Lovelorn

Castiel Collins is a good son. An obedient son. He is always considerate, polite, and well-mannered, just like his mother had taught him. He takes good care of his younger siblings, helps their elderly neighbors, never complains about the price of meat or flour, is always kind to servants, and even treats the few horses they have left with a tender hand.

It is a widely acknowledged fact that young Master Collins of Carisbrooke is an exemplary gentleman indeed.

Theirs is a respectable household. There’s Castiel, one-and-twenty; Rachel, sixteen; Anael, twelve; and little Hael, eight. They live in a grand mansion that has seen better days and is in severe need of repairs. It is, actually, too large for them: a mother and four children, with only a couple of servants. Once, there used to be a mother, a father, six children, dozens of servants and a pack of dogs running throughout. Once, there used to be life and laughter in the Collins’ household.

Now, there is mostly silence.

Once, there used to be a Mr. Collins, back when their household was as wealthy as it was respectable, when they hosted grand dinners and lavish parties, and their manor was where everyone wanted to see and be seen. The Collins had been considered one of the pillars of the community, and they had taken their responsibility seriously. They had partaken in various charity events, helped to educate the children of lower classes, and made sure the poor families living on their lands had enough to eat and wear during the wintertime. If there were sniggers about the size of their family, the Collins had taken it as a compliment, not as an insult.

They had been happy, Castiel remembers. They had had a governess and a set of tutors, with their parents eager to educate all of their children — girls included — in various subjects, ranging from riding to fencing, from singing to dancing, from tapestry to woodwork. They had been free to pursue what interested them, after the basics and the standards of the society had been met. Their family had never been exactly a conventional one — they had never really paid that much attention to appearances. With their wealth and status, they hadn’t had to.

Michael, the eldest, had been brimming with anticipation to join the military. Mrs. Collins had been less enthusiastic, but she had seen the fire burning in Michael’s eyes, and, with a shake of her head, had conceded to his wishes. Mr. Collins, on his part, had been immensely proud.

For everyone’s great surprise, Lucifer had voiced his interest in studying theology to pursue a career within the Church. Castiel had known enough to understand the meaning of his brother’s name, and had, frankly, been more than a little skeptical. The name of a fallen angel and the first devil was not perhaps the best idea when introducing a man of the cloth. But his brother had laughed and scolded him that names held no power over man, but it was the man who held the power over the name.

”Remember, little brother, that it was Lucifer who God loved best,” his brother had chided Castiel, who had not been convinced that Lucifer was merely joking.

As the youngest son, Castiel hadn’t made up his mind of what he would want to become. He knew that the way of his older brothers were not his, and that his heart longed for knowledge instead. Eagerly, he had drank up every word and speck of information their tutors had shared with them, and devoured mountains of books to fill up the yearning inside him. His father had rolled his eyes at him, muttering under his breath, but his mother had looked at him fondly and indulged him with even more books.

Then, one fateful day, almost eight years ago, Mr. Collins had had an accident. Their father had been hunting with Michael and Lucifer, and, instead of a boar to roast, they had returned with a Master of the House to bury. They had suspected something was wrong when the hunting party had ridden back slowly and in silence, but nothing could have prepared them to what was to come. Castiel was sure he would remember their mother’s face ’til the day he died: it had been a mask of utter horror and sorrow, her loss so blatantly written over her face that Castiel had had to avert his eyes.

Michael had been silently furious, muttering curses under his breath, and Lucifer had been… well, frozen was perhaps the correct word to describe his appearance. With the help of the servants, Michael and Lucifer had carried their father inside, their backs stiff and jaws set. Later, they had retreated to their own chambers and refused to talk to each other. Castiel had watched them and he had seen a new tension, a new distrust between them. Something horrible had happened, and it had changed everything between Michael and Lucifer.

Mr. Collins’s funeral had been fitting for said pillar of the community, and everyone had attended. They had filtered inside in a continuous stream of bowed heads, tearful faces, and murmured words of consolation. Castiel had stood a little on the side, holding baby Hael, and watched everything, slightly overwhelmed by the popularity of their father. It wasn’t until much later that he understood that majority of the guests had been there to feed on the drama and sorrow, like greedy carrion birds. The sorrowful faces had hidden their insatiable need for gossip and the consoling words had been empty blather, covering up the smirks of those who had too long quelled their jealousy in the face of propriety.

Castiel had wondered what their lives would become. Well, the answer was… different.

Mr. Collins had always taken very good care of his family, which meant he had had funds and savings stashed away in a case of emergency. His death counted as an emergency, so Mrs. Collins had called upon Mr. Collins’s attorney for help.

Castiel had very soon realized that there was something unpleasant and suspicious about Mr. Russo. His voice had been too oily, his face too compassionate and his eagerness to help too… everything. But Castiel had been only thirteen, and his fumbled protests had been easily overridden by Mr. Russo, who had talked his way around the grief-ridden widow and overwhelmed older brothers with a practiced ease. He had soon coaxed Mrs. Collins into giving him full access to the late Mr. Collins’s papers, and the attorney had dived into them with an impressive fervor, working well into the night, day after day. Mrs. Collins had been pitifully grateful, and Michael and Lucifer had been too impressed by Mr. Russo’s professional speech to suspect anything.

Despite Castiel’s feeble objections, Mr. Russo had liquidated the late Mr. Collins’ assets, presenting flamboyant plans on how to handle them without the grieving family to concern themselves. By the time they had realized the funds had been cleared, Mr. Russo had vanished. By a stroke of luck, their family hadn’t been the only betrayed one, which was the only thing that had saved them from complete humiliation. As such, they had been practically bankrupted, but their reputation had kept them afloat, granting them access to the social circles even with their diminished status and finances.

Everything might have been manageable, if it hadn’t been for Lucifer. At the age of sixteen and with the blame of the loss of their father weighing heavily on him, he had drifted into the questionable habit of gambling, and, due to his flaring temper, had gotten into trouble. Repeatedly. Despite the bad blood between them, it had always been Michael who had sorted everything out. He had smoothed out the rows and apologized to all necessary parties, while Lucifer had stood aside, a snide smirk on his face and a devil-may-care attitude written on his face. No lecture by Michael, no amount of pleading or tears from their mother had been enough to make him correct his ways.

Their family might have been able to survive the bankruptcy and gambling, but Lucifer killing the horse of a wealthy landowner in a fit of a rage after losing a game of poker, and running off afterwards, had been too much. It had taken all the connections and favors Mrs. Collins still had to negotiate a deal to avoid their family being kicked out of the community altogether. Fortunately, their past reputation had paid off, and, at the end, Michael had been sent off to be fostered in the said household until the debt of the horse was paid. Michael, then eighteen years old, hadn’t been too happy about the outcome. He had been ready to enlist, but he had conceded, fully aware of what had been at stake.

When Michael had moved out, it had left Castiel, at the tender age of almost-fourteen, the Man of the Collins household. In the aftermath of everything that had happened, their savings had almost run dry. They had soon found out that, as valuable and important as respectability was, it made a lousy dinner. Pride didn’t keep you alive, and, having no money and four children to feed, Mrs. Collins had swallowed her pride dry and had never complained about the aftertaste.

The first time his mother had gone to the charity booth to ask for supplies, she had returned with an ashen face and trembling hands. The experience of being utterly humiliated in front of the people they had not so long ago supported had been almost too much for Mrs. Collins, even with the food it had gained her. Castiel had watched his mother’s face, and made a silent vow he would do everything in his power to help her, to avoid ever seeing his mother looking like that. He had sworn to become a good and obedient son, one who would always be there for his mother and never disappoint her.

It had hurt, piling away his books and storing away his dreams of getting a higher education. His dreams were a child’s dreams, and he had to be a man, now. Men had no room for soft dreams or gentle fantasies in their lives; they had life and reality to deal with.

So, Castiel had squared his shoulders, breathed in deep and taken on the burden as the head of the family.

There are always people who want more: more money, more power, more credibility, more respect. Some are ready to do the right thing and work hard to get what they want, some are willing to… use more questionable means. And, for some, other people’s misfortune is just a means to an end for them to reach their goals. They would push and prod, put pressure on others until they budged. And they would do it, regardless the opinion of others.

Which is how Castiel, at the age of one-and-twenty, ends up with a fiancé he didn’t ask for.

The Tyler household is a wealthy one, but the family has, mildly put, a questionable background. The details are murky at best, but as far as Castiel is aware, there have been whispers of extortion and violence. They are uncouth, with Mr. Tyler a loud-mouthed, beer-drinking bully and Mrs. Tyler a large lady with a mean streak a mile wide. They have one sickly son and three daughters that they are eager to marry off and to use as a means to elevate their social status. No-one has been brave enough to voice any of the suspicions out loud, since Mr. Tyler is as quick in his anger as he is rich.

Due to Lucifer’s disappearance, Michael took upon himself to pay the debt for the horse Lucifer had killed, but his time in the household had changed him, leaving him sullen, brooding and broken. He is far more interested in the company of animals and the solitude of the barn with a bottle of liquor than playing the role of the Master of the household. For that reason, Mr. Tyler proposed a marriage between Castiel and his eldest daughter, and is nowhere near subtle about the huge dowry he’s willing to offer in exchange for the bump up in their status. Mrs. Collins was torn between telling the brute off and saying yes. But the truth was, she has three daughters of her own to marry off one day, and, without the funds for dowries, they have no chance at a married life.

”I am not happy about this. They are people in low morals and status, and I fear what the connection to their family might cause us in the future. But I cannot deny the necessity of this. You marrying Miss Tyler is the only way for our family to survive, and your sisters to have a chance.”

Castiel looks at his mother. Mrs. Collins had grown sour over the years, the lines on her face deep and bitter, and the smile he remembers from the past is only a shadow. He is grateful his mother wanted to hear his opinion, even though he really has no say in the matter. And, even if he had, there is only one viable option.

So, Castiel shrugs and gives his mother a small smile. ”I’m willing to do what you think is necessary, mother. It is my duty, after all.”

His mother presses her lips together and nods. ”You are a good son, Castiel.” She stands up, walks to him and presses a dry kiss on his cheek. ”I hope you will learn to love each other. It would probably make your lives easier,” she says and turns to leave the room, muttering under her breath as she goes, ”Although, in the end, it doesn’t make any difference.”

Castiel hums, a tiny sound that means nothing. Love has no meaning to him. Or, no, that’s not true. He loves his mother and his sisters and is willing to do a great deal for them, but he’s not exactly sure that’s the kind of love his mother is talking about. But then, loving Adina Tyler is not required or necessary for marrying her, is it?

After Mrs. Collins and Mr. Tyler agreed on the marriage, Castiel and Adina met a couple of times. Castiel has no clear opinion about his future wife: Adina is a subdued woman with long, blonde hair and big, serious eyes. During their first meeting, she tells Castiel in a precise, quiet voice how she will strive to be a good wife to him, take a good care of his home and their children. She looks shyly at Castiel and, with a small smile, says she hopes she will give him lots of healthy babies. Castiel glances at her with slightly bewildered eyes, swallows around his dry throat, and thanks her before she can continue further.

Fortunately, his sisters make a noisy appearance at that point, which gives Castiel a chance to gather his thoughts and come up with an acceptable topic of discussion to draw his future wife’s attention away from the subject of giving babies to anyone, let alone to him. Mrs. Tyler, who is chaperoning them, shoots a disapproving look at Rachel, Anael, and Hael, and pointedly says, ”Adina will also discipline your children so that they know how to behave.” Her voice is loud enough to reach his laughing sisters, who stop and turn their startled eyes at Mrs. Tyler.

Castiel blinks and narrows his eyes. ”I’m sure our future children will be properly disciplined if and when it’s considered necessary,” he says levelly and motions his sisters to leave the room with a small wave of his hand.

Mrs. Tyler snorts and rolls her eyes, but Castiel notices Adina giving him a relieved smile. He feels pleased that in this, at least, they seem to agree.

It is decided the wedding will take place in two months, in the middle of August. It gives the both families enough time for the preparations, and is far enough to be still considered decent. The Tylers would’ve preferred as big an event as possible (to underline their grand entree to the upper class — as if it was that simple), but Mrs. Collins somehow managed to negotiate it down, to Castiel’s great relief. He has no problem with getting married as a procedure, but he dislikes making such a show of it.

