something supremely stupid and self-sacrificing because he believed Castiel would save him.

Gabriel turned to his cousin. "You can do it, right, Cassie?"

Castiel nodded. "Yes, but…I wish he had given me more time. My power won't work where there is no snow. And what will Lucifer say?"

"Leave it to me," Gabriel winked. "I owe you one anyway. I'll talk to my brother."

Castiel bowed his head in relief. "Thank you, Gabriel. But I still don't know how we'll get there."

Gabriel shrugged. "The old fashioned way, I guess."

}O{

Dean left well before Sam and Bobby woke up because he knew they'd try to stop him. He knew that even though Bobby appeared to be pro-Castiel in the face of Sam's distrust, Bobby would only approve of Castiel to a certain point. Neither of them would have the faith that Dean had, and it was certain that even John would shake his head at Dean's decision.

Dean couldn't let it go, though. He could save his father, and if it meant he was to be Castiel's consort for all of eternity, well, that wouldn't be too bad, would it? If Sammy went to university and then moved to a big city, he could use Castiel's sleigh to visit him, and Castiel might even let him move Bobby and John into the palace…

He sighed and pulled on his coat and hat, closing the door quietly. Maybe he should just start small and save his dad's life first.

The walk to Alistair's castle was long and dark and a little chilly, but soon the sun was out and shining and the southern air warmed more than Dean had ever felt, even in the middle of summer, and he closed his eyes and turned to the east and let the warmth wash over his face and chest. It felt good and pure and if Castiel didn't come through for him, it might be the last chance he'd get to feel the sun shine on his face.

Alistair seemed to have been expecting him since the guards let him pass through the castle gates and into the audience chamber. Alistair himself was waiting, smirking, overjoyed.

"Dean, Dean," he sighed with pleasure, far too much pleasure for such a small gesture, enough pleasure to make Dean's blood freeze. "We are going to have so much fun, Dean." Alistair stood in front of Dean and stroked his cheek. "Release John Winchester. Send him to Dean's family. Tell them they are to leave my lands within the hour. If they don't, they all get thrown into jail and Dean's sacrifice will be for nothing."

Dean shut his eyes against Alistair's face, so close to his. The duke stroked Dean's face, touched his lips, unbuttoned his shirt and threw down his cravat. Dean gulped but didn't push him away. Instead, he silently prayed to Castiel, hoping his king understood that he needed him. Hoping Castiel was on his way even now to save him.

"Don't worry, Dean," Alistair drawled, breath hot on Dean's face. "I'm not going to do anything to you without your permission." He took one of Dean's hands in his and stroked Dean's fingers. "But you will say yes," he stated. "You will say yes, and you will love it."

Dean opened his eyes and glared at Alistair. If there was one thing he was absolutely sure of, it was that he would never say yes to Alistair. Never.

}O{

Sam and Bobby were still puttering around the small house in only trousers and shirts when John was delivered to them along with the message that they were to vacate Lord Alistair's lands within the hour or be thrown in jail. John was barely conscious and kept mumbling for Dean to run, to go away, to let him be. He kept looking at Sam, confused, then at Bobby with slightly less confusion, and then he would go blank again or call out for Dean.

Sam found Dean's letter and skimmed it, then slowed down and read it through, then read it again.

"Well?" Bobby demanded, dumping clothes into a trunk.

Sam shook his head. "He says Castiel is honor bound by the old tales to come for him and claim him, no matter what. As long as we all believe."

John stood up and started pacing, his eyes wild. "Dean, Dean," he mumbled, clutching at his hair. "Not Dean…"

Bobby walked up to the broken man and shook him by the shoulders. "Calm down, John. Dean's okay. He has to be okay. We'll find a way to get him back."

Sam slapped the letter against his hand. "Yeah, and we're going to go find King Frost and make it happen."

Bobby frowned deeply and John took the letter from Sam. "What is this?" he demanded. Between his unshaven, dirty appearance that was clearly the product of being shut up in a prison for years and years and his clear confusion at everyone and everything, he looked like a madman left for bears to raise. "What happened, Bobby? How long…Dean?"

Bobby sighed. "We don't have time. I don't doubt Alistair will make good on his threat to toss us all in prison. Come on, Sam, grab Dean's stuff and let's get going. We can go back a few towns. What was it called? La Cage?"

