Castiel didn’t know how it happened.
He was flying at a leisurely pace, drifting through clouds, enjoying the mellow weather, and the way air slid through his feathers. It was a perfect day for flying: slightly overcast with enough currents to either practice his strength or just glide with a smile.
He was doing the latter when an agonizing pain tore through his left wing and he was hurled from the sky with a sharp cry, falling like a stone. Frantically, he tried to straighten himself, but with only one properly functioning wing, he only managed to whirl himself around in a wild spin that made his head swim and stomach heave.
He tried to call for help, but he was rushing downwards too fast, and the wind swallowed the sound as he cried out. He had been flying solo, enjoying the rare moment of peace, and there was no-one around, no-one to hear his cry for help or to see him plummeting from the sky.
In a detached way, he wondered why he had even been flying so low. His kind tended to stay higher where the air was cleaner and safer. Or at least that was what he had been taught. What little he had glimpsed earlier about the Ground below him had looked clean and safe enough: a thick forest of different shades of green, a bit of red and brown here and there, and a glimmer of something shiny.
His home, the Clouds, was nothing like the solid earth of the Ground. Sure, they had movable, semi-permanent structures and even plants in their hanging gardens, but nothing like the compact mass of The Ground. Castiel found The Ground fascinating and he burned with the wish to explore, but Mother had always told him to keep away. She had warned him about the Humans: volatile, willful, and quick-tempered in their short lives. However, her warnings hadn’t been enough to quell Castiel’s thirst for knowledge.
Although he had always wanted to see the Ground, this wasn’t the way he had planned on doing it. The earth was rushing up to meet him at an alarming speed. Castiel had no idea if he would survive his fall, or, if he did, how he would find his way back home.
Before he had time to contemplate further, he hit something with a mighty splash and a painful impact that knocked air from his lungs. He gasped and spluttered in confusion, twisting in consternation. It took him a moment to realize he was in water, and then panic gripped him.
As swimming was hardly a useful skill for an airborne creature, Castiel had never learned it. There were fountains and baths in The Clouds, but nothing like the deep pond he had fallen into.
The water around him was blue, clear, and cool. And wet. In no time, his wings were soaked through and unimaginably heavy, and his clothes dragged him down as he tried in vain to reach the surface. The broken wing resisted his movements and pulsed with a pain that was starting to make him nauseous.
He blinked furiously, trying to clear his eyes. Small bubbles rose from his mouth, dancing upwards in an elegant swirl as he fought to follow them. In his panic, he opened his mouth to breathe, but instead of air, got only a mouthful of cool water. Thunder beat in his ears and his vision started to gray at the edges. He was ready to offer his last prayers to the Above, when something — someone — gripped him tight and raised him from the darkness.
When he burst through the surface, the air was shockingly cold on his wet wings and clothes. He shivered as he was gently lowered to the ground and held slightly on his side, as his chest heaved and he coughed up water. A strong arm circled his middle, supporting him, helping him to lean forward and clear his lungs. A warm hand rubbed the nape of his neck, easing the cramping muscles and giving him a point of focus.
As his retching slowly dissipated, he became aware of a low murmur of a male voice.
”Just like that, good… Just breathe, nice and easy… I know it feels awful, but it’ll be better soon. Everything is okay… You’re safe, it’s okay…”
The cadence of the voice was off, the tone very different from the Angel intonation. It was a rough rumble, as soothing as it was alien, but Castiel had no difficulties understanding the words. Sluggishly, he tried to think what clan his savior might belong to, until the realization hit.
He had fallen into the hands of a Human.
He tensed up, his heart leaping into a frightened gallop. Forgetting all about his injury, he tried to stretch his wings to flee, only to gasp in pain. Through the haze of agony, he cried out in the old chirping bird-like language of his kind, and barely heard the surprised yelp of the person holding him, before the darkness took hold of him once more.