Although, truth to be told, Castiel is feeling slightly nervous about the whole thing, pledging the rest of his life to someone he barely knows. However, he’s sure he’ll be fine by the time the wedding takes place, and from there, they would work things out as they go. In the meantime, he dedicates his time and energy to going over their accounting and cataloguing all repairs the mansion will need in the immediate future. There will be a lot of work to be done, and he’s determined to have it all listed properly. And if it distracts his mind from the woman he’s supposed to marry, no-one has to know.

A week before the wedding, on August 5th, Castiel goes for a ride. He’s taken a habit of going for long rides at least once a week, to have some peace and quiet to think and to let Bannock, his gelding, stretch his legs properly. As the wedding draws near, his nervousness increases, and now, with only a week to go, Castiel is so skittish that his hands shake. When he notices it, he’s annoyed at himself — he’s getting married, there’s nothing to be worried about, for Heaven’s sake! The arrangement will benefit both parties: the Collins family will get the funds to get their lives in order and the Tylers will get the access to the social circles they so eagerly want to be part of.

Castiel had met with Adina for lunch earlier that day, with her mother chaperoning again. They had talked about mundane things, awkward silences stretching in between bursts of conversation. At the end of their meeting, Castiel had kissed Adina once, at Mrs. Tyler’s frankly crude prompting (”You should take a taste now, Castiel, just to know what’s waiting for you. Just the tip, don’t be shy!”). The kiss had been soft and quick, just a little peck on the lips, but, nevertheless, it had made Adina blush and duck her head. As his blushing fiancée and smug future mother-in-law had bade their goodbyes, Castiel had been left standing, blinking in confusion, trying to understand what had happened.

Because, that kiss? It had done absolutely nothing for Castiel.

Objectively, he could well say that Adina was pretty enough, pleasant to look at with curves in the proper places, but her proximity caused no reaction in him. He had read and heard enough to know there probably should be at least something — some tingling or a shortage of breath or even arousal, but he felt nothing, unless he counted the vague curiosity about the feeling of soft lips momentarily pressed against his own. As far as sensations went, he would’ve probably felt the same about a new scarf. Adina, on the other hand, had shown a positive response by blushing, ducking her head and fluttering her lashes.

As he rides on, Castiel considers the possibility that he’s somehow faulty, broken even. After all, an average, healthy male should show at least some response while in close contact with the opposite sex — if not downright arousal, at least some pleasant warmth. But, if Castiel is honest with himself, he can admit this isn’t the first time he has noticed his own lack of reaction. He has been romantically approached before, and his own response has always been the same: a polite but slightly baffled rejection. To his own relief, the advances had never been too serious, their family’s misfortune staving off most of his possible admirers.

Castiel knows he’s not unpleasant to look upon. He has dark hair that stubbornly refuses to stay in order; clear blue eyes that his mother has often described like the summer sky; strong features and a proud frame born from manual labor not often known to a man of his status. He has often enough overheard his appearance praised, but it has not made him immodest or vain. Instead, the comments had been a constant source of mirth amongst his sisters, whenever they have reached their ears. Castiel doesn’t mind. He is happy if he can make his sisters laugh, even if it’s on his account.

Yes. He has been admired and whispered about, and he kissed his wife-to-be. So why doesn’t he feel anything? Is there something wrong with him?

But then Castiel thinks about the nights he has woken up with a throbbing cock and a mess in his pants, let alone the rare times he had had the courage to pleasure himself, and he knows he functions just fine. It is something else then, entirely.

He fiddles with Bannock’s reins and lets his mind wander. Now that he takes a better look at his own mind, he remembers an incident from years back. There had been a stableboy, muscular and beautiful, and Castiel had been struck speechless. He had fled inside, blushing and confused about his reaction, and that night had been the first he had had flushed dreams. He had tried to forget it ever happening, because he had been taught thoughts about other men were wrong and sinful. Now, Castiel wonders if he can ever feel anything similar towards his future wife.

The weather is nice and warm with just the right amount of soft breeze cooling his skin. The early August evening stretches around him as Castiel travels through the woods, letting Bannock find his own way around the undergrowth. The forest is a familiar one: it’s the same one he has been riding around since he was a child. It is full of life and Castiel lifts his head to revel in the sounds and scents of nature. He has always liked being outdoors, wandering around and marveling about the simple miracles of life: the shape of a leaf; the color of the moss; or the flight of a butterfly. He doesn’t miss the wonders of men while the wonders of nature are right there to admire. Castiel only hopes that, with his new position as the married head of the family, he will still have enough time to enjoy nature.

Bannock lets out a soft snicker and makes his way through the woods into a small clearing with a clear stream running through it. Castiel smiles fondly, pats his gelding’s neck and hops down.

”Do you want to take a break?” He murmurs softly. ”Go on, boy. Go have a drink and graze.” He lets go of the reins, fully trusting Bannock to not run away.

Whenever Castiel takes a ride, he packs a small pouch with raisins and nuts within, just in case he wants to have a little break. The water in the stream is clear and cool, and he decides it’s good enough for him. He sits down by the stream, eats some raisins, and cups his hand to have a drink of the clear water. It tastes… well. There’s no taste Castiel can detect, but there’s a flavor of something different. It reminds Castiel of summer days, sunshine, and happiness. Bemused, he shakes his head and takes another mouthful.

”Odd,” he mutters, shrugs, and eats some more raisins.

It’s not that late yet, and, with nowhere to rush and no appointments to meet, Castiel leans back on his elbows on the grass and gazes at the sky. It’s clear, with some clouds slowly drifting across the sky. He feels at peace. The sun is still up, gently warming him, and out of a whim Castiel lays down on his back, closes his eyes, and slowly drifts off to sleep.

When he awakes, the sun is setting. Frowning, Castiel sits up and looks around. It’s not the first time Castiel has fallen asleep on his rides, but it certainly is the longest he has slept. Usually he only takes a quick nap, but considering the setting sun, he has slept for several hours. Bannock is contentedly grazing a small distance away, and raises his head, letting out a small huff of breath, as Castiel calls out to him. He shakes his mane and snickers softly as he walks to his Master.

”I know,” Castiel apologizes. ”I would’ve gladly stayed longer too, but I’m afraid we need to get back.”

He stands up, brushes his pants, and gives the leftover raisins and nuts to his gelding, smiling at the soft lips scrabbling the treats from his hand. Castiel strokes the horse’s mane and the gelding nudges his neck with his nose in a show of affection, and Castiel lets out a soft laugh.

Castiel is ready to mount, when he hears a soft noise from behind him. Curious, he turns and takes a look around. Nothing. He shrugs and turns back to Bannock, just to hear the noise again. It’s like stifled laughter, which itself is very odd. Castiel lets go of Bannock’s reins and turns properly around to scan the woods around him.

”Hello?” He calls tentatively. ”Anybody there?”

He hears nothing, but a flicker of movement to his side catches his attention. He squints, but there’s nothing to see. Castiel cocks his head and listens carefully. He is almost certain he can hear a quiet rustling, like someone trying to move around silently but not quite succeeding. The sound stops, and after a long, quiet moment, Castiel is ready to shake it all off as the wind on leaves.

It’s then he hears the laughter.

”Is someone there?” He calls out again. ”Can I help you?”

A flash of movement on his other side draws his attention, and this time he is sure he sees someone darting through the woods. He stays still and tracks the movement with his eyes, staring at the exact point he thinks the — someone? — has stopped.

His eyes start to water from the strain, but he’s adamant to keep that someone in his sight. But then Castiel hears another rustle from a different direction, and he’s baffled. Is there more than one person? What, exactly, are they trying to do?

After another long moment of silence, Castiel sees a small shape running from behind a bush to hide behind a tree, and he sighs. Children. He should’ve known. He shakes his head in fond exasperation.

”What are you doing out here all by yourself?” He calls out in a gently scolding tone. ”Are your parents aware of your whereabouts?”

He gets no answer, but there’s more rustling, more giggles, and definitely more shapes darting back and forth behind the tree line. Castiel’s lips draw into a thin line and he shakes his head. How many of them are there, exactly? He tries to think of whose children they might be, but he can’t think of anyone. He thinks he can make out at least four shapes, and he has a hard time remembering if there even are that many children of that size and age in the area.

It doesn’t matter though, because, now that he knows they are out there, it’s Castiel’s responsibility to see them safely home.

”Alright, listen up. It’s late and you should probably head home. I’m sure your parents are already getting worried. If you could please gather around, I can see you safely home.”

His words echo a little. There’s no answer, but Castiel doesn’t really expect one. He does have three younger siblings and, despite his sisters’ comments, he was, in fact, a child once. He remembers well what it was like to run around without a worry and how dull it was to be herded home by an adult. Was it him running amok, he wouldn’t have volunteered to leave easily, either. Regardless, it is getting late, and Castiel himself is ready to go home. He sighs, leaves Bannock to graze a bit more, and walks towards the woods.

When he reaches the tree line, he still spies no-one.

He’s not surprised, but when he hears giggles drifting through the bushes, he does grow slightly annoyed. Frowning, he follows the sound of footsteps and giggling, and moves deeper into the woods. The forest seems to open up around him, only to close in behind him again. To be honest, it is the strangest feeling, almost like being welcomed in, while the rest of the world is shut away.

The woods are somewhat hushed, but the twilight is setting in, and the animals are probably getting settled for the night. Castiel almost gets distracted by the gentle scents, and the creaks and sways of the woods around him. He shakes his head to clear it. He follows a narrow path, carpeted with soft pine needles and fallen leaves. Castiel’s boots make almost no sound on the soft ground, but still he slows his pace almost instinctively, reacting to the silence around him.

He keeps hearing the rustling, giggling, and the sound of running feet, but they dart here and there around him, almost like they are mocking him. To his dismay, he never actually sees the ones he’s pursuing, but the sounds draw him further into the tulgey woods.

As he walks on, he grows sweaty and tired, and gradually more and more frustrated with the insolent children. They could at least behave and reveal themselves!

Castiel has no intention of leaving them in the woods, though: he has more manners than that. Hadn’t their parents taught them even common courtesy?

Idly, he wonders what his own children would be like. Would they be like Adina, subdued and obedient, or would they be like his sisters, bubbling with laughter and life? Or would they be like these children, mocking and disobedient, running from a responsible adult to the darkening woods?

The thoughts of his own offspring brings back to mind his previous musings.

To produce offspring he’d be required to… perform. That would mean touching his wife and physically consummating their marriage on a carnal level. Castiel has seen enough mating animals to know the theory of how things are supposed to work between males and females, but he has not entertained the idea of himself acting on it. He remembers how, a while back, the sight of mating dogs had made him somewhat flushed, but whenever he has tried to turn his thoughts to himself performing with a woman — nothing.

It is most annoying.

Castiel shakes his head to redirect his thoughts back to the task at hand, irritated at himself for getting so easily distracted. After all, there are children running around the woods, it’s almost night, and it’s Castiel’s responsibility to escort them safely home.

He stops for a moment and turns around to take a look at the direction he had came from. The path stretches out behind him, a clear trail back to the clearing and Bannock. The light is slowly waning and twilight is settling in, and Castiel frowns. He should’ve caught up with the children already, but it seems they are cunning and know their surroundings far better than Castiel. He doesn’t exactly want to venture further into the woods, but his morals won’t let him turn around and leave innocent children behind.

As if by cue, he hears shouting instead of laughter. Startled, he twirls around and holds his breath. Someone is calling for help!

Without a second thought, Castiel takes off and runs towards the call. The shouts are distant and they echo, seeming to come from more than one direction.

Determined and unwavering, Castiel runs forward. The trees don’t hinder his progress, but, instead, they seem to almost bend out of the way: not even one branch hits him in the face, not one root trips him. With ease, he continues running towards the sound until he bursts into a clearing.

There are several children there, standing in a loose half-circle. Castiel doesn’t stop to look more closely, but jogs forward.

”What’s the matter? Did you call out for help?” He asks in concern, turning to look around him.

The children are quiet. There’s no giggling, no laughter, and definitely no calls for help. Castiel breathes in deeply and is about to reprimand the children for making him run around the woods for nothing, when he takes a better look at one child.

