DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction using characters from the Supernatural universe. I do not claim any ownership. This work is solely for entertainment purposes and is not considered film or tv canon (not by a long shot).
Looking down at the sleeping man, Winchester found a warmth seeping into his heart that he thought he could never feel for any other than Sam. Truth, despite the never-ending stream of words, he found himself liking the thief. He was unusual but then again, Winchester could not complain of strangeness. His life was a veritable treasure trove of oddness.
With a gloved hand, Winchester brushed an unruly lock of the black hair away from the blue eyes that were closed in sleep. He was handsome ... in a strange sort of way. His hair constantly looked like he'd only just risen. It was ... fetching.
Castiel stirred and came awake with a sudden gasp. He opened his eyes to see deep green eyes looking down at him. He did not try to pull away, but the man stood abruptly. Castiel noticed a faint blush across the freckled face.
"Get up ... we need to be going."
Castiel nodded wearily and followed the man down to the barn floor. There he paused and looked at the man in black. "Sir ... we've traveled these many miles and I don't even know your Christian name."
The man paused with his hand on his saddle. His mouth quirked. "Dean. Dean Winchester."
Castiel smiled. "I am Castiel, called the angel by some."
"Angel, eh? And what was an angel doing in the dungeons of Aquila?" Dean asked.
"Obviously I was there by mistake ..." Castiel said, moving to take the lead on the horse. "After all, how could one insignificant man such as myself have stolen four loaves of bread? And the horse ... how was I to know it belonged to the second-in-command of the guard?
Dean laughed heartily. "Lucifer's horse? Little thief, you astonish me daily."
Castiel smirked. For whatever reason, he enjoyed hearing Dean laugh and seeing the green eyes brighten in humor. He spared a moment to study Dean as he saddled Impala.
Handsome, indeed, Lord. Castiel thought. Pity the religious leaders of this world would frown rather severely on my choice of companion. Still ... they are not here, are they, Lord?
Castiel smiled to himself as they set off into the forest.
After a few miles in a cold, soaking drizzle, Dean paused. He'd been walking with the hawk perched on one arm and Castiel leading Impala behind him. Looking up at the sky he sighed.
"We'll stop here ... not a great day for traveling," Dean said. He moved over to a nearby rock and settled down on it. He glanced at the hawk who regarded him silently.
Castiel pulled on Impala's lead until he finally managed to get the horse close enough to a tree trunk to tie a quick hitch. Pulling himself into a ball underneath the horse's head, Castiel looked at Dean.
"I could use a rest after last night," He muttered. "That wolf would have killed me! It was horrible!" Dean's mouth quirked as Castiel continued complaining. "But for some reason, he tore the farmer's throat out and left me alone. Why would he do that? Wolves don't do that ... do they?"
Dean didn't offer an opinion one way or the other.
"But there was more ... a man ... he was a giant! With amber eyes ... almost like a bird's. He spoke to me ... he sounded ... gentle, almost."
Dean looked up. "He talked? What did he say?"
"I asked him if I was dreaming and he said I was ... "
"Hmm," Dean said quietly.
Castiel bristled. "I'm not insane! You must believe me when I tell you these things!"
Dean smiled and looked into the fascinating blue eyes. "Oh, I believe you ... I've always believed in dreams."
"I see," Castiel said, insulted.
"This man ... did he have a name?" Dean asked.
"Not that he mentioned. Why?"
"Well, you never know ... your giant might wander into my dreams. Might be nice if I knew his name in case he wasn't so ... gentle ... towards me." Dean looked fondly at the hawk, his eyes distant with some remembered moment. "It's been a long time since I talked to anyone in my dreams ... giant or otherwise."
Dean sighed and then pulled his hood down over his face. "Get some sleep, Cas the angel." He exhaled tiredly. "The bird will alert us if anyone comes."
Castiel frowned. Cas? Reaching up he patted the horse's leg. "I am out of my mind, Impala. Completely out of my mind."
Crowley rode hard. He had to get back to Aquila ... back to the Bishop – even though he did not relish the news he had to deliver. No, he was not looking forward to that conversation at all.
Pounding through the gates, Crowley led his mount over cobblestone walkways at nearly full speed. The soldier moved with alacrity to get out of the way or be trampled. As he reached the Bishop's garden, only then did Crowley reign in his mount and leap out of the saddle.