Sam nodded and looked over at John who was staring at him.

"Dean?" the broken man asked.

Sam shook his head. "I'm not Dean, John. I'm not your son."

John got close to Sam and touched his dirty hand to Sam's clean, hairless face. He was a little older than Dean had been when John left that day, but he had a young, angelic face and hadn't quite hit his growth spurt yet so he was still a little scrawny and small. Sam held still and let John get a good look at him.

"I'm sorry," Sam said when John's hand fell away, tears swimming in his hazel eyes. "We'll get him back, John. We'll get him back."

John stared back, uncomprehending. Sam moved away and did what Bobby told him: packed up Dean's stuff, carried the trunk to the carriage, ordered the horses, and within the hour, they were gone from Alistair's lands and headed towards La Cage where King Lucifer's palace was situated. On the way, Sam tried to help John understand what was happening, and comprehension began to dawn in his eyes, much to Sam's relief.

"You left eight years ago," Sam said. He was trying to keep his voice gentle, not accusatory, but a little harshness seeped in regardless. "Dean was only ten years old. Do you remember?"

John gaped. "Ten? No, no, I…"

"It's been eight years, John," Bobby reiterated. "Look at my beard, look at how gray I've gotten running after our boys." Bobby stroked a hand over his silver beard. "It's been a while."

John stared at Bobby's beard, then sunk forward, burying his face in his hands, his elbows braced on his knees.

"Alistair said he kept you unconscious a good amount of the time," Sam said. "He said you were too unruly awake."

John shook his head back and forth, his hands pulling at his overlong hair. "He wanted me to do things," John said, his voice utterly broken. "Terrible things."

Sam felt his heart lurch. "And now he's going to make Dean do those things."

"If he treats Dean the way he treated me, then he won't touch him without permission. But he'll torture him into saying yes. I'm sure my boy is strong as anything, but I know Alistair too, and he can make you wish you could tell him yes. Dean…Dean's still a kid. He'll say yes."

Sam started to think about Castiel and Dean's letter. "Not if Castiel does what he promised. Or what Dean seems to think he promised." He pulled the letter out and found the relevant sentence, written in Dean's typical messy block letters. "Cas says he is bound to follow the legends as long as we believe so I guess you guys have to believe that Cas will claim me as his consort." Sam held out the letter for Bobby to see.

John looked bewildered. "Who will claim Dean? A man? What—"

Bobby put a hand on John's shoulder. "It's just the way Dean is, John. Castiel is King Frost, and Dean unfortunately was claimed by him because…well, because he used to sit up at nights and stare out the window, looking for you." Bobby "humphed." "Well, I guess he found you, didn't he?"

"I've been gone for eight years?" John asked, still dazed but getting better. "Eight years?"

"Your boy's a man now," Bobby said.

}O{

"Why should I help him, he stole your birthright," Lucifer growled at Gabriel. He really was in a foul mood for no good reason, as usual, and now Gabriel was on the mirror, acting like Lucifer had nothing but time and concern. He had the former, certainly. But not the latter.

"Aw, come on, Lucie. Cassie didn't steal anything from me, I messed up fair and square and we all know Uncle Zack had it in for me." Gabriel shrugged. "Besides, we all know I'd never have done well at this whole King Frost schtick. I'm much better working in the background."

Lucifer raised an eyebrow. "Well, this isn't my problem. If Cassie wants to claim his consort, he'll just have to go through Alistair."

Gabriel sighed and looked sheepish for the first time ever, if Lucifer was any judge of things.

"Lucie, it's my fault Cas is in this position. You see…I was the one who cursed Dean. I…I sort of thought Cassie needed a kick in the romance department, and I thought Dean seemed like a good way to help him out of a slow period. Now he's gone and fallen for the guy, and I want to help, so if I have to call in favors or owe you one or ten, I want to do this, Lucie. Please help me."

Lucifer frowned. "I'll think about it."

He ended the transmission before Gabriel could say anything else and was just about to get up and do something physical to try and dispel his foul mood when another transmission came through.

"Dammit, Gabriel," he growled, then looked at the face smirking smugly at him. "Alistair," he said flatly. "What do you want?"

"I simply wanted to warn you that a group of three is headed your way, and if I can persuade you to send them back my way, I'd appreciate it."