The one with a beard.

Castiel blinks.

”You are not children!” He blurts in bewilderment and takes in the shapes around him.

Indeed, they are not. Instead they are small people, their faces wrinkled and gnarled, and their eyes glittering with mischief and malice. Suddenly, they no longer seem like people in need of help, and Castiel swallows.

He’s been tricked.

The dwarves (for they are dwarves, Castiel realizes it now) start to advance on him slowly, and Castiel backs away from them. The dwarves close in on him in a vague circle, but surrounding him on all sides, while Castiel looks desperately around, trying to think a way to escape.

To his side, he sees an opening in the ranks of the dwarves and, having no other option but to flee, he sprints. Laughter erupts from behind him as the dwarves take up the chase.

It’s a very different chase this time.

Now, Castiel struggles to get forward. He trips almost constantly, and it feels like the tree branches try to grab him at every turn. At some point, his jacket gets tangled on a branch, and Castiel hastily shrugs it off. His pants are torn from the repeated tripping, there’s a gash on his cheek, and pine needles in his hair. He is terrified and quite sure he looks nothing like the respectable young Master Collins.

His lungs are burning and sweat drips into his eyes, stinging and hindering his sight. Panting, he keeps running forward, momentarily wondering how creatures as small as the dwarves can keep up with him. They hardly come up to his waist, for Heaven’s sake! He should be able to outrun them in a flash, he thinks in exasperation. That’s when he’s struck in the nose by a branch, as if to remind him exactly what his position in the woods is.

In the dark, wrapped in his panic, and stunned by the blow to his face, Castiel doesn’t realize he’s running straight towards a cliff until it’s almost too late. He recognizes the danger and scrambles to keep his balance, grabbing ahold of a nearby tree to avoid sliding down the muddy bank. He might have succeeded, if it wasn’t for the helpful push at his back and high-pitched giggles, and, with a startled cry, he tumbles down. In desperation, he offers a fleeting prayer for his mother and sisters, and then everything goes black.

When he comes to, it’s dark and he’s lying on his side in a ditch. Castiel blinks and turns gingerly onto his back. His face and clothes are covered in dried mud, and even the slightest of movements cause his head to spin. He reaches his hand hesitantly out to the back of his head and hisses when his fingers brush a painful lump. Wonderful. He hit his head on his way down. He takes a deep breath and tentatively moves his fingers and toes. Breathing is slightly uncomfortable, but, apart from the lump on his head, he seems to be uninjured.

Castiel sits up slowly and takes in his surroundings. As it is, he is in a ditch, with the cliff on his other side. The woods stretch up around him, the trees tall and ancient that look nothing like the trees in his familiar forest. It’s silent, but it’s somehow pressing, assessing silence. Castiel can’t really explain the weird feeling he gets when he looks around. It’s like he’s been watched, but he sees no-one. It’s almost like the forest is aware of him, but the mere thought feels ridicule.

With careful moves, he stands up and nearly topples over. His head spins and he fights down a slight swell of nausea. Castiel has hit his head often enough to be familiar with this particular symptom, and he winces. He turns his head slowly and raises his hand to count his fingers. There are seven of them, which probably isn’t good.

His stomach growls, and, with a pang of regret, he remembers the raisins and nuts he had fed Bannock. Oh, what he wouldn’t give for a loaf of bread and a chunk of cheese! Or even an apple, for that matter.

Castiel looks carefully around to see if there are any berries in sight, but he sees nothing but moss and undergrowth. The early August night is warm, but the darkness muddles all colors into the same gloom. Castiel gathers he wouldn’t probably even see the berries even if there were some.

A tiny, flickering speck of light grabs his attention, and he frowns. It’s a… firefly, floating just a couple of feet away. Castiel has never before seen fireflies, but he has seen pictures and read stories of them. In some lore, they guide the lost back to the path they had wandered off; sometimes the stories indicate the exact opposite. Castiel shrugs and steps forward to follow the firefly. Because, in all honesty? He has no idea where he is, the way he came from is up high, back beyond the cliff he fell down from, and his options are either to move, or lay down and wait. And since Castiel truly doesn’t think anyone would come find him while he were laying in a ditch, he decides to move.

He starts to walk slowly, with careful steps, stumbling here and there, and every jolt sends a flash of pain through his head. He knows he should get some rest, but the firefly seems to be waiting for him, and, for some reason, he feels compelled to follow.

The further in he wanders, the more the trees around him seem to grow taller. They are more majestic than anything he has ever seen, and, at some point, they reach the point of being almost like a living temple, standing tall and proud, their canopies arching high above him. Castiel glances up and isn’t really surprised to realize he can’t see the sky through the treetops. It’s not dark under the canopies, however, because there are masses of fireflies dotting the branches, like living constellations, twinkling gently.

It’s a weird, dreamlike place to be, and, for a fleeting moment, Castiel wonders if he’s truly awake or suffering from some odd aftereffect of his obvious concussion. Then, because he’s been watching the canopies instead of his feet, he trips over a root, stumbles, and lands promptly on his face. The impact shoots searing pain through his head, and he lets out a hoarse cry of pain, clutching his head. He stills, breathing in ragged gulps. He is in pain, tired, and hungry, and he decides to stay right where he’s fallen, just to spite it all. After all, he has no avenue of escape, no way home.

His sleep is restless, dreams haunted by odd shapes and sounds, by bursts of mocking laughter, flickering dots of light, and the sense of running. When he wakes up bleary-eyed and aching, Castiel feels at least as tired as he when he fell asleep, but his head is clearer. Also, with the dawn, he can actually see where he’s going.

The forest stays oddly silent as he stands up and looks around. He’s in a clearing of sorts, he first thinks, but then blinks and frowns. No, it’s not a clearing. It’s more like the beginning of a lane, lined with tall and broad oaks and covered with soft leaves and moss. Seems like Castiel fell on his face in the middle of said lane, although he can’t see any roots that might have tripped him. He glances back at the direction he presumably came from, but can see no path nor any opening in the undergrowth.

Castiel stands still for a moment, chewing his lip. The lane in front of him is inviting, but still he hesitates, and is unsure why. Then he draws a breath and steps forward.

It’s almost like walking into a cathedral. Not that Castiel has been in many of them, but he remembers enough from the trips he took with his family when he was just a boy. At the time, the feeling of serenity, holiness, and utter peace had surrounded him as he had gaped at the high ceilings, stained glass windows, and chandeliers. That same feeling envelopes him now as he walks under the canopy. He feels small and humble in the midst of the massive trees, watching sunlight filter through the leaves.

It’s so quiet that when a rabbit hops across the lane, Castiel starts. The animal stops, turns its head to look at Castiel, and lazily scratches its ear with its hind leg. It shows no fear, even though Castiel keeps slowly walking towards it. The rabbit merely cocks its head and gives him an unimpressed stare before hopping away, in no way indicating it was intimidated or even wary of him. Castiel huffs an unbelieving laugh and carries on.

The further along the lane he walks, the more life Castiel encounters. It’s like the woods is waking up around him, the various animals greeting the new day with joy. Castiel continues slowly on, reveling in the sounds and scents of the forest, familiar and yet new in so many and exciting ways. He has never been in a forest like this, hadn’t even known something like this could even exist! With wide eyes, Castiel drinks in his surroundings and almost misses the lane widening into a meadow. When he lowers his eyes down from the canopy, he suddenly realizes he’s not alone.

There’s someone, a man, on the other side of the meadow. Castiel is about to call out, when the man starts to move, and all thought flees from Castiel’s mind.

The man is simply pure grace and fluid motion. He moves in constant, graceful moves, like he is dancing. Castiel stares at him with his mouth open, barely remembering to breathe. He is instantly, painfully reminded of his poor appearance, his torn clothes and smeared face (let alone the blood on his cheek and the lump on the back of his head), and he shuffles slightly backwards, to avoid being seen. There’s a broad oak to his side, and Castiel ducks behind it to watch.

It’s not exactly a dance, Castiel realizes after a moment. The man has a wooden sword in his hand, and he’s moving through a series of complicated motions and poses with it. But he’s moving with such beauty that it looks like dancing. The man lunges, leaps, swirls, and ducks, and Castiel holds his breath, captivated at the sight of it. As a child of a wealthy family, he and his siblings had been trained in the art of dancing and fencing, but it had been nothing like this. He has never, ever seen anything so completely enthralling in his whole life.

The man moves closer, and Castiel sees he’s half naked. Castiel blinks rapidly and averts his eyes. It’s not proper to stare, he knows, and, because he’s a gentleman, he turns his head away to look at the moss beside his feet. In the brief glimpse, Castiel had seen that the man has only loose pants on and his upper body is bare, glistening with sweat, muscles rippling with exertion, and Castiel realizes he’s staring again. He blinks. The wide plains of skin capture his eyes, and he is unable to look away.

And then Castiel realizes he’s hard. He looks down in amazement. His cock is achingly erect, which has never happened in the presence of another human before. The feeling he had sort of expected when he had kissed Adina is there now, and Castiel is absolutely and completely bewildered. He is watching a half-naked man sword-dancing around a meadow, and he wants… he wants… Oh, he’s not sure what he wants, but he does, with a certainty he has never felt before.

In the meadow, the man speeds up his movements until he seems to be in constant motion, and then he ends his practice in a lunge, leaning his other hand on the ground with his other hand high, holding the wooden sword. Castiel stares, panting with his mouth open, and doesn’t know if he should clap or take himself to hand to relieve the throbbing want coursing through his veins. He forgets all that, though, when the man raises his head and looks straight at him.

Castiel panics. He’s quite certain he’s not supposed to be here, or, at least, not supposed to be staring at the man with indecent thoughts. But there’s nowhere to go, he realizes. The oak is in front of him, and there are several bushes behind him, which he didn’t realize earlier, when he ducked behind the oak. Castiel curses at his own stupidity and tries to shrink behind the oak, as futile as it is.

The man keeps staring at him as he slowly stands up and stalks closer, moving like a predator, all coiled power and grace. Castiel’s heart is hammering in his ears, and his mind distracted by miles of bare, sweaty skin –– or it would be, if he dared to avert his gaze from the man’s stare. When he’s just a few feet away, the man stops. Castiel blinks but doesn’t turn his eyes away. Absently, he realizes the man’s eyes are bright green (like grass) and there’s a wide array of freckles scattered over his face, and his shoulders, and his chest, and Castiel refuses to let his eyes wander more downward. He yanks his rebellious eyes back to meet the man’s amused gaze.

”Who are you?”

The man’s voice is deep and throaty, and, to Castiel’s utter bewilderment, it travels straight to his nether parts. He blinks furiously, trying to force his mind away from his disobedient member to the matter in front of him.

”I’m Castiel,” he stutters and blushes at his own clumsiness.

The man cocks his head and gives him a slight smile. ”Well, Castiel, welcome to our forest. I’m Danain, but you can call me Dean.” He doesn’t extend his hand, and Castiel doesn’t ask for it.

They stand for a moment in a somewhat uncomfortable silence. Dean’s gaze burns Castiel’s skin, and Castiel tries to look anywhere else but at Dean’s naked torso.

Finally, Dean cracks the silence, asking, ”What are you doing here? How did you get here?”

Castiel swallows. ”I was on a ride and stopped to have a break. I — I fell asleep. When I was ready to continue my ride, I thought I heard children —”

Dean’s gaze gets sharper. ”Children?”

”Yes. I assumed they were out in the woods without supervision and I thought… well, I thought they would need an escort home. Turned out I was wrong.” Castiel isn’t able to keep the bitterness from seeping into his voice.

”Oh?”

”Yes. They lured me deeper into the woods, and when I found out they weren’t, in fact, children at all, but dwarves, they pushed me down the cliff.”

”Did they now,” Dean mutters. It’s not a question and he shakes his head a little and purses his lips in obvious dismay. Castiel stares at the latter motion with rapt interest until he catches himself. Again. He turns his gaze at the oak beside him, because between the oak and Dean’s bare chest, the oak is surely the safer option.

”And what then?”

Castiel blinks and immediately looks back at Dean. ”What then what?” He repeats, inwardly scolding himself. Where have his manners gone?

”How did you get here?” There’s a small smile playing on Dean’s lips, and Castiel has a sudden urge to touch.