Sore from his long ride and with his hair plastered to his head with sweat, Crowley tiredly walked into the Bishop's courtyard and stood near the lavish fountain and waited to be acknowledged. His eyes narrowed as he watched the young man dancing for the Bishop while another one played a gentle tune on a lute. He had, of course, heard the rumors of the Bishop's ... predilections ... but it was not for him to ponder over such matters. The dancer stopped and the music faded.
"Have you found the criminal, Crowley?"
"He is ... not in my custody at the moment, your Grace," Crowley said.
The Bishop whirled on Crowley with a snarl. "Then why do you invade my garden, unwashed and unshaved? Do you think to find him here?!"
Crowley cleared his throat slowly. "My Grace ... Winchester has returned."
The Bishop's face froze in a mask of such rage, Crowley was taken aback. It faded into calm impassiveness, but Crowley had seen something there ... something very dark.
"Walk with me," the Bishop said.
Crowley joined the Bishop in a walk down the arcade on one side of his courtyard. He continued his report. "The criminal ... Castiel ... he travels with him."
The Bishop stopped abruptly and turned to Crowley. "Did you say ... Castiel?"
Crowley blinked. "Yes, your Grace."
"Fool! I should have known this from the start!" The Bishop growled. He began to walk again. "No matter ... what of the hawk?"
"My Grace?"
As if talking to a stupid child, the Bishop said angrily. "A hawk! A very ... spirited hawk ..." He turned to Crowley. "The hawk is not to be harmed. The day he dies, a new Captain of the guard will preside over your execution." He strolled along, ignoring Crowley's dumbfounded expression. "We live in difficult times, Crowley. This famine has kept the people from paying proper tribute to the Church. I raise their taxes only to be told there is nothing left to tax. Imagine!" He paused and looked heavenward. "But last night, the Lord Almighty came to me in a dream and warned that Satan's messenger walks among us. His name is Dean Winchester and his familiar is one they call Castiel. Go! To break faith with me is to break faith with Him."
Crowley kissed the Bishop's ring and backed away. The Bishop turned and clapped for attention. "Get me Czar!"
"Yes, your Grace," Came the immediate reply.
I will rid myself of you, once and for all, Dean Winchester. And then I will take what is mine and none shall be there to stop me, the Bishop smiled coldly to himself.
Castiel whistled a rambling tune as he used the Captain's sword to cut firewood. Dragging another branch into place, he lifted – with some difficulty – the large sword over his head. It was abruptly snatched out of his hands. Dean Winchester stood there, holding the sword reverently.
"This sword has been in my family for generations. It has never known defeat ... until now. Firewood, Cas?" Dean rolled his eyes. He looked over the pommel with its ivory inlay and the blade with its instricate swirls carved painstakingly into its surface. It gleamed with constant sharpening and polishing. He indicated a deep blue jewel on the cross arm. "This stands for my family name." He pointed to a ruby. "This is our allegiance to the Holy Church in Rome." Dean caressed an onyx. "This one, was my father's ... from the crusades." He turned the sword and ran his finger over an empty setting.
Castiel paled. "Sir, you don't think that I took that one!"
Dean chuckled. "No ... no, that one is mine to fill." He walked to a large boulder and lay the blade down. "Every generation has to follow its own quest."
"What is your quest, Dean?" Castiel asked.
"I am going to kill a man." Dean said.
Castiel snorted. "And does this walking corpse have a name?"
"His Grace, the Bishop of Aquila," Dean turned his flashing green gaze on Castiel.
Castiel swallowed hard. "Th-the Bishop?" A dark memory of agony and fear flashed through Castiel's mind. He shook his head as if in pain.
"Cas?" Dean asked with a frown.
Castiel waved Dean away. "No .. no ... um ... well, it seems you have much to do and I have already been enough of a burden to you ... I do hope ... our paths cross again some day."
Dean blinked. Watching Castiel walk away from him left him feeling strangely bereft. He cleared his throat. "Cas! I need you to guide me back into the city."
Castiel turned and faced Dean with a ghost-white expression. "Not for the lives of all my brothers – if they even knew where I was ..."