When he came to, he was lying on something soft. His broken wing was covered with some smelly, sticky ointment and bandaged in a rough, but efficient way, deftly strapped into the correct recovery position. Castiel blinked at the mess on his wing, but since it didn’t ache the way it had right after the fall, he curbed his panic and forced himself to calm down.
He took a deep breath and glanced around, curious.
He was in a small but cozy cabin. The bed he was resting on seemed to be made of hay and moss, and he was propped up with several pillows and blankets. On one side of the room was a well-used stove with something delicious simmering in a pot, and on the other side he saw a small shelf overflowing with books and scrolls. A couple of battered, comfortable-looking chairs sat in front of the bookshelf. There was a dining set of a table with mismatched chairs, a cupboard, and even a couple of paintings on the wall. The cabin was dimly lit with lanterns and candles, and a pleasant, woodsy smell permeated the room.
All in all, it was very different from the houses of the Clouds. Castiel found he liked it.
He was alone, although the stew simmering on the stove indicated that he hadn’t been for long. Even though he didn’t feel threatened as such, he couldn’t fully suppress the low undercurrent of apprehension. He was in a completely strange environment, on Human territory, with no way to contact his family. No matter how nice the cabin was, this wasn’t the time to let go of his guard.
When he heard a noise from behind the door, he instinctively scooted back on the bed, gritting his teeth at the flare of pain on his wing, hugged his knees, and wrapped his healthy wing around himself. It wouldn’t do much to shield him, of course, but the gesture made him feel less vulnerable.
The door opened to admit a well-built man with rosy cheeks and an honest face. Castiel had had no previous encounters with Humans, so he couldn’t decipher the man’s age properly, other than he was clearly an adult. The life span of a Human was drastically shorter than that of an Angel, and at the age of 247 years, Castiel himself was still quite young.
He must have let out a sound, because the man glanced up. His eyes were deep green and they looked at him from head to toe, taking in his condition.
”Good. You’re awake,” the man said with a soft smile.
Castiel cocked his head and blinked.
The man frowned. ”I… do you understand me? I’m sorry that I don’t understand your language.”
Still on his guard, Castiel didn’t say anything. He didn’t know the man’s intentions yet, so he didn’t want to let on that they spoke the same language. He could stay silent and observe, and leave the Human thinking Angels communicated by bird-chirps only.
The man dropped his eyes and something in him seemed to deflate. It made Castiel feel vaguely uneasy, like he had somehow disappointed the man.
”Well, I’ll keep on talking anyway,” the man said. ”Would be weird if I didn’t say anything to you, right?”
He walked to the stove and stirred the stew a couple of times, then he bent to take something from the oven, wrapping it into a cloth.
Castiel watched, rapt by his easy and unhurried movements. There was something calming about the man, and the fact that he turned his back to Castiel eased the anxious knot in his gut a bit.
”I’m Dean, by the way,” the man said. ”Dean,” he repeated and tapped at his chest as he turned to face Castiel.
Castiel nodded. He might at least let Dean know he understood his name.
”Great!” A bright smile lit Dean’s whole face up and his eyes sparkled. Castiel thought it was fascinating.
”I made food,” Dean said, lifting the pot from the stove into the center of the small table. ”I don’t know much about your kind, but I know you’re vegetarians, so…” He pointed at the pot. ”Vegetarian stew and bread.”
Castiel wondered how Dean knew how to bake and cook. He had no knowledge of either.
With unhurried moves, Dean scooped a healthy portion of the stew into a bowl and set it on the table. Then he cut a chunk of the bread and put it beside the bowl before he raised his head to look at Castiel.
”Come here,” he beckoned. ”Eat.”
Carefully, minding his broken wing, Castiel scooted across the bed to the edge. Moving sent spikes of pain through the wing, leaving it throbbing dully. He chirped a muffled curse, took a couple of steadying breaths, and gritted his teeth before he stood up.