”I walked.”

”From the cliff?”

”Well, from the ditch under the cliff, but, yes.” Castiel pauses for a moment. ”I followed a firefly,” he adds as an afterthought.

Dean blinks slowly. ”The ditch would explain your appearance,” he says, amusement dancing in his eyes again.

Castiel bristles a little. ”I was chased and pushed off the cliff,” he reminds him stiffly, but Dean waves his irritation off with his hand.

”Yeah, well. Follow me,” he says, turns around, and starts to walk off across the meadow.

Castiel blinks several times before he understands what’s happening, and hurries after Dean. He knows he should probably be paying attention to his surroundings, but the freckles on Dean’s back are distracting him. Freckles and some scars and the movement of his shoulders and the small of his back and… Castiel inhales sharply and clenches his hands into fists to prevent himself from reaching out and caressing Dean’s skin.

It is disconcerting.

Castiel has always prided himself being a man of reason and logic, and this situation is completely unreasonable and beyond all known logic. He doesn’t understand how he has ended up here, in an odd forest with a half-naked, gorgeous man named Dean, let alone how he suddenly harbors illicit urges.

Men loving other men is not allowed in society; it’s an aberration of God’s intentions. He has heard of the so-called ”inverts,” sure, but Castiel has never thought himself of one. Rumors say they are twisted and perverted, sometimes ending up stark, raving mad, but now, considering himself, Castiel has difficulties understanding where the allegations spring from. Looking at Dean, he understands even less.

Even from behind, without seeing his face, Dean is beautiful. He moves gracefully, barely suppressed power rippling under his skin. He is not overly muscular, but has the build of a man used to physical work and the outdoors life. His skin is of a golden hue and peppered with freckles all around, and his bare feet barely make a sound on the ground. His loose pants hang low on his hips, revealing the curve of his buttocks and a cleft that disappears into his pants.

Castiel just wants to kiss it. How can that be wrong?

They walk through the woods, Dean lost in his thoughts and Castiel lost in his lustful fantasies of the man before him. Soon, they emerge from the woods into a large clearing, and Castiel glances around with amazement. There are at least a dozen low huts scattered around it, with people milling about, going through their daily activities.

Eerily, silence falls when he and Dean step into the clearing, and Castiel hesitates, unsure if he’s allowed further. Dean doesn’t stop, however, but strolls forward with easy steps, and Castiel really has no other choice but to follow him.

A tall, imposing young man begins to walk up to greet them. Dean motions Castiel to stop and wait, and jogs to meet the taller man. They discuss something, rather heatedly, and from the glances shot in his direction, Castiel guesses about whom. The taller man shakes his head in exasperation and grabs Dean’s shoulder, and Castiel is surprised to feel a hot surge of possessiveness course through him. He grits his teeth and forces himself to stand still, reminding himself of his manners. The tall man looks at him for a long time, eyes narrowed and sharp, before he stands back and lets go of Dean.

”Castiel, this is my brother Sam,” Dean finally calls back to him and beckons Castiel closer.

Although at first glance they seem very different, from close up, Castiel can see the similarities between the two brothers. Sam is taller and broader, has lighter brown hair, and eyes the color of liquid fire. Also, Sam has all his clothes on, for which Castiel is forever grateful, if only to avoid further embarrassment.

”Sam, this is Castiel,” Dean continues with an odd note in his voice. ”He was pushed from a cliff and led to our woods by a firefly, so he’s staying for a while. Or at least until we have him fed and washed, and given him fresh clothes.”

The strange eyes regard Castiel for a good, long while, and Castiel swallows nervously.

Dean’s brother is quite frightening, if Castiel is being honest. But then Sam smiles and his whole demeanor changes. Suddenly Castiel sees that, unlike he had thought, Sam is the little brother, and he isn’t as frightening as he first seemed to be.

”Welcome, Castiel,” Sam says, and doesn’t offer his hand in greeting either. Castiel doesn’t dwell on the lack of polite gesture (perhaps it’s not their way), but decides to be relieved to be welcomed instead.

”Yeah, yeah,” Dean drones from their side. ”Follow me, Castiel,” he beckons with his head, and, again, starts to walk without actually waiting for Castiel. And, again, Castiel follows.

They walk through the clearing, and Castiel keeps his eyes mostly at the back of Dean’s head. Mainly it is out of courtesy (he still isn’t that sure he’s welcome), but partially it’s because if he doesn’t concentrate, his gaze will drop down Dean’s bare back. And, in the presence of Dean’s family and friends, that might not be all that polite.

”You can wash up there,” Dean points at a stream behind the bushes at the edge of the clearing. ”I’ll bring you some clean clothes. Take your time.”

Castiel thanks Dean, walks to the stream, and ducks behind the bushes to strip before he dives into the stream. The water is impossibly clear, cool but not too cold, and Castiel enjoys washing away the dust, mud, and sweat of the past couple of days. He takes his time swimming around and is floating on his back, when Dean returns. Castiel doesn’t see him at first, and only turns when Dean hits him in the head with an acorn.

”Brought you some clothes,” the man says with barely suppressed laughter, when Castiel turns. Dean’s gaze sweeps over Castiel’s bare chest and Castiel blushes. He’s not sure how long Dean has been standing at the bank or how much he’s seen, but by the heat in his eyes, Castiel would guess Dean has seen quite a bit. Castiel clears his throat, not quite sure what he’s supposed to do next — to get up or to wait — when there’s a shrill whistle, and Dean turns sharply and jogs towards the clearing.

Sighing with relief, Castiel clambers up and dresses himself hurriedly in the loose tunic and pants he’s been left. As much as he would enjoy being the object of Dean’s heated gaze, he’d rather do it in a more… private surroundings. To occupy his mind, Castiel gathers his tattered clothes and rinses them in the stream. He has no idea if they are salvageable or not, but he can at least try to clean them a bit.

When he’s ready, he walks slowly towards the clearing. He’s not sure if he’s allowed there without an escort (he had seen enough suspicious glares to realize he is at least partially a persona non grata), and stops at the edge of the clearing. Curious, he takes a better look at the people moving around the clearing. They look like ordinary people, except their clothes are a little peculiar: loose tunics and pants on everyone, including the women. There are no horses or carriages that Castiel can see, but that doesn’t mean anything, really. They might be handled elsewhere.

As he is watching the people, he sees Dean walking across the clearing. He has changed his clothes, and, to Castiel’s chagrin, he notices Dean is wearing a shirt. He sighs and shakes his head. It’s most likely better this way, because ogling his gracious host isn’t even remotely polite.

Before Dean is even halfway through the clearing, he’s been intercepted several times. It seems like almost everyone he meets have something to ask from him, and Dean stops patiently over and over again to converse with the others. Castiel narrows his eyes. There’s something… something about the way Dean is stopped, the way people talk to him, as if they are seeking his advice and acceptance on things. It isn’t until Dean meets an arguing couple that Castiel understands:

Dean is most likely the leader of these people, maybe the equivalent of a mayor. Which means Castiel is lusting after the local authority figure.

Castiel is shaken from his thoughts when Dean waves his hand, beckoning Castiel closer. A little hesitantly, he goes.

”You can give your clothes to Ellen,” Dean nods his head at an elderly lady, ”and she can check if they are worth the repair. There’s dinner in a short while, and later, you can sleep in my hut.”

Castiel nearly trips on his own feet at the nonchalant announcement.

”Your hut?” He manages.

Dean shrugs. ”It has the best bed, I think. I can share with Sam — unless you are willing to share.” He shoots a sly glance at Castiel from the corner of his eye, and Castiel blushes furiously red. The lady, Ellen, snorts in a completely undignified way, takes Castiel’s clothes and leaves. Castiel clears his throat, unsure of how to answer Dean, but before he has regained enough of his composure to come up with anything, Dean pats his shoulder.

”Relax. I’m not going to harass you in your sleep,” he reassures with a smile, but his hand trails softly along Castiel’s back before Dean lifts it. Castiel immediately misses the touch.

Dean leads them from the clearing to a wide path that threads through the forest. He points out animals and plants to Castiel, who listens with rapt attention, reveling in the clear pride and commitment in Dean’s voice. After a short while, they enter another clearing with more people and — a bonfire. Castiel stares. It’s been a long time since he’s last seen an actual bonfire, but here, in the midst of the forest, it seems like the most natural thing on earth.

Castiel glances around and realizes it’s twilight. He isn’t sure when he lost his sense of time: it had still been morning when he had woken up today, and, as much as he had enjoyed Dean practicing with his wooden sword, he couldn’t have spent the whole day watching it. Or, he could’ve but he was certain he hadn’t. Time seems to be passing before he is aware of it, even as he tries to calculate where it went and fails.

Delicious scents waft through the air, distracting Castiel from his contemplation, and his stomach growls. Dean laughs at the sound, and Castiel is far too hungry and tired to ponder more closely on the strange passage of time. He could think about it tomorrow.

Instead, he lets Dean grab his hand and draw him into the clearing and towards the bonfire.

The rest of the evening goes in a blur. There’s laughter, songs, dancing, plenty of oddly delicious food and drink, and, at some point, Castiel finds himself dancing slowly with Dean in his arms. The other man is slightly taller and more muscular than Castiel, but somehow Dean fits in his arms perfectly. They sway together, Dean’s face tucked in Castiel’s neck and Castiel resting his cheek on Dean’s temple.

As they turn, Castiel sees Sam watching them with a frown. Castiel doesn’t understand why, and it bothers him. He isn’t sure if he has unknowingly offended his hosts in some way, and makes a mental note to ask Dean about it later.

Then Dean nuzzles his neck and Castiel forgets everything else, but the scent and feel of the man in his embrace.

The following morning finds Castiel sprawled on his stomach on a comfortable bed. When he pries his eyes open, he sees the early morning sun filtering through the curtains, making small specks of dust dance in the air like little fairies. The air smells warm and earthy, like sleep, contentment, and home. His brain still muddled with sleep, Castiel lets a lazy smile spread on his face, feeling relaxed for the first time in a long, long while.

As wakefulness is slow to come to him, it takes Castiel a moment to remember where he is and why. When the realization hits, he freezes. The memories from the previous day rush back and Castiel fights to keep still in his sudden panic.

He’s in Dean’s bed. And, if the slow breathing is anything to go by, he is not alone.

Slowly, Castiel turns around, careful to avoid waking his sleeping companion up. He rests his head on his arm and lets himself look. Dean is sleeping on his side, with his other hand under his cheek, the other resting between the space between the two men. The bare chest rises and falls with Dean’s breathing, causing the freckles on his skin expand and contract in the most distracting manner. His other leg is bent at the knee, stretching the thin sheet deliciously over the curve of his — Castiel blinks rapidly and tears his eyes back to Dean’s face.

There is no real loss in the change of views: the other man is undeniably beautiful. He looks younger and somehow softer, the sleep washing away the lines on his face. His features are almost delicate, with long, dark lashes, a straight nose, pink, plush lips, and cheekbones that would make most women envious. Despite that, he’s also very much a man, which Castiel finds mesmerizing. The stubble on Dean’s cheeks and jaw enhance his features, and it leads Castiel’s gaze down his neck. There’s a pulse point, steadily throbbing in the hollow dip of Dean’s throat and Castiel stares at it, transfixed by the even beat. He longs to touch, and almost reaches out with his hand, but then restrains himself. It would not do — it wouldn’t be proper.

He steadfastly ignores how they might be beyond proper, already.

”See something you like?”

Castiel jerks back, a guilty blush rapidly spreading over his cheeks. Dean’s voice is rough from sleep, but his eyes are clear and amused. Castiel averts his gaze, not really sure how to respond. He is sharing the bed with his host, and he had just spent a good amount of time staring lustily over said host’s half-bare body.

But Castiel is also almost certain Dean wouldn’t be there if he didn’t want to.

As if by a cue, Dean reaches out his hand and gently brushes the side of Castiel’s face. ”Because I do,” he says softly.

Castiel raises his head hesitantly and peers solemnly into Dean’s eyes. They are huge and green, and stare right back at him. Dean’s hand is still hovering near Castiel’s cheek, close enough for him to feel the heat.

”I’ve never — ” Castiel stammers and stops, unsure of how to continue.