Lucifer already knew that Dean's family was headed in his direction thanks to Gabriel. What he didn't know was why Alistair would want them back once he'd railroaded them out of his town. "Oh? And what reason would they have to return?"

Alistair shrugged elegantly. "I'm sure you could think of some clever way to trick them back into my lands. I think they'd make beautiful trophies in my palace."

Lucifer narrowed his eyes. He always forgot, for some unknown reason, just how much he hated Alistair. Then he'd speak with him and remember that he did, and just like now, Alistair would say something supremely stupid and arrogant and set Lucifer's teeth on edge. "Your lands," Lucifer murmured to himself absently. As far as he was concerned, all of the lands in the kingdom were his. Alistair was just a lord. Lucifer had made him, and he could unmake him just as quickly. "Well, I suppose I could speak to them whenever they come into town," he said with a dismissive wave and again ended the transmission before Alistair could say anything in reply. He was done speaking with other people.

With a flick of a finger, Lucifer brought up the image inside Bobby's carriage. He looked over John Winchester, clearly the victim of Alistair's own brand of torture. For the most part, Lucifer left his lords to do whatever they liked, but even he with his disinterested nature felt moved by the view of John Winchester, wasted away, pale, bruised, and clearly disoriented. Lucifer wasn't a cruel man. Cruelty took too much care, too much attention. He was much happier being indifferent to the human aspect of his lands, but it was clear he had been a little too neglectful. This was how revolutions started, and if he wanted to remain king, he'd have to take more of an interest, and that meant he might have to take a stand against Alistair and any others like him.

He sighed and turned away. "When they come, bring them to me," he told the captain of the guard.

}O{

Castiel and Gabriel flew as far south as they could in the wonderful little flying carriage. Balthazar, the North Wind, even sailed along with them for a good portion of the way until they finally went over a mountain range and hit the warmer southern areas. Here there was no snow, no frost. Castiel guided his little carriage down into a wooded area and bid Balthazar goodbye. From here, he and Gabriel were on their own, unless Lucifer saw fit to send them help.

Lucifer, of course, did not see fit. It was obvious after the tenth mile Castiel and Gabriel trod down that no help would be forthcoming. They rested in the shade of a tree and removed their heavy robes and coats. They both had sweat stains under their arms, and Gabriel's hair was nearly damp from sweat.

They finally approached a town and started to inquire about carriages and wagons, but it was a farming town, and farming towns never tended to have spare wagons or carriages, even in the best of times. Even the mayor gave them a blank look when they asked after his personal carriage. The best they could do was buy a horse and be thankful that neither of them weighed too much.

The next town they came to was larger and actually had a public house where they could eat and refresh themselves. It was there that Lucifer finally came to them. Gabriel started muttering about drama queens and Castiel held himself from rolling his eyes when they heard the hooves of his horses, at least eight—who needed eight horses for their carriage?—coming through the cobbled streets and the shouts of the people proclaiming, "The king! The king is coming!"

Gabriel groaned. Castiel sighed.

The door to the inn opened and there was Lucifer.

Behind him was Sam Singer. Castiel was immediately thankful that looks could not actually kill. They could accuse, however, and hold a plethora of unvoiced hurt, and Sam's face did just that.

Castiel wasn't even sure how Sam knew he was King Frost, though he supposed that Dean had waxed slightly poetic about blue eyes, dark hair, and skin like wintry cream. Sam's eyes asked him questions that he couldn't answer, but mostly, "Where have you been? Dean's expecting you. Dean trusts you."

The last was asked with accusation.

Sam said a lot with his eyes.

"Well, well, well," Lucifer drawled. "Hello, baby brother."

Gabriel grinned. "Heya, Lucie. How's it hangin'?"

Castiel jumped in then, because it was just like Lucifer to say something crass in answer to that question. "Sam," he said. "I've wanted to speak with you."

"Ah yes, the chosen one," Lucifer hummed and sat down, calling for refreshment. The innkeeper was already bustling to bring the best of everything for his king. "This one does not like you, Cassie."

Sam frowned at Lucifer. "He took my brother from me."

Lucifer gave them all a rare smile. "I haven't told him yet. Isn't it wonderful, Gabriel?"