Slowly, he stretched his good wing as much as he could in the closed space, gave it a small shake, and folded it neatly. When he turned towards the table, Dean was staring at him, slack-jawed, eyes wide with awe. There was a moment of awkwardness, then Dean cleared his throat and pointed at the chair. Castiel noticed it was a backless one to accommodate his wings.
”Okay, so. This is vegetarian food, but it might be best to show you anyway.”
To Castiel’s surprise, Dean went to rummage for raw vegetables and explained the stew to Castiel by scooping up at a certain vegetable on a spoon, saying its name, and showing him the vegetable in question. They went over carrots, turnips, mushrooms, potatoes, onions, and a couple of other vegetables that were unfamiliar to Castiel. Dean obviously wanted to make sure Castiel knew the food was safe for him to eat, and Castiel felt oddly touched.
Grateful, he gave Dean a small smile and started to eat.
The stew was earthy and rich, the bread was chewy and nutty, and the melting butter gave it a delicious flavor. Castiel was ravenous and ate the whole bowl, wiping the remaining gravy with his bread as he was used doing at home. It didn’t occur to him until afterwards that amongst Humans, it might have been considered as bad manners.
However, Dean didn’t seem offended. He looked genuinely pleased and offered another piece of bread to Castiel. He declined politely, unwilling to stuff himself too full after his near-death experience. Dean nodded, finished his own food and then cleaned the table.
When Castiel glanced out of the window, he saw it was already growing dark.
Dean followed the line of his sight and sighed. ”I’m sorry I can’t take you back to your people, Angel,” he said softly. ”But I can fix your wing, and after it’s healed, you can fly home.”
Castiel turned a bit to look at him from the corner of his eye. Dean was standing by the door, his pose open and honest. His eyes shone with hope, and Castiel couldn’t detect anything but serious sincerity. He knew he had no reason to, but Castiel felt like he could trust him.
He offered Dean a small smile, then turned towards the bed. Only then did he realize the cabin had only one bed. He frowned and turned around to see Dean move the chairs to roll a thinner mattress on the floor.
”You take the bed, I’ll sleep over here,” Dean said with an easy smile and motioned at Castiel to climb onto the bed.
Castiel did. He watched Dean put out the candles, leaving only one lantern on the table.
Right before he fell asleep, he heard Dean say softly, ”Goodnight, Angel.”
The next morning, Castiel opened his eyes in a silent cabin. Warily, he glanced around, but found himself alone. Seeing the thin mattress neatly rolled by the wall, Castiel understood that Dean was out, and he chastised himself for not waking up with him.
Slowly, he pushed himself to sit up. His injured wing throbbed with dull pain, but it didn’t hinder his movements as much as he had feared it would. Dean had left him a basin with water and wash cloths by the bed and there was a set of clean clothes on foot of the bed. Picking up the clothes, Castiel’s eyes widened when he saw the way the shirt had been cut to accommodate his wings. The shirt smelled like Dean, which meant Dean had modified his own shirt for Castiel.
He wasn’t sure what to think about that.
Trying to distract himself from Dean, he started washing up. The water was still hot and felt wonderful on his clammy skin. He couldn’t reach his back properly and grooming his wings was a futile wish, but he managed as well as he could alone in the confined space.
As he struggled to get the shirt on, he breathed deeply in the mouth-watering scent wafting from a pot on the stove. Apparently, Dean had started preparing breakfast before he had gone outside. Remembering the stew from the night before, Castiel couldn’t wait to see what it was this time.
By the time Dean came back carrying firewood, Castiel was ready and sitting on the edge of the mattress, waiting. He watched with interest as Dean puttered around the cabin, making small adjustments, piling firewood by the stove, stirring whatever he was making on the stove, and finishing preparations for breakfast.
The contents of the pot turned out to be thick, creamy porridge that Dean served with dried fruit, honey, and cream. The consistency was light, at odds with the rich taste, and Castiel bit back a moan. If Dean’s amused smile was something to go by, he didn’t manage very well.