”Kissed a man?”

”Yes. That.”

”It’s easy. Come here, I’ll show you,” Dean whispers, slips his hand behind Castiel’s neck and gently nudges him forward.

Castiel scrambles closer, heat and anticipation pooling in his belly, making him clumsy. Dean’s hand stays warm and solid in Castiel’s neck, but he doesn’t push or pull, letting Castiel press closer to initiate the kiss at his own pace instead. Castiel hesitates a little. His face is flaming red and he feels ridiculous, but Dean is lying right there, his eyes dark and lips parted. Castiel’s eyes drop to those lips, and he watches, fascinated, when Dean’s tongue darts out to wet them. The sight of those pink, lush lips wet is too much for Castiel, and he dips forward to claim.

Dean’s lips are soft and warm, and they open up under his, letting him explore the feel and taste of Dean. Castiel starts hesitantly, but soon grows bolder, devouring Dean’s mouth until he needs to let go for air.

He raises his head a little, breathing in with ragged gulps. Dean, too, is panting under him, and he is, if possible, even more beautiful than before. Castiel traces the delicate blush on Dean’s cheeks and his kiss-swollen lips with his fingers, reveling in the soft sigh the touch draws from the other man. He lets his eyes caress Dean’s features for a moment, before kissing him again.

Without a conscious thought, Castiel crawls partially on top of Dean. He emits a muffled moan at the feeling of a man under him, at the broad plains of muscle and the elevated thumping of Dean’s heart. He feels Dean’s hand trail along his spine with feather-light brushes, and join the other hand resting on the small of Castiel’s back. The touches are tentative, and careful, like Dean isn’t sure if Castiel will allow it. The uncertainty won’t do, and, instinctually, Castiel pushes his hips down.

The contact is electrifying. It’s nothing like kissing Adina.

Castiel’s eyes fly open. He had completely forgotten about Adina, his family, and his impending marriage, but now, the reminder is like an ice-cold rain pouring over him.

Bewildered, he lifts his head and stares down at Dean.

”Is something wrong?” Dean’s voice is soft and guarded. His hands are still on Castiel’s back, but the touch is barely there. Castiel wants it back.

For a fleeting moment, Castiel truly contemplates. He is the Man of a Respectable House and engaged to be married in a week’s time, and yet, he is here, in a strange hut in the middle of a forest, having carnal relations with another man. It’s a deed that’s not only sinful, but illegal, and Castiel has never felt more wanton and alive. He is betraying his mother’s trust, being unfaithful to his promised wife, and he really doesn’t care.

Since the death of his father, and especially after the catastrophe with his brothers, Castiel has always always done what’s good for the family, always putting his own needs aside. Never has he stopped to consider what he desires, never has he thought he has the right. He’s been a good, obedient son, has passed over his own wishes for the good of his mother and sisters, and has repeatedly bent his will to others. If he is now, here, to find a moment of bliss in the arms of another man, would it really be that bad?

It might also be that the delicious pressure of Dean’s groin against his own hard length is somewhat muddling Castiel’s mind.

Castiel makes up his mind. ”No, nothing’s wrong,” he breathes and bends down to kiss Dean some more.

They sink into the kiss, eagerly learning each other’s lips. After a moment of hesitation, Dean’s hands resume their caressing, and then slip under Castiel’s tunic. He gasps at the feeling of Dean’s warm hands sliding along his skin, raising goosebumps in their wake. The touch makes him shiver, and he doesn’t resist when Dean gently tugs at the garment. Only halfway understanding what’s happening, Castiel sits up straddling Dean’s thighs and lets him strip the tunic away. The air feels cool on his bare skin, and Castiel feels slightly self-conscious, sitting up half naked. Then he looks down and his breath hitches.

Dean looks hungry. He reaches out for Castiel and makes a wanton, needy sound that causes Castiel to drop down on top of him and take. Dean relaxes and goes pliant as Castiel kisses him with abandon, heady with the feeling of skin against skin. He grinds down on Dean and they both gasp at the sensation. Without actually processing what he’s doing, Castiel reaches down between them and impatiently tugs his pants. As soon as Dean catches up on what he’s trying to do, he twists and squirms a little, and then Dean’s pants are gone. Dean opens his legs, and, when Castiel slots in between them, it’s like coming home.

The feeling is exquisite. Dean’s thighs wrap around him, pull him close and create a cradle for Castiel. Their bare cocks press together, and the sensation is unlike anything Castiel has ever felt before. It is too much and not enough, and all he can do is bury his face in the hollow of Dean’s neck and hang on for dear life. His instincts don’t wait for long, though, and he starts rocking against Dean, and they are moving as one, their lengths rubbing against each other in the most wonderful way.

Too soon, Castiel feels his release approaching. He wants to stop, to stall and wait, to stay in this moment forever, but he can’t. With a hoarse moan, he spills in between them and slumps on top of Dean, who moves erratically once, twice, then once more, biting down on Castiel’s shoulder as he comes. They stay there for a moment, catching their breaths, holding each other through the slight tremors running through them both.

Castiel feels sluggish and wrung out, and protests feebly when Dean gently pushes him off from on top of him, and he laughs softly as he leaves the bed, only to return a moment later with a damp cloth. He wipes them both clean, tugs away Castiel’s pants that are tangled on his legs, and crawls in to curl into Castiel’s side.

”That was nice,” he mumbles against Castiel’s skin, as he draws the blankets over them. ”We should do it again.”

Castiel lets out an agreeing sound, and then he falls asleep.

When Castiel wakes up, he is alone. But the bed is warm and there’s a distinctive Dean-shaped dent on the mattress, and he guesses he hasn’t been alone for long. Castiel smiles and lets himself drift for a while. Their actions from the morning make him blush and his cock twitches happily at the memory of Dean rocking against him. It had been… Castiel has no words. He had never thought that fornication as an act could feel so wonderful, let alone give him a sense of connection and being right. Especially with a male partner.

He flops on his back and stretches his hands over his head. Before this morning, the whole concept of physical intimacy had been a mystery to him. He had always been taught that the only proper way to express intimacy was between a man and a woman, a married couple, and the act itself was meant for procreation. None of the teachers had spoken about pleasure just for its own sake. But then, none of the teachers had said anything about the pleasure houses either, and they had been common knowledge. So, obviously, the teachers had been wrong.

Pondering morals turn Castiel’s thoughts to Adina and the promise they had made to each other. He knows he is doing something wrong, but Castiel sets his jaw and refuses to feel guilty. He hadn’t chosen Adina. He hadn’t chosen to be the young Master of the Collins household. He hadn’t chosen his father to die and his brothers to do the things they did, or have his mother reclaim all the favors ever owed to his father.

But Castiel is choosing now.

He’s choosing this… feeling, this bliss, even for a short, stolen moment. He’s choosing to have the pleasure of Dean’s touches and kisses, and the glory that is his body. He’s choosing to be here, now, and have whatever he can, because when he’s back with his family, all this will be only a memory.

Thinking about the heated moments of the morning, Castiel is quite certain he will never feel this with his wife, but perhaps he can give Adina what she needs. Perhaps, with the help of his memories, he can actually perform, to do his duty as a husband to his wife, to get her pregnant. Perhaps, with the memories of Dean, he can get through the life that had been chosen for him.

Castiel sighs and shakes his head. He will cross that bridge when he comes to it.

A rustle by the door, shakes him from his gloomy thoughts, and Castiel raises his gaze to see Dean entering the hut. When the man sees Castiel is awake, he gives a smile that leaves Castiel slightly dizzy.

”Good! You’re awake,” Dean beams. ”Get up, we have things to do and places to be.”

Dean is brimming with energy, and Castiel finds his enthusiasm contagious. He sits up and makes a move to get up, only to remember he’s still naked. He bites his lip and resists the urge to gather the sheets to cover his bare torso. Instead, he glances at Dean who’s leaning on the doorframe, eyes at half mast, looking at Castiel. Castiel feels heat rising in his cheeks but refuses to hide, and decides to stand up properly instead. He knows he doesn’t move as gracefully as Dean, but to his satisfaction Castiel manages to get up in one, smooth move.

Dean’s eyes rake across his body, and Castiel feels himself harden under the heat of Dean’s gaze. ”See something you like?” He asks, repeating the question Dean had asked him earlier that morning.

Dean’s tongue darts from between his lips and Castiel traces the movement. ”Oh yes,” Dean says lowly and crosses the distance between them with a couple of hurried steps. He descends on Castiel’s lips like a starving man, and presses their bodies tightly together. Castiel groans into Dean’s mouth at the feeling of Dean’s clothed hardness against his bare skin. He is, again, achingly hard, and almost subconsciously starts to rock gently against Dean.

Dean lets go of his lips with a gasp and leans slightly back. ”What the hell are you doing to me?” He mutters, a slightly dazed look in his eyes, and, to Castiel, he’s the most gorgeous creature alive. He’s about to lean forward to kiss Dean again, when Dean suddenly drops on his knees in front of him. Perplexed, Castiel is about to ask if Dean is feeling unwell. Then everything stops, when Dean takes him into his mouth.

Castiel jerks at the feeling and slips out. He’s bewildered and confused, and incapable of doing anything else but to stare at Dean with wide eyes. Dean reaches out his hands slowly, smoothes them over Castiel’s bare hips and gently kisses his hipbone.

”You don’t have to be afraid, Castiel,” Dean says softly and kisses the other hipbone. ”Let me do this, please.”

How could he say no? Dean’s eyes are wide and pleading, and he looks utterly beautiful, kneeling at Castiel’s feet. Mutely, Castiel nods, and Dean flashes him a quick, brilliant smile. Castiel closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, grounding himself at Dean’s hands gripping his hips.

A warm breath ghosts over the tip of his cock, and Castiel shivers. His whole body is tingling with anticipation, and when Dean nuzzles the skin just above his cock, he can’t help but to buck at bit. He hears Dean’s warm chuckle and a soft, ”You can grab my hair, if you want.”

Blindly, Castiel searches with his hands, until he finds Dean’s head. He cards his fingers through Dean’s hair, and feels Dean purr against his hip. The resonation travels straight to his straining cock and Castiel bites back a moan.

Castiel can feel kisses along his length, across the head and near his sack. Then Dean gives… oh, Lord, a slow, meticulous lick from the base of Castiel’s cock to the very tip of it, and Castiel whimpers. Dean pauses for a moment, then Castiel feels another lick, and another, and soon he is reduced into a trembling, pulsing feeling of pure want. He gets lost in the sensations of Dean’s lips and tongue (And teeth? Dear God, how can there be teeth?), and the changes between warm breaths and hot pressure.

He had never thought this could be pleasurable, but once again, Dean was in the process of turning Castiel’s mind around. There’s nothing else Castiel can do, except hold on to Dean’s hair to stay standing. As his grip tightens, he tugs Dean’s hair, and Dean moans around Castiel’s cock. Castiel blinks in amazement and looks down, and nearly spills on Dean’s mouth at the sight greeting him.

Dean’s mouth. Around Castiel’s cock.

Castiel can’t help it: he groans at the warmth, heat, and wet everything, as Dean starts to move his head. It is, again, unlike anything he has ever experienced, and he can only stare as Dean bobs back and forth, cheeks hollowed out, and eyes trained on Castiel’s face. And then Dean swallows around him, and Castiel loses it. He convulses and spills down Dean’s throat with a hoarse cry, and nearly topples over as his knees buckle. It’s only through Dean’s grip on the back of his thighs that he stays standing.

Dean suckles him through the tremors, and, when Castiel has finally spent every last drop and is left writhing and overly sensitive, Dean kisses the head of Castiel’s softening cock and winks. Castiel tries to catch his breath and has no idea what just happened. Except it was extremely erotic and felt unbelievably good.

His legs tremble, as Dean guides him back to lay on the bed and climbs on his lap. Castiel stares in awe, when Dean hurriedly tugs his pants down to free his straining cock. It’s angry red, jutting proudly upward, and just beautiful, like everything else about Dean. Castiel rests his hands on Dean’s thighs, as Dean leans slightly back, his back arching and head thrown back, hand flying on his shaft, as he chases his completion. Dean groans as he comes, and Castiel is sure he has received a revelation and seen God.