Gabriel smiled back, making Castiel roll his eyes. "Sam, I know I owe you a lot, and I will do what I can to help you understand my role in the world, but I fear for Dean. He has already been three weeks with Alistair. Lucifer, have you done nothing?"

"I've been keeping an eye on him. This one won't let me rest unless I let him know how Dean fares."

Sam crossed his arms over his chest and glared between Castiel and Lucifer.

"Lucifer, I care for Dean very much," Castiel said.

"Yes, I know, and so I told Alistair he was not to hurt the boy. You are allowed to claim him, but you must fight your way through Alistair's defenses."

Castiel sighed. "It is as I feared. I have no power here if you will not permit Frost to spread!"

Lucifer reached out a hand and touched Castiel's arm, making him shudder. His touch was as ice. "I run cold. I need the warmth."

Sam scowled at Lucifer, and Castiel found himself momentarily grateful that the boy had found another antagonist.

"He refuses to help Dean."

"Hey, I'm helping," Lucifer said, picking up a tankard of ale as the proprietor laid the table out. "Castiel can go in and get his boytoy back, but he has to fight fair and square."

"And get himself killed in the process," Gabriel grumbled.

Lucifer shrugged. "I didn't say he had to go in alone."

Castiel sighed. He was remembering why Gabriel was the only member of this side of the family that he ever spoke with. But still, Lucifer clearly, through his many layers of non-answers and hints, was telling him that he would have help. Castiel allowed himself a glimmer of hope. Maybe he'd be able to do this after all.

}O{

It was dark and dizzying and cold and hot and Dean was confused because he blinked and it went from night to day and then it was night again and Sammy…where was Sammy? Was he safe? Dad? Dad, did he get away? Where were they?

Alistair stood in front of him, "Come on, Dean-O," he breathed, caressing Dean's face, his bare chest. "Aw, tell me you want it, boy."

A knife traced where his fingers touched and Dean cried out in pain, the feel of hot blood against his skin searing into him as much as the knife blade.

"I can make allllll the pain go away, Deany," hot breath on his face. "Deany beany." A hand at his waistband. "It doesn't have to be like this."

Dean's head swam. His arms shook. The idea that he could be free…free from the pain…free to move…free to…

"Let Ally make you feel good, sweet boy…"

"Noooo!" Dean shouted. "Go to hell, fucker!" And then he spat in Alistair's face.

Alistair wiped off his cheek. "Wrong choice, Dean-O."

Dean was about to retort when Alistair hit him with another spell, and he was pulled back into nightmares of Sam being pulled apart piece by piece, or Bobby, or his dad, or Cas…and sometimes it was Dean who was doing the cutting.

Sometimes he threw his head back and laughed as they shrieked and cried under his hand and his knife. He reveled in their pain because at least it wasn't his…

The worst part was when he woke up and remembered. Remembered that he had tortured them, even though it was just a dream. He felt bad, raw, horrible. He felt like he was Alistair, playing with people's lives, their pain, making them feel what they didn't want to feel. He felt dirty and it went clear to his bone and he knew nothing would ever get him clean.

Castiel had given up on him. Castiel could see anything in his mirror, he probably saw Dean's dreams and knew the horrible ways that Dean was willing to torture him, the ways that Dean wanted to remove his eyes, slice up his cheeks, cut deep grooves into his perfect chest and back…

Dean sobbed at his wakefulness. At least when he was dreaming of torture, he didn't have to reflect on the fact that he felt willing to do so when he was under Alistair's thrall.

He knew, in a detached way, in that way that reminded him of when he was under Castiel's spell, but there was none of the warmth, none of the feeling he had for Castiel, that he didn't actually want to torture, that he did not wish to hurt anyone. He just didn't seem to be able to tell himself that when he was put to sleep under Alistair's spell.

The pain of waking, though, was what kept him grounded, what helped him say no when Alistair offered him pleasure instead of pain. He knew he didn't deserve the pleasure, so he had the fortitude to say no. And he said no and no and no and he called and prayed for Castiel, prayed for deliverance, prayed even as he cut into Sammy's wrists, even as he made filets out of Bobby's calves or cut his father's fingers off one by one.

He opened his eyes and saw Castiel and started crying because it was so wrong that he could only see Cas if he was going to beat the shit out of him.