Then Dean offered him a cup of brown, hot liquid.
”Chaga mushroom brew,” he said and showed Castiel a dried fungus. It looked suspicious.
A bit hesitantly, Castiel sniffed at the brew. He didn’t know what he had expected, but surprised at the pleasant scent, he took a cautious sip. It tasted smoky and invigorating, not that bad really. However, he couldn’t help making a face at the strong flavor.
Dean grinned. ”It might taste a bit odd, sorry. I like it plain, but you can try adding some honey and milk into yours,” he said, pushing the honey and milk jars a bit towards Castiel.
Castiel narrowed his eyes, but added a hearty spoonful of honey and a good splash of milk into his brew. After meticulous stirring, he gave it another try. This time, it was a lot better, and he nodded at Dean with a smile.
After they were done, and Dean had cleared up the table, he went to pick up a basket from beside the bookshelf.
”I need to check your wing, okay?” He said softly.
He laid the bandages on the table in clear sight and mimed how he was going to clean up and redress the wing. He looked a bit apologetic, but also determined.
Castiel wasn’t overly fond of what was to follow. He had hurt his wing once years ago, but he still remembered how slowly and painstakingly it had healed up. It had taken many moons to regain his strength, and rebuilding his stamina had been borderline agonizing at times. However, he also knew that checking the wound was imperative, so he sighed and nodded.
Dean started with turning Castiel’s chair a bit so that he had proper working space. He then removed the bandages with utmost care, hands gentle and steady and his voice soothing despite Castiel’s instinctual twitching.
Castiel gritted his teeth and endured. Angel wings were personal and not to be touched except by a lover, a parent, or a healer. Apparently, his subconscious had categorized Dean as a healer, because letting Dean comb through the feathers didn’t feel like a violation, although it wasn’t exactly comfortable either.
As he slowly revealed the injured wing, Dean dropped the used bandages in a heap on the floor. The wing was stiff and sore, but didn’t hurt nearly as much as he remembered. Even the sharp jabs of pain caused by Dean slowly moving it, weren’t as bad as the searing agony from the last time his wing had broken.
Lost in his wondering, he nearly missed Dean muttering under his breath.
”Well, it looks good. I’d like to know what caused it, though. Seems like something went straight through it and splintered the bone and tore up the muscle as it went. Almost like you were shot.”
Dean’s brow scrunched and his lips pressed together in an unhappy, tight line.
”But it’s too clean a wound to be from an arrow. I’ve never seen anything like this before.”
Castiel cocked his head and frowned as Dean’s jaw clenched and a shadow passed over his face, and, for a moment, he seemed to be lost in dark memories.
Then he shook his head and sighed, turning his attention to his supplies on the table. His hands stayed careful and gentle as he applied a dark, pasta-like ointment to the wound and redressed it with clean bandages.
”It’s a plant-based paste,” he explained as Castiel blinked several times at the zesty smell. ”It will numb the pain and prevent the wound from infecting. Sammy — that’s my brother — taught me that potion a couple of years ago. He’s in the capitol now, studying to be a proper healer. I’m just…” Dean shrugged. ”I’m just making it up as I go.”
He fastened the bandage in place and brushed the wing gently, setting an errant feather right before realizing what he had done. He blinked and cleared his throat.
”There,” he said brusquely and shot Castiel a sheepish smile, stood up, and cleaned up his mess. There was something restless about his moves, and Castiel couldn’t put his finger on it.
”Would you like to go for a short walk?” Dean asked after a moment, walking to the door and opening it, squinting at the bright sunlight shining through. ”It’s pretty nice outside.” He motioned with his hand and raised an eyebrow at Castiel.
Castiel pursed his lips and thought hard.
Angels weren’t at war with Humans, but the two races had never been on friendly terms either. So far, Dean had shown nothing but respect in both speech and deed, and Castiel was quite sure he could trust him. However, he didn’t know where they were or how close to other people who might not be as kind, and he couldn’t help but worry.