When Dean’s breathing has eased a little, he leans forward to give Castiel a searing kiss. Castiel is quite sure he should be appalled to taste himself on Dean’s lips, but he’s not.

”We have to stop meeting like this,” Dean mutters into his neck, resting against his chest. ”It’s too exhausting.”

Castiel huffs a small laugh and wraps his arms around Dean, holding him close.

When they finally manage their way out of the hut, it’s already twilight. They had fallen asleep afterwards and woken up crusty and gross, but they had laughed about it, making silly faces at each other while cleaning up. Unsurprisingly, they had ended up kissing again, which had led into another bout of eager hands and moans of pleasure, until they came over their joined hands. They had leaned their foreheads together, panting and grinning like maniacs, and Castiel had been sure he had never been as happy.

Castiel is not surprised when Dean leads him into the clearing with the bonfire again. It seems to be the place where Dean’s people gather to spend time together eating, dancing, singing, and telling stories. Castiel sees the sideway glances shot at his direction as they enter the clearing, but no-one is openly rejecting him. They are left alone, apart from the polite small talk that seems to be required everywhere. Castiel enjoys his time anyway: he feels content and at ease, sitting by the bonfire, Dean leaning against his chest. When the night falls, and the bonfire is reduced to embers, he and Dean walk back into Dean’s hut and fall asleep in each other’s arms in the middle of gentle kisses.

The following morning, Castiel wakes before Dean. He drinks in the beautiful sight of Dean’s naked skin, before sneaking carefully out of bed and making his way into the woods to relieve himself. The settlement is slowly waking up around him, cheerful chattering and the occasional wail of a baby drifting through the misty morning air. After finishing his business, Castiel walks to the stream and takes a quick swim to clean himself. As he is dressing, he sees a man standing a little distance away.

It’s Sam.

”Good morning Sam,” Castiel calls out politely and beckons him closer.

Sam doesn’t answer, but regards him levelly. His stare is way older than his looks and, for some reason, it makes Castiel nervous. By their short interactions, he knows Sam is an amiable man, funny and gentle. But sometimes there’s a wildness seeping through the seams, and Castiel isn’t sure what to think about it. And then he’s feeling stupid: Sam is Dean’s little brother, why on earth does Castiel think something is wrong?

An awkward silence falls, and Castiel almost starts to fidget, unsure of how to proceed. Then Sam finally moves. He walks with a fluid ease, not unlike Dean, but where Dean is feline in his grace (like a Bengal tiger Castiel once saw at a circus when he was young), Sam is like a wolf: silent, straightforward, and deadly. He stalks to Castiel and towers over him without even making a conscious effort.

”Who are you, Castiel?” Sam’s voice is hushed and soft, but Castiel hears the power behind it well enough.

”I’m Castiel Collins of Carisbrooke,” he answers, slightly baffled, proud his voice doesn’t waver.

”And tell me, Castiel Collins of Carisbrooke, what, exactly, are you doing here?”

Castiel opens and closes his mouth several times, but is unable to find an answer. Perhaps the reason is because he doesn’t know, himself.

”Do you have brothers or sisters, Castiel?”

”Um. Yes. I have three little sisters,” Castiel stammers. He doesn’t offer the information about Michael or Lucifer, because at this point of his life, they really don’t matter anymore.

Sam nods and cocks his head. ”Then you’ll understand. See, Dean is my big brother, but sometimes I feel like I’m the older one here. I don’t want to see him hurt. It is my duty to protect him — sometimes even from himself,” Sam says mildly. Castiel doesn’t miss the hard glint in his eyes.

Castiel jerks his head in agreement, although he isn’t sure what he’s agreeing to. But he wouldn’t want to see Dean hurt, either, and he says as much to Sam.

Sam regards him for a moment. Then he smiles, and he transforms into the familiar sunny, young man again. ”Good,” he says, turns around, and walks briskly back toward the settlement.

A baffled and slightly freaked out Castiel is left standing alone by the bank of the stream. He sits slowly down and leans his back against a tree, mulling over the conversation in his head. It was almost like Sam was warning him about something, but Castiel has no idea what about? Had something happened to Dean that required Sam to act so protectively? Did he really think Castiel would harm Dean?

The mere thought causes him to inhale sharply, as a dull pain clenches in his gut. He has known Dean only for two days, but he cannot fathom how or why he could harm that enchanting, beautiful being. He only yearns to be near Dean, to be good to Dean and hold him close, make all his wishes come true. Startled, Castiel wonders if this is what love feels like? If it is, he wants to preserve the feeling and cradle it safely for the rest of his life.

Lost in his thoughts, it takes Castiel some time to tread back to Dean’s hut. To his surprise, the hut is empty. Castiel frowns and turns around, looking for the familiar shape.

”Looking for Dean?” A woman (Ellen, Castiel remembers), calls from beside the next hut. ”He’s out in the meadow, practicing.”

Castiel gives her a grateful smile and nods as a thank you, and turns to head out. He finds the path leading to the meadow easily enough, even though it is slightly obscured by undergrowth. The forest is slowly waking up around him, and he is again amazed about the sheer life that it emanates. Castiel feels invigorated and purely good just by breathing in deeply. It’s a strange, but not unwelcome feeling.

When he reaches the meadow, he stops, speechless, to admire the fluid dancer that is Dean. The early sunlight casts a golden halo on the man, who seems to be glowing. Castiel starts to walk slowly forward, wanting to be as near to Dean as possible, but reluctant to disturb his routine. By the time he is almost at the center of the small meadow, Dean changes his movements and starts to spin, swirl and lunge, the wooden sword slicing the air in elaborate patterns. Castiel stays still, completely relaxed, and enjoys the spin of the golden god around him. Dean finishes in the same lunge as the first time Castiel saw him, and Castiel lets out a breath he wasn’t aware he had been holding in. Dean hears it, looks up, and grins.

Castiel steps forward until he is standing right in front of Dean. Dean is still panting from his practice, little drops of sweat slowly trailing down his skin. Castiel looks down at the flushed skin, the slightly parted lips and blown eyes. He reaches out his hand and carefully grabs ahold of Dean’s hair. Dean’s breath hitches and his eyes flutter, but he doesn’t close them, keeping them locked with Castiel’s instead. The silence stretches around them, as they look at each other, and Castiel feels his body respond.

He’s not sure who moves first.

They don’t talk when Castiel surges forward and Dean drops his wooden sword and shoots up. They don’t talk when they kiss hungrily, drowning in each other. They don’t talk when they tug the clothes off from each other and fall to the ground, tangling their limbs together. Castiel doesn’t resist when Dean pushes him on his back and climbs on his lap to straddle him. The weight of Dean on top of him is glorious, and Castiel stays relaxed, cradling Dean in his arms as they once again lose themselves in a kiss.

Castiel’s cock strains upwards, throbbing and engorged, and he shivers when it brushes the cleft of Dean’s behind. Dean trembles when it happens, but, with his lust-filled mind, Castiel isn’t sure what to think of it. So far, everything that has happened with Dean has been an exceptionally pleasurable novelty to Castiel. Even so, Castiel can’t help but flail, when Dean takes a hold of Castiel’s hard length, raises himself slightly and starts to guide Castiel inside him.

”Shh… lay down and relax. I prepared myself earlier,” Dean soothes with a smile and continues his descent.

Being a man himself, Castiel knows there is only one possible opening his cock is being pushed into. It’s something he had heard whispered about, in the dingy corners of taverns, but he had thought them to be wild rumors, nothing more. But now he has no choice but to believe it: he is slowly pushing inside Dean, disappearing into another man, and the feeling… oh, the feeling! If Dean’s mouth was something extremely erotic and unbelievable, this is way beyond that!

Leaning against Castiel’s chest with his hands, Dean inches down excruciatingly slow, pausing to adjust every now and then, until he is back sitting on Castiel’s lap. Except that now, they are joined. Castiel’s brain refuses to function under the onslaught of sensations and he is only able to stare wide-eyed at Dean. Dean is panting and his face is scrunched in a frown, a slight sheen of sweat on his brow. His thighs tremble and his breath hitches as he slowly rights himself, arching his back, and Castiel whimpers at the feeling of being buried even deeper.

The rising sun paints Dean golden, casting him in an unearthly light. There is, again, a halo around him, like a set of fragile wings straining from his back and spreading high and wide. They look soft, rounded in the manner of butterfly wings, trembling like delicate leaves on a wind. For that short moment, Castiel is certain the being on his lap is something ethereal, an angel or a fae.

I’m in love with this man, Castiel wonders, gazing at Dean reverently.

Then Dean shifts, and the mirage is gone.

When Dean starts to move, all thought abandons Castiel. His whole existence is narrowed down to the sensations of his cock, of Dean around him, of the heat, friction, and weight of Dean. The meadow, the sun, his family, and his home fade away, and everything is pure Dean. Castiel is helpless, whisked away in the storm and lightning that is the man on his lap, and he has never felt more complete and whole in his life. He grips Dean’s hips like a vice, pressing him impossibly close, until there’s room for nothing more but slow gyrating movement. Soon after, Dean throws his head back in a silent scream and, without touching himself, pulses his release on Castiel’s stomach in thick stripes. Castiel feels him clenching around his aching cock, and Dean’s climax sends him over the edge. He arches up and shudders, spilling deep inside Dean with a sob.

They stay there for a long while, Dean slumped on Castiel’s chest and Castiel rubbing circles on Dean’s back. Their breaths even out, the aftershocks pass, but still they stay there, holding onto each other, reluctant to let go. Eventually, Castiel’s softened cock slips out of Dean, which causes them both to groan a little.

Dean lifts his head from Castiel’s neck and brushes a strand of hair away from his sweaty brow. ”Hey,” he says with a small, crooked smile.

”Hey,” Castiel smiles back and pecks a kiss on his nose.

They get slowly up, wince at their mutual mess and dress up while trading kisses and gentle touches. As they start back to the settlement, Dean catches Castiel’s hand in his own and laces their fingers together with a shy smile. Castiel glances at their joined hands and feels warm. They walk slowly, savoring the afterglow and satisfaction, pausing every once in a while to lean on each other. On some level, Castiel realizes they are stalling, trying to hold on to the spell of their own little intimate bubble lest it breaks in the presence of others.

They enter the clearing, still holding hands and sharing private, sweet smiles. It’s noon and, after their activities and missed breakfast, Castiel feels ravenous. They join the community meal, receive a bowl of stew, a loaf of bread, and a chunk of cheese, and wander off to the side of the clearing to eat. He doesn’t know if it’s how hungry he feels, but the food tastes amazing, more revitalizing than usual. He’s giddy, and Castiel feels like a young girl, blushing and giggling, when they feed each other, trading morsels of food with kisses on the lips and fingers.

Absorbed with each other, they don’t pay attention to the fond eye-rolls of the others and smirks their affections raise. They also miss the slightly worried look Sam trades with Ellen.

They are in love, and everything is perfect.

They fall into an easy routine. Dean takes Castiel on long walks around the woods, teaches him about the flora and fauna and lies with him on a soft grass gazing at the sky. They often bring their lunch and eat together, enjoying the comfortable silence between them. Evenings are spent by the bonfire and nights in each other’s arms.

Castiel soon realizes he has an insatiable hunger for Dean’s body. It hits him with a force unlike any he has ever encountered, and, for a moment, he doesn’t know what to do with himself. The urges overwhelm him, the needs of his own body so surprising and visceral that they leave him gasping for breath. He wants to be near Dean, with Dean, in Dean all the time. His favorite moments are when they are alone and he is buried so deep inside Dean that he doesn’t know where he ends and Dean begins.

One day, Dean takes off to deal with some quarrels and, per his request, Castiel stays behind. He wanders around the clearing, offering polite nods and warm smiles to anyone he comes across, because it never hurts to have manners. He still feels like an outsider — and why not, it has only been a couple of days — but he thinks the glances shot at him are less suspicious and more intrigued. Castiel would very much like to talk to these people, but he hesitates. He isn’t sure if it would be welcomed.

He ends up sitting on the ground in front of Dean’s hut, leaning his back on the wall and raising his face to the sun. It’s peaceful and warm, and Castiel feels himself slowly starting to drift off.