"No," he moaned. "No, don't make me."

"Dean," Castiel said, grabbing his shoulder. "We have fought to get to you. It's time. You need to come with me."

"Please, don't make me hurt him again."

"I won't, Dean," Castiel said. "Now come with me."

Dean shook his head. He didn't want to go walking down any horrible hallways with Castiel only to throw him off of a tower or into a fireplace. "No, no…"

Castiel grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him upright. "Now, Dean."

Dean looked up and stood. "Okay," he said. Maybe he'd throw himself into the fire this time.

They walked down a hallway. There was blood on the ground. Dean could hear shouts. His dreams were getting worse, more lifelike. Castiel had a sword in his hand and every now and then he'd parry with someone, then thrust home and continue to pull Dean along. This was new.

"You're not taking him anywhere, Castiel," Alistair drawled in his slow, steady voice.

"I am the Frost King, and I claim my consort that you have taken!" Castiel answered back, letting go of Dean who sank to the floor and giggled to himself.

This was definitely new. Castiel was going to kick Alistair's ass. And then maybe he'd kill Dean next and put him out of his misery.

"Your consort gave himself to me!" Alistair shot back, parrying, thrusting. Their swords moved so quickly that Dean, in his drugged, bespelled state could hardly keep track of them.

"Dean, ya gotta snap out of it, kiddo," Gabriel said, slapping him on the back of the head. "Come on, get up, you gotta walk."

Dean stood. He was feeling. He could feel everything. He was awake.

"Gabe?"

"Yeah, on your feet."

Dean stood up, his legs shaky. Gabriel had never been in his dreams before. He didn't know why. He should have been, really, since Dean actually sort of liked the little bastard.

"Think you can handle a knife or a sword?" Gabriel asked when Dean was on his feet, leaning heavily against Gabriel's back and shoulder.

"Um…yeah. Sure."

Gabriel shrugged him off and handed him a knife. "You gotta do this, Dean. Alistair is going to rip Castiel apart if you don't help him."

Dean figured he had one last chance to redeem himself. One last chance to do the right thing. He had to help Castiel. So he took his knife and joined the fray. Alistair's sword came down on Castiel's and sparks flew, but Dean leapt onto the evil man and plunged his knife deep into his arm. Alistair yelled and threw Dean off, giving Castiel a chance to swing his sword, driving it home in Alistair's other arm. Gabriel was valiantly holding off the guards with other men, soldiers of some sort. Amongst them was a tall man with light strawberry blond hair who looked vaguely familiar.

Dean turned back to his fight with Alistair. He wanted to kill him for what he did, for John and the dreams and the drugs and all of that…

"Get behind me!" Castiel yelled, pulling Dean back, just in time to keep Alistair's poorly aimed sword from sinking into Dean's shoulder.

"You came for me," Dean said, amazed. "I didn't think you'd come."

Castiel gave him that irritated look, the same look he'd given him that very first night, the look that told him he was exasperated that that Dean was in the way and silly and…and Dean wanted to smile because it was just so Cas.

He turned back to the fight in time to see Castiel take the full force of Alistair's sword and weight, which was more than Castiel's by quite a bit. Alistair looked triumphant when Castiel fell and raised his sword once more, thinking he could win this one. But he had forgotten Dean and his knife.

Dean had never been terrific at throwing knives, but he and Sammy liked to play around with them after they sharpened them in the smithy, and what Dean lacked in accuracy, he made up for in power. So he took the knife, gripped it tight, and threw it with all his might. He knew it didn't need to hit anything vital, just hurt enough to throw Alistair off for the few moments Dean figured it would take for Castiel to regroup and deliver a killing blow.

Dean didn't count on his aim being good enough to hit Alistair smack in the middle of his neck. To throw him to the ground. To kill him.

The spell died with Alistair, and Dean fell to the ground, the snap of the spell giving him a feeling of giddy lightness, making him feel sick and scared. Castiel bent over him and he grabbed his arm. "Don't leave me," he begged. "Don't leave me…"

Castiel shook his head. "I won't, Dean. I won't let go."

An epic epilogue sexytimes is all we have left. And there will be some wrap-up of Sam and Bobby and John. Because they all deserve happy endings too.

Sorry I had to get so plot cheesy. But I had to. I really did.