Dean’s smile turned a bit sad.
”I wish I could make you understand,” he sighed. ”We’re in the middle of the woods and completely alone. The only people who ever bother me are either Sam, Charlie, or Benny, and none of them are here now. There’s no danger of running into narrow-minded morons here.”
He fell silent, a frown creasing his forehead as he worried his lip with his teeth. Then he huffed a breath and shook his head, as if making up his mind about something. Then, to Castiel’s confusion, Dean stepped outside, leaving him alone.
When he returned, only moments later, Castiel’s breath hitched. His heart was hammering in his chest, but this time, it had nothing to do with anxiety.
Dean had donned a short sword on his side and he had a sturdy staff in his right hand. It looked deceptively like a walking staff, but Castiel recognized it for what it was: a warrior’s staff. He handled his weapons with an ease that spoke of experiment and even his stance was different: proud and unyielding.
Dean looked magnificent. Castiel had seen plenty of warriors in his mother’s court and pictures in books about the Great Battle against the Demon Lord of the Below, but none of them looked like that.
Castiel blinked and swallowed. Then, making up his mind, he stood gracefully up, nodded at Dean, and walked out of the door.
He was momentarily blinded by the bright sunlight. When his vision cleared, he looked around to see that the cabin was in a small clearing surrounded by dense woods. A narrow path led from the door into the woods, curving slightly to the right. The skies above them were bright blue with a wisp of a cloud, and the sun was already high.
Apparently, Castiel had slept for a good while.
To his side, Dean cleared his throat and Castiel turned to look at him.
”Shall we?” Dean asked, motioning forward.
Castiel smiled and nodded.
All around them, the forest bustled with life. Castiel could feel the force of life pulse through the trees and under his feet. It felt invigorating and heady, something akin to the mead Mother had let him taste once. It was powerful, raw, and unlike anything Castiel had come across in the Clouds.
As they slowly made their way along the path, Dean told Castiel about the forest: about the different types of trees and bushes, about the animals inhabiting the woods, and about insects that were so important despite their small size. His voice threaded into the humming of the forest, and together they created a pleasant thrum that pulsed and danced around them.
Castiel felt at peace, listening to Dean and the trees, and observing the fond and caring way Dean touched a tree here and brushed a bush there. At times, he was sure he saw the tiniest spark of light twinkle at the contact, but it was gone in an instant.
They stopped by a stream to rest. Castiel didn’t hesitate sitting down on a fallen log when Dean pointed it out to him, in no mood to pretend he wasn’t tired. They shared a light snack of dried berries and water from the stream and tilted their faces towards the sun.
Castiel let his mind wander. He didn’t remember when he had last had a moment like this. His days in the Clouds were filled with chores, running errands for his mother and tutoring the fledglings. It was a steady life, but sometimes he felt that his mother’s belief in routines and rules also robbed it from some of the joy.
Some while later, when the berries were gone and they had drank plenty to ease their thirst, Dean stood up and stretched.
”Come on, we should head back,” he said, picking up his staff.
Castiel nodded and stood up, his wing momentarily forgotten. He paid for it with a twinge that made him gasp softly. Apparently, their walk had affected it even though it was secured in place.
In an instant, Dean was beside him, steadying him with a hand on Castiel’s shoulder.
”Are you okay?” He asked, worried. ”Do you need help?”
He made a series of rapid gestures that Castiel interpreted as an offer to support him, and he put a placating hand in front of him and shook his head.
”Okay. Good,” Dean said with a nod and ducked his head.
Castiel frowned. It was almost like Dean had looked disappointed. Scolding himself for such thoughts, he glanced around to estimate the space he had. Deciding it would suffice, he slowly stretched his healthy wing to its full span, something Dean’s cabin hadn’t had enough space for.