”You’ll get a sore neck if you sleep like that,” a female voice says from beside him. Castiel opens his eyes to find an amused Ellen. ”Come with me,” she smiles. ”I could use some help.”

Castiel blinks but obeys. Ellen doesn’t wait for him, but starts to walk briskly towards the stream, slightly confused, Castiel follows, wondering what Ellen would require his help for. When they reach the stream, Ellen points at a bundle of willow reeds resting in the water. She asks Castiel to get it for her and then carry it back to her hut. After seeing Ellen manage much larger loads, Castiel has no doubt she could do it all by herself, but he doesn’t say anything. He lifts the bundle off from the stream, shakes it a little to get rid off the excess water, and carries the still dripping bunch back to her hut. Once there, he waits as Ellen spreads a clean sheet on the ground and then asks him to put the bundle on the sheet.

Following Ellen’s instructions, Castiel sorts the reeds and then sits beside her as Ellen starts to weave the wickers into a basket, using intricate patterns that Castiel has trouble following. Wicker after wicker, round after round, until the basket is ready. Ellen holds it out to Castiel, who takes it, follows the patterns and admires the talent that it takes to produce something so beautiful from something so simple.

Ellen watches him from the corner of her eye. ”I can show you how to make one, if you like,” she offers.

Castiel looks up, amazed by the offer. ”Really?”

Ellen shrugs. ”Sure.” She beckons Castiel to sit beside her, grabs a handful of reeds and starts to explain.

Hours later, Sam finds them like that, hunched over reeds. Castiel’s fingers are sore and he’s sure he has sap everywhere, but he’s also relaxed in a way he doesn’t remember being in a long time. He frowns at a particularly stubborn piece of reed that refuses to obey his manipulations, and, concentrating on that, he misses the look that passes between Sam and Ellen.

”After you’ve pestered that basket into submission, would you come with me, please?”

Sam’s voice is pleasant, but it is clear that the question directed at Castiel isn’t a question at all. Castiel’s glance darts between Sam and Ellen. There’s something there, but he doesn’t understand what. Castiel suddenly feels self-conscious, sitting there beside Ellen like he belongs.

”I think I’m done for now,” he says. ”Thank you for your instruction, Miss Ellen,” he adds. It’s awkward and stilted, but he is rewarded with a warm, amused smile anyway.

”Not ’Miss,’ just Ellen. And you’re welcome. You did good, Castiel.” For some reason, it sounds like a lot more than just a compliment about his weaving.

Castiel drops his half-finished basket at Dean’s hut and then follows Sam out of the settlement. He has no idea what Sam wants him for, but he’s quite sure it’s not another basket-weaving session.

They walk slowly, but with a purpose. Sam has a large bag on his shoulder, and when he moves, Castiel hears soft clinking. Sam notices him looking and says, ”Clay jars. For the honey.”

Castiel nods once. He has tasted honey, of course, but has never been present to see how it’s collected.

The day is warm and Castiel soon grows sweaty and thirsty. As they pause to have a drink from a clear spring, he again notices how very oddly refreshing and invigorating the water tastes, like it alone was enough to nourish him.

When Castiel bends to wash his hands and face with the cool water, he notices Sam watching him carefully. It’s not hard to guess that, whatever Sam has in mind, has to do with Dean. Castiel forces himself to stay calm and wait, although he can’t deny he’s more than a little apprehensive.

”How do you like our home, Castiel?” Sam’s voice was mild as he leads the way deeper into the woods.

”It’s very nice,” Castiel says hesitantly, not sure what Sam is aiming at.

Sam hums a noncommittal sound and walks on. A short moment later, he points at the trees. ”There, see?”

Castiel squints and thinks he can see beehives in the middle of the branches. He has no idea how to collect the honey from wild hives, and he observes keenly how Sam prepares to the task at hand. Sam lowers the bag from his shoulder to the ground, carefully placing the jars on the soft earth, pushing them in a little to make sure they stay still. Then he gathers some spruce branches and rummages for a flint from his belt pouch.

”I’ll light the branches and you will wave them near the hives to stun the bees. I’ll collect the honey,” Sam explains. Castiel blinks nervously and Sam smiles a small one. ”No need to worry. The smoke will render the bees slow and stupid; they will not sting you.”

Slightly relieved, Castiel nods and gathers the spruce branches in a bundle. Sam lights the bundle and helps Castiel to direct the smoke properly, then bends to gather the jars. They work efficiently, draining only a reasonable amount of honey from the hives, to make sure the bees still have enough for themselves, Sam explains. Castiel nods again, his eyes stinging from the smoke.

In the end, they have a dozen jars of honey, red, runny eyes, and trembling hands. They are sooty, sweaty, thirsty, and grinning, and, as they make their way back, Castiel finds he likes Sam’s company a great deal. Sam is silent and composed, but he has a quirky sense of humor and a vast knowledge of the flora and fauna around them.

”I have to confess something to you,” Sam says a little sheepishly, when they draw near the settlement.

Castiel raises his brows inquiringly. ”Oh?”

”When I first met you, I didn’t really like you.”

Castiel’s lips twitch. ”I had a feeling, yes.”

Sam grins, and they share a moment of silence. Then Sam says, quietly, ”It’s been long while since I’ve seen Dean smile so much.”

Castiel draws a breath. ”So… this doesn’t bother you?”

Sam cocks his head and frowns.

”This…” Castiel waves his hand vaguely. ”That I’m a man?” He finally asks, cringing a little.

Sam stops and turns to face him. ”No. Should it?

Castiel shifts his weight from one foot to another, feeling awkward. ”Well, amongst my people, it’s a sin,” he winces and turns his head aside a little.

”Ah,” Sam breathes. ”We don’t believe in sin, Castiel. Why would something like love be a sin? What a waste.”

Castiel blinks several times. Sam’s words make sense, but they are also terrifying and go against everything Castiel has always been taught. Despite that he has already acted contrary to the teachings (and sinned!), the message is like a punch to his stomach. But still it rings true.

If this is what love feels like, how can it be wrong?

When they reach the settlement, Sam offers a jar of honey to Castiel and then makes his way to share the jars with others. Castiel walks slowly towards the hut he shares with Dean and thinks. Sam’s words stay in Castiel’s mind, making his thoughts churn. Among these people, Castiel’s love for Dean isn’t a sin, but a beautiful thing, as love is meant to be. Castiel knows that, should he go back to his family, he would have to leave Dean behind. The mere thought of being without Dean makes a sharp pain twist deep inside his chest, and Castiel almost doubles over. He stops to lean on a gnarled oak and forces himself to take even, slow breaths.

Sighing, Castiel slides to sit down. He leans back against the oak and raises his head to look at the sky, to note the passage of time and the set of the sun. With a start, he realizes that the next day is supposed to be the day he takes Adina as his wife.

The bliss of Dean has completely wiped out the thoughts of his family, let alone his fiancée! For a fleeting moment, Castiel entertains the idea of letting it all go and staying with Dean, but then he feels shame flaming his cheeks.

What kind of a man is he, hiding away in the woods like this? He might not be a gentleman to betray his betrothed so willingly, but he can be a gentleman and sort everything out properly. He needs to get back, find a way to nullify the marriage agreement, and apologize to his family and friends.

Not even for a moment does Castiel seriously consider leaving Dean for good. He belongs with Dean and Dean belongs with him; they share a bond. But he cannot brush aside his worry or his sense of duty. He has the obligation to go and explain himself in order to move on with his life with Dean.

Satisfied with his decision, Castiel hurries to the stream to take a bath before Dean returns from wherever he has been. Castiel wants to make sure everything is set and ready for the talk he needs to have with his lover.

Dean, as it is, doesn’t understand.

”Wait, what?”

”I have to go home, Dean,” Castiel repeats patiently. ”I need to go and make things right. I was —” He pauses and sighs. ”I was supposed to get married. Tomorrow,” he admits, and hangs his head in embarrassment.

Silence. Castiel glances up and meets Dean’s wide, shocked stare.

”It wasn’t my choice,” Castiel hurriedly adds. ”I only agreed because I thought it was my duty and the right thing to do. I feel nothing for her, I don’t even know her!”

Dean still doesn’t say anything, and Castiel starts to feel the cold grip of panic in his heart.

”I don’t want to marry her!” Castiel’s voice rises with his desperation. ”I don’t want to go back, but I have to. I have unfinished business I need to take care of, and then I can be with you.”

He reaches out for Dean and is pitifully relieved, when Dean doesn’t flinch from him. ”I don’t want her. I’ve never wanted her. I want you, Dean. I’m doing this for you — because of you. I want to come back to you as a free man and spend my life with you.”

Dean cocks his head and glances briefly at his side before looking straight at Castiel. ”What is it that you’re trying to accomplish there? What are you going to tell your family — that you’re choosing to be with a man instead of marrying your fiancée?”

Castiel blinks. ”No… I suppose not. It would have me arrested. But I need a closure.”

Dean sighs, and there’s something achingly sad in his eyes. ”Okay.”

”Okay?”

”That’s what I said.” For a moment, Dean stands still and looks at him. Then he closes his eyes, bows his head, turns, and walks out.

Castiel stays standing in the middle of the hut, staring after Dean. He feels he has lost something precious, but he doesn’t understand what.

It’s awkward, after the conversation. Castiel isn’t sure if he is welcomed by the bonfire that night and stays inside the hut instead. He walks in circles around the small space and fiddles with things he finds: small pebbles, Dean’s beautiful wooden sword, his own ratted pants. Something is wrong, broken, a hollow ache inside him, and he wants it gone.

Fleetingly, he wonders if he should just forego the journey altogether and stay with Dean and his people. He ponders Dean’s question about what he’s going to say to his family, and knows the answer right away, and there’s no way he can confess to his mother the love he feels towards Dean and come back. Castiel knows his mother loves him, but Mrs. Collins is a lady of high morals and deep convictions, and the knowledge of his remaining son being an invert would shatter her.

But Castiel cannot deny that, no matter what he decides to tell his mother, she will shatter anyway. She had put all her faith in Castiel, and Castiel is about to let her down. But he can’t lie to himself and abandon the only person he has ever loved with such bright passion.

Castiel has decided to be selfish. He has earned it.

He only hopes that later, when this is all over, he can mend the sour feelings between himself and Dean.

Dean remains absent and Castiel feels too drained to go an look for him, even though he longs for Dean’s presence and his touch. Emotionally exhausted, Castiel finally flops on the bed and drifts off. He dreams, restlessly and strangely, of bright eyes, fluttering shapes, and strange slips of conversations that float through his mind like a leaf on the stream.

”Sam, you know I have to do this.”

”No you don’t!”

”I don’t want to, but It’s not about what I want and you know it. He doesn’t belong here. He’s not one of us.”

”He doesn’t belong back there, either. Not anymore, and you know it. What’s the point of sending him back?”

”He wants to go. That should be enough. I’m not allowed to keep him here against his will.”

”But he doesn’t know all the facts, Dean!”

”It’s not my place to tell him and make the decision for him. If he was truly ready to to stay, he would’ve chosen so from the start.”

”But —”

”Sam, enough. I know what you’re trying to do and why. But we cannot change the rules. It would be the end of everything.”

”But you love him, I know you do. You can’t just let him go!”

”Yes, I can. Because I need to.”

Castiel gasps awake and turns swiftly to glance around. The hut is empty, and, when he scrambles up and peeks outside, he can see neither Sam nor Dean. Odd. Castiel could’ve sworn he had heard the brothers talking, but it must’ve been in his dreams. After all, he has had some very peculiar dreams during his stay here. He tries to reach back to grasp the conversation, but the details elude him. All he can remember is the utter sadness in Dean’s voice, and he aches for Dean, to be near him and console him, to tell him that everything will be alright.

Castiel tries to stay awake by the sheer power of his will, but he soon succumbs back to sleep. Blessedly, his dreams are easier this time.

When the pale morning light creeps in, Castiel wakes up with Dean curled against his chest. He lets out a relieved breath and cards his fingers through Dean’s sleep-mussed hair. Last night, when Castiel had fallen asleep alone, he had been afraid he wouldn’t see Dean before he headed home.

Now, with Dean once again in his arms, Castiel realizes just how much this means to him, to have Dean’s skin against his own, to smell and feel him when he wakes up.