Dean ran his gloved hand down the blood channel of his sword. "You're the only one who has ever escaped from there, Cas."
"A fluke! It was a once in a lifetime! A miracle!" Castiel cried, running his hands into his already mussed hair. "I fell down a hole and followed my nose."
Dean sighed deeply. "Cas ... I have prayed and waited almost two years for a sign from God. So when I heard the warning bells of Aquila ring through the forest, I knew ... I knew that the moment of my destiny had come. You, Castiel, will be my guiding angel - appropriate don't you think?"
Castiel stared at Dean in stunned disbelief. "I'm sorry, Dean ... I talk to God all the time and no offense ... He has never mentioned you."
Dean laughed and while that made a pleasant shiver run down Castiel's spine, he could not stop the growing fear in his belly at the thought of returning to Aquila. Returning to the Bishop and his ... Castiel shook his head from the memory. He glared at Dean. "There are strange forces at work in your life, Dean. Magical ones ... they surround you, I can feel them. I don't understand them, Dean ... but they frighten me in ways you will never know. You have given me my life and I can never repay that." Castiel sighed. "I am fallen with no honor. I doubt I will ever have it. I do not think you will kill me, Dean, for being what I am but I would rather that than return to Aquila."
With that, Castiel walked away from Dean. He felt the rush of air that went past his head and suddenly Dean's sword was quivering in the trunk of the tree he stood beside. Castiel was a coward on the best of days. Today was no different. He swallowed and put out a hand to stop the sword's vibration. Dean merely watched him in silence while leaning against the boulder.
"I'll just go get some firewood, shall I?"
The moon rose in the night sky and lit a small campfire blazing merrily in a clearing. The tall man that had spoken to Castiel waited by the fire. He sat motionless. Then suddenly he turned and a dagger flew from his hands. A rabbit fell mid-dash – brought down by a perfect throw. The man chuckled.
"Told you I had been practicing, Dean."
Quickly skinning and spitting the rabbit, the tall man looked around at a faint rustling sound just outside the perimeter of the camp. He frowned and stood to investigate, his dagger loose in his hand and away from his body. His eyes widened in surprise at what he found.
The man he'd met in the barn stood there, tied to a tree. He looked forlorn and pathetic as opposed to the terrified and near hysterical state he'd been in at the farmer's land.
"Sir? Sir ... if you could be so kind as to release me?"
The man walked over to examine the prisoner – the shock of black hair made him smile even as the man's blue eyes appeared almost luminous in the moonlight. "What are you doing up there?"
"Well ... you might ask that ... um ... the ... uh ... Bishop's guards. Over a dozen of them. We had a terrible fight." Castiel elaborated.
"Uh-huh ... and why didn't they kill you?" The man asked with a smirk.
"Why didn't they - um, well ... I asked them that myself, sir," Castiel said quickly.
"Sam."
"Pardon?"
"My name is Sam ... who are you?" Sam asked.
"Castiel the angel at your service," Castiel replied.
"Well, Castiel the angel ... what did the guards say?" Sam smiled.
"Um ... they said they preferred to leave that honor to the Bishop himself," Castiel lied. He had been surprised early in life to find that to be quite easy.
Sam chuckled. "Ah, I see. You're that infamous, are you?"
"Yes, but they will be back soon," Castiel warned.
"Will they?"
"Please, sir ... Sam ... a giant owl examined me quite closely not a moment ago."
Sam grinned up at the thief. "Unfortunate."
"Please, Sam?" Castiel pleaded.
Sam just looked at him.
"Please?" Castiel said with his best desperate expression.
Sam sighed. "No wonder Dean kept you if you turned that look on him. He always did have a thing for blue eyes ..." Sam walked up the incline and with a quick slice, cut the bonds on Castiel's wrist. Castiel rubbed his hands together to urge circulation back in them.
Sam watched, amused, until a wolf's howl split the air. Instantly, Sam's attention was pulled to the direction it came from. He sighed and glanced back. "Look, Castiel ..."
The thief was gone ... Sam could hear him crashing through the woods.
"Thank you very much, Sam! Tell Dean he ties a wicked knot!" Castiel's voice floated back to Sam.
Sam groaned. "Damn. He's going to kill me."