The feathers started as brilliant blue from the roots, deepening into midnight blue and inky black towards the tips. His wings were darker than most Angels, although dark colors weren’t that rare. His mother used to say his wings were dark like the night sky because his mind was more attuned to deeper thoughts. Castiel didn’t know if it was true, but he didn’t question his mother, even though she was usually amused by the ways of his mind.
Sighing with relief, he stretched his wing more to ease the ache in the joints and to air the feathers properly. He raised it high, rotated it to test the mobility, and even flapped it a couple of times just for the sake of it. The resulting air stream billowed the leaves from the ground, sending them dancing around him.
A soft gasp to his side made him turn around, and he nearly bumped into Dean with his wing. Embarrassed, Castiel hurried to tug his wing closer. Smacking others with wings was something young Angels did. He should manage his appendages better.
”They’re beautiful,” Dean whispered reverently, unconsciously reaching out with his hand. Then he blushed and snagged his hand back.
”Sorry,” he mumbled, averting his eyes and shifting on his feet. He cleared his throat and beckoned back at the direction from where they had come from.
”We should head back. Yeah,” he said again. Then he turned abruptly, heading towards the path.
Castiel frowned, confused about Dean’s reaction. Complimenting each other’s wings was normal amongst his kind, and he didn’t understand why Dean had seemed like he was doing something he shouldn’t. Of course, actual touching wasn’t considered proper, but expressing admiration was nothing to be ashamed of.
Realizing Dean was almost out of sight, Castiel had no option but to hurry after him, hoping the Human was alright.
The following couple of days were awkward.
To Castiel, it seemed like Dean avoided him on purpose. He was more subdued and didn’t spend as much time with Castiel as before, and the relaxed stream of comments was gone. Instead, Dean treated him with even more respect, almost like he was a thing that could shatter if handled with less care. He telegraphed all his moves, and even though his hands stayed gentle, his handling of Castiel’s injured wing was almost clinical.
They walked in the woods every day, but Dean was distant, almost like an escort or a guardian Castiel might have met in his mother’s court. He didn’t look Castiel in the eye anymore, and Castiel didn’t understand why.
On the third day after the incident by the stream, Castiel woke up alone again. The water Dean had left for his wash-up was already cool which meant Dean had been gone for a while now. Annoyed at both himself and Dean, Castiel decided to take action. He washed and changed, tidied up the cabin, just like the previous mornings, and took his breakfast outside.
Now that he was a bit more at ease with his surroundings, he could see what Dean had done to the place. The cabin was small, but it was sturdy and carefully made, and something about it told Castiel that Dean had built it himself. The area around it was gently cleared, respectful of the woods. It was almost like the cabin had slotted itself naturally into the woods instead of forcing the woods to give way to it.
Curious, Castiel walked around the cabin to see a small vegetable patch and a couple of wild fruit trees. The patch was obviously well-cared for and lovingly tended and the same low undercurrent of power he had felt in the forest was present here too. It fit well to the image he had about Dean.
The skin of his neck prickled and he turned around to see a blackbird perching on the tree behind him.
It cocked its head and gave him an assessing look. Its eyes were pitch-black and radiated intelligence, which was the reason Castiel wasn’t even a least bit surprised when it opened its beak to speak.
”So. You’re him.”
Castiel wasn’t sure how to answer, so he merely nodded.
”He talks about you. A lot,” the blackbird said, and if it was possible, Castiel could’ve sworn it was smirking. ”Why haven’t you talked to him?”
”I don’t know,” Castiel answered. The words came out halting, even though bird-speak wasn’t that different from the Angel chirp.
The blackbird huffed and took flight, landing on Castiel’s right shoulder. ”What happened to your wing?”
”I don’t know. Dean said it looked like I got shot, but he didn’t recognize the weapon used.”
The blackbird clicked its beak a couple of times. ”Well, that’s unfortunate. Fortunately for you, Dean’s a pretty good healer. A lot better than he lets on.”
”I kind of guessed already,” Castiel chirped softly. ”What is he doing here all by himself anyway?”