Dean shifts and sighs, waking up slowly. He raises his head and gives Castiel a long, lingering look. ”Make love to me,” he whispers, and Castiel nods mutely. He reaches for the bottle of oil, slicks his fingers and turns towards Dean, who shakes his head.

”No,” Dean says. ”Not this time. I want to feel you after you’re gone.”

Castiel blinks. He wants to remind Dean that he won’t be gone long, but Dean stops him with a kiss before he turns on his back and tugs Castiel on top of him. Dean’s cock is already hard, and, without saying a word, Dean opens his legs wide to let Castiel in where he belongs.

Castiel still uses the oil to slick himself and, after a couple of strokes to get himself to full hardness, he guides his cock to Dean’s entrance. He hesitates, bites his lips and doesn’t want to push in and hurt Dean. Letting out a soft hiss, Dean cants his hips, wraps his thighs around Castiel’s hips and pulls him in.

Castiel gasps at the impossible tightness and stares at Dean, who doesn’t hide his grimace of pain at the stretch. Castiel tries to stop, but Dean is an unstoppable force, and Castiel has no choice but to comply — to be sucked in and to be turned inside out. He opens his mouth to apologize, but Dean presses his fingertips against Castiel’s lips, gives him a furious stare, and dares him to take responsibility for Dean’s choice.

They don’t avert their eye, but keep drowning in each other’s gazes when Castiel is fully inside Dean, when he starts to move ever so carefully, when Dean meets him thrust by thrust, when he spills on his stomach with a desperate cry, and when Castiel climaxes inside him.

It’s only when they kiss when the eye-contact is broken.

When Dean cradles him, while the tremors are still running through them both, he voices a muffled ”I love you” against Castiel’s skin. Castiel smiles gently, caresses the sweaty strands of hair at the side of Dean’s neck and whispers the words back on his skin.

The sun is already up when Dean walks Castiel to the path leading away from the settlement. Dean is tense, his eyes downcast, and there’s a sense of sadness around him. Castiel’s heart aches for him and he ducks his head, trying to catch Dean’s eyes.

”I’m coming back, remember?” He reminds gently and squeezes Dean’s hand. ”I’m coming back to you, but I need to make things right first.”

Dean doesn’t say anything, but walks on in silence. When they reach the path, he stops, squares his shoulders and points. ”Walk straight ahead until the two roads diverge in the wood. Turn left, and you’ll eventually get to your destination.”

Castiel nods and turns around to face Dean. He lets his gaze linger on Dean’s face, memorizing the line of his jaw, the crow’s feet around his eyes, and the soft curve of his lips. Silly, really, because they are going to meet in a couple of days anyway, but even this short separation feels painful. Finally, Castiel meets Dean’s eyes and stifles a gasp at the profound sadness he sees. He gives an encouraging smile to try and fend it off, but Dean interrupts him by surging forward to kiss him messily, desperately, and all thoughts flee from Castiel’s mind. He gets drawn into Dean’s arms, into the kiss that seems to last forever.

Then Dean backs away and presses his forehead against Castiel’s. ”I love you,” Dean whispers, repeating himself from the morning. Castiel pauses, but before he has the chance to answer, Dean gives him a soft kiss, like a flutter against his lips, and says, ”Goodbye.”

Then he turns and walks away.

Castiel is left standing at the beginning of the path, dumbfounded and blinking in confusion. He doesn’t get to say anything back, because swiftly, silently, Dean is already gone. Castiel doesn’t understand why. It’s like — like Dean was saying goodbye for good, as if they weren’t going to meet again.

But Castiel is coming back! He just needs to make things right, to take care of his family, and then he can return to Dean.

Troubled and confused, Castiel picks up the soft bag Ellen had shoved at him and starts off. He doesn’t know how long he has to walk, but Dean’s instructions were clear enough: straight ahead and then to the left.

The air is clear and pleasant, but Castiel feels a vague sense of an impending doom. He shakes his head at his own foolishness — most likely it’s his own guilty conscience, making him feel unworthy and gloomy.

But there’s nothing Castiel can do about it now, is there? All he can do is to make things right.

It’s long past noon when he finally reaches the split in the road. The road is bigger and well used, and Castiel takes a look to the left. The road stretches on until it curves slightly to the right. There’s no-one in sight, but it’s not like Castiel expects there to be. With harvest coming along there is hardly time to wander around the woods.

There’s a fallen log on the side of the road, and Castiel sits on it to have the quick, cold lunch Ellen had packed him. The food tastes odd, as if it has already grown stale and ashen. Frowning, Castiel pushes it out of his mind. Most likely it’s just his nerves, getting to his stomach. No wonder. He’s about to return home on the eve of his own wedding, only to inform his family and his fiancée that he’s calling the event off because he cannot marry Adina when his heart belongs to another.

He’s still not sure if he’ll be brave enough to admit that said other is a man.

After he has eaten, Castiel packs the remaining food back to his bag and stands up. He glances back in the direction he came from and is startled when he realizes he can’t see the path.

Alarmed, Castiel takes a couple of hurried steps towards the woods, and sighs in relief when he sees the narrow trail. He blinks several times, because it’s almost like the trail shifts, like he can’t narrow his gaze properly on it. Castiel cocks his head, looks at the woods around him, and presses his lips together in a thin line. He rips off the hem of his tunic and wraps it around a tree to mark the the trail, to be able to find it when he returns. Satisfied, he nods and sets off.

Continuing to the left, like Dean had said.

It takes the best part of the day until Castiel sees a change in the woods around him. It become sparser, more controlled, like it has been tamed. Castiel frowns and wonders when this happened. As far as he is aware, there has been no talk of cutting into these woods. He takes a better look and shakes his head at the sight. Something has happened here. The forest looks very different than a couple of months ago. Castiel makes a mental note to look into it as soon as he has taken care of his more urgent business.

The sun is already hanging low when Castiel comes to a big intersection. The road is much wider than what he’s used seeing, and, for a moment, he wonders where he is. There are no familiar landmarks and no signs whatsoever to help him pinpoint his location.

For a moment, Castiel wonders if Dean sent him into the right direction after all; if he was supposed to turn right instead of left? He looks around, contemplating his options, when he sees a borderstone half buried in the ditch. Intrigued, Castiel walks to it to take a closer look, and smiles when he sees the familiar markings on it. Confident that he is finding his way home, Castiel sets to the left again.

When Castiel finally hears a carriage behind him, it’s almost night. He turns around and frowns. It’s a strange carriage, nothing like he has ever seen before — there are no horses in sight and it growls like an angry dog. Castiel gapes at the strange vehicle, but hails it anyway, hoping the driver would be willing to give him a ride.

”Hello, good sir! Would you mind giving me a ride in your carriage? I’m afraid I have no money with me, but my family will pay for your efforts.”

The driver narrows his eyes suspiciously. ”’Good sir?’ Where are you from? And what’s with the strange outfit?”

Castiel blinks and glances at his attire. The tunic and loose pants are slightly weird, sure, but his jacket shouldn’t be that strange, even as outdated as it is. He shrugs, not sure what answer to offer to the driver. The man rolls his eyes and beckons Castiel in. The carriage starts moving by some mark the driver gives it and Castiel grips the edges of his seat.

”So, where’re you heading?” The driver asks after a moment of uncomfortable silence.

”Ah, to Carisbrooke.”

The driver snorts a laugh. ”Really? Why would you want to go there? There’s nothing but some ramshackle cottages left.”

Castiel blinks and frowns. He’s about to contradict the man about the state of his family home, but something stalls him.

The drives shoots him a sideway glance and asks, ”When was the last time you were there, anyway?”

”August 5th,” Castiel answers, wondering what’s all this about.

”What year?” The driver asks pointedly, eyeing Castiel’s clothing.

Castiel opens his mouth to snap at the stupid question, then stops. For the first time since he climbed into the strange carriage, he pauses to think. He has never seen a carriage like this, but he has heard of them. Horseless carriages were supposed to be mere tales of science fiction, but it seems they are real. The driver mocked Castiel’s outfit and manner of speaking, and then says his home is no more. It’s all very confusing, except…

A horrible thought dawns in Castiel’s mind. ”What year is it?”

”The date is August 12th 1914,” the driver answers.

But that’s impossible! Castiel thinks. It had been August 5th 1844 when he had left for his ride with Bannock. He had been away for seven days, not… seventy years!

Dumbfounded, he stares at his hands, grips them together and tries to wrap his head around the driver’s words.

”I figured it’s been awhile since you were here,” the driver says, not unkindly. He obviously sees Castiel’s shock, and fills the too-quiet carriage with chatter.

”Carisbrooke used to be a nice place, a long time ago. I don’t really know the story, not being from around here myself, but the story goes that the Master of the estate was murdered by his second-born son, and the first-born killed his brother in revenge and took his own life afterwards. The place was supposed to go the the third-born son, who either run away a week before his wedding or was kidnapped by fairies, I don’t know. The estate was confiscated due to debts and the Lady of the Estate, who was then taken to Debtors’ prison where she died of grief soon after. The three remaining children, all girls, were sent off to be maids or governesses or something. It’s a sad story, really.”

Castiel notices his hands are shaking, but he can’t seem to make them to stop. He leans back into the carriage seat and tries to remember how to breathe. Somehow, he has lost seventy years during the seven days he had spent with Dean. There’s nothing left in Carisbrooke for him anymore: his family, his home, the life as he knew it — all of it gone. There’s nothing to set right, no-one to apologize to: his mother, dead; his sisters, sent away; the family home in ruins.

Suddenly, he remembers Dean’s whispered goodbye and his breath catches.

”Stop,” he whispers. The driver doesn’t hear him, and Castiel starts to shout.

”Stop! Let me out! Stop the carriage! STOP!”

Castiel doesn’t hear the muttered complaints from the driver as he scrambles out of the carriage and starts to run back to the direction they came from.

Dean’s immensely sad eyes and his whispered goodbyes make Castiel quite certain that Dean had at least guessed what was to happen. But if that was the case, why hadn’t he told Castiel? Why hadn’t Dean stopped him? Castiel shakes his head to get rid of the question. He can ask Dean later, but for now he needs to concentrate on finding the intersection. He needs to find the path back to Dean.

He travels back the road, desperately seeking the tree he marked with the ripped hem of his tunic. When Castiel finally finds it, he sags down, almost weeping with relief, and heaves in big gulps of air. Then he wipes his face and looks towards the woods and sees — nothing.

There’s no trail, no path, nothing.

Alarmed, he turns around and takes a look at the other side of the road, just to make sure, even though he well remembers where he marked the tree.

There’s still no path, no visible way back.

Castiel feels his breathing and pulse accelerate.

This can’t be happening! Where’s the path? He was so careful to leave the mark right beside the path, to make sure he would find it when he came back. And now, he is here, he came back! He needs to find his way to Dean.

Frantic, he paces back and forth, searching for an opening in the woods, looking for some familiarity, some landmark he saw when he walked away from Dean. But there’s nothing.

In desperation, Castiel starts into the woods regardless of the undergrowth and the tangled bushes. The branches slap him in the face and he stumbles on the roots and the uneven ground, but he doesn’t care. He continues onwards, his mind set on one clear goal: to get back to Dean.

He calls out for Dean, cries out his regret and his love, but the only answer he gets is the silence of the trees.

At some point, he stumbles and falls, and finds himself too tired to get up. Exhausted, hungry, and afraid, Castiel succumbs to utter despair. He realizes now that he should’ve never left, that Dean had tried to warn him. But, too caught up in his own moral high ground, Castiel had still wanted to go, and it had cost him his happiness. His stubborn need to act in a gentlemanly way when he had already betrayed his family and fiancée had made him walk away from the man he loved.

With the bitter acknowledgement of his own stupidity, Castiel finally breaks down and starts to cry.

In the dark of the night, a lone Monarch butterfly approaches the sleeping man. It flutters gently around him, brushing his cheeks and lips, momentarily pausing to rest over his heart. Its wings sway slowly, the green spots like eyes on its wings. To a stranger’s eyes, the butterfly would appear to be caressing the sleeping man, like it is reluctant to let go.

After a moment, the butterfly takes flight and heads towards a group of fireflies. They gather around the butterfly, surrounding it from all sides, and together, they dance away into the woods.