The blackbird let out a shrill trilling sound that sounded like a cackle. ”Wouldn’t you want to know? You have to ask him.” It tapped Castiel once on his cheek. ”I’m Meg, by the way.”
Castiel paused. ”I didn’t know you had names.”
The bird leaned back and swayed its — her? — head in a way that gave an impression of an eyeroll.
”Of course we don’t. We’re just ’bird,’ bird,’ ’bird,’ and ’bird,’ but it gets a bit confusing after the umpteenth ’bird,’ you know?”
Unsure of what to say, Castiel opted to stay silent.
”Silly Angel,” the blackbird crooned. Then she spread her wings, ruffled her feathers and took flight.
Castiel followed her with his eyes, frowning slightly. When he lowered his gaze from the sky, he saw Dean standing by the cabin, a stupefied look on his face. They stared each other for some time, then something in Dean deflated, and he turned and walked away.
Confused, Castiel stood by the vegetable patch, trying to understand what had happened.
Slowly, they worked back towards the easy camaraderie of the first days. It started off tentatively, with Dean staying in for breakfast and Castiel treading out to watch him putter around the yard afterwards.
Little by little, Dean opened up and started talking again. He told Castiel about his brother Sammy, how proud he was of him and how Dean was sure he was going to be something great. He talked about nature and the woods around them, about the animals and their significance to the balance of life. He explained the way he cultivated the vegetables, where he gathered the berries, nuts, and mushrooms.
While his wing slowly healed, Castiel learned a lot about Dean, but it didn’t take him long to understand he didn’t really know anything.
For example, why was Dean living alone in the woods? Why did he only talk about Sammy (and occasionally about Charlie and Benny), but never about his parents? Where had he learned how to build a house? How had he learned to wield a Warrior staff? Where and how had he acquired the scars Castiel had once seen on his back when his shirt had snagged on a twig?
Castiel desperately wanted to know, but he didn’t know how to ask. After all, he couldn’t just blurt out that he had understood Dean from the start, could he?
To clear his head, Castiel took the habit of going for long walks once a day by himself. As much as he enjoyed Dean’s company, there was something very relaxing in wandering aimlessly along the paths, concentrating on the scents and sounds around him. He usually took a small pouch of nuts or dried fruits with him to snack on at some point. The calm he felt in the woods was something very different from the calm he had felt in the Clouds, but in some ways, it felt better.
At first, Dean had been worried about Castiel’s solo explorations, but he had calmed down after a couple of days, when it had become clear Castiel wouldn’t get lost. He still looked relieved when Castiel came back, giving him a small smile before getting back to his chores.
It was perhaps his third walk in the woods, when the blackbird found him again.
”Care to share?” She asked, tilting her head and nodding pointedly at the crumbled nuts in Castiel’s hand.
Castiel smiled. ”Please, help yourself,” he chirped and moved his hand closer to the bird.
They shared the space in silence, the blackbird concentrating on the nuts and Castiel looking at the clouds drifting overhead.
”He’s going to miss you, you know?”
Castiel turned to frown at her. ”Why do you say that?”
”Your wing is almost healed, isn’t it?”
Castiel blinked and shrugged his left wing a bit, to test the pain. There wasn’t any.
”What are you going to do about it?”
”About what?”
The blackbird let out an annoyed trill. ”Don’t tell me you are actually that slow, Castiel!” She snapped. ”He wants you here and you want to be here. Perhaps it’s time to do something about it?”
With a final click of her beak, she took off.
Castiel sighed. The bird was right. He wasn’t that slow. He had seen the shy looks Dean had given him and the way his eyes followed the curve of Castiel’s healthy wing whenever he stretched it. He had seen how Dean had blushed and stammered the morning he accidentally stepped in while Castiel had been washing up, clad only in loose pants.
What he didn’t understand was why Dean didn’t do anything. He was clearly attracted to Castiel, but he was so shy and awkward that before Castiel had the chance to express that he welcomed the attention, Dean had either shut down or fled. It was annoying.
Amongst Angels, love was allowed regardless of gender. Of course, same-gender pairs didn’t procreate, but with the long life-span it didn’t matter as much as with Humans. Castiel wasn’t that extensively versed with Human lore, but he was aware that even though same-gender pairs were very rare, they weren’t prohibited. Based on that, he didn’t know what to do about Dean’s behavior.
Sighing, he started back towards the cabin.
When he stepped into the clearing, Dean was waiting for him.
”There you are,” he called. ”I was thinking we could take the bandages off.”
He beckoned Castiel to sit by the cabin and started carefully peeling off the bindings. The splint had been off for a while now and the wing had been supported by bandages alone, allowing the mended tissue to grow used to the weight and movement again.
When he had removed all the bandages, Dean stepped back a bit and nodded. ”Looks good. Try it out.”
He flapped his hands like mock-wings to make his point clear, and Castiel grinned at the sight.
”Yeah, no need to laugh. It’s not like I have wings,” Dean grumbled, but he was smiling.
Walking a bit away from the cabin to have more space, Castiel spread his wings. The right wing was loose and felt normal, but the left wing was tense after being bandaged for weeks. It trembled as he stretched and rotated it. The movement didn’t feel painful, but it was uncomfortable enough to make him grunt.
At the sound, Dean darted in front of him and his hand reached out of its own accord to hover near the wing.
”Are you okay? Does it hurt?”
Castiel raised his hand to calm him, gave a wan smile, closed his eyes, and braced himself.
Carefully, minding even the tiniest of feathers, he stretched his wings fully, gritting his teeth against the straining of the cramped muscles. Slowly, he went through the basic wing exercises that were taught to the fledglings when they first learned to fly. He concentrated on his wings, on the smooth glide from one position to the next, satisfied when his left wing functioned properly. It was going to take time and effort to build back the muscle and strength he had lost, but it was doable.
When he was finished, he was breathing hard, and his left wing shook from the exertion. He opened his eyes to see Dean standing right in front of him, looking back at him with something akin to reverence.
Castiel didn’t even think before he acted. He closed the distance between them, raised his hands to frame Dean’s face, and leaned in for a kiss.
As Castiel kissed him, his wings wrapped around them and Dean startled, letting out a muffled sound. Worried, Castiel pulled back to look at him, and saw Dean with a blinding smile on his face.
It didn’t last long, however.
Dean closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against Castiel’s. ”You’re going to leave. Now that you’re healed, there’s no need for you to be here.”
His voice was quiet, subdued, and full of pain. It hurt Castiel’s heart, and he wanted the pain gone.
Shaking his head, Dean turned his head and took a step away.
Echoing his feelings, Castiel’s wings fluttered and reached out after him. He wanted to assure Dean that he wasn’t leaving, but he couldn’t force the words out. They hadn’t come before, and they certainly didn’t come now. With a cold feeling, he watched Dean take another step back.
”Idiot!” The blackbird trilled from the other side of the clearing.
Castiel was about to snap at her to be silent, when the air around him billowed in a mighty gust of wind, and he heard the telltale sound of powerful wings.
”Castiel! Thank The Skies that you are alright!” Michael called as he landed right in front of him, followed by five other Angels that landed to surround him.
”Yes, I’m fine,” Castiel answered automatically — and then he realized what he had done. Terrified, he whirled around to look at Dean who was staring at him, seeming not even to notice the new arrivals.
”You— you understood me the whole time?” Dean asked, pale with eyes full of hurt. ”You understood me, and you never said anything. Why?”
Castiel didn’t know what to say. ”I—”
”Who is this?” Michael demanded. ”Is he holding you against your will?”
”No!” Castiel said hotly. ”He saved my life and healed my wing. I trust him.”
Something in Dean’s face shuttered. ”But you didn’t trust me enough to talk to me?” Without waiting for an answer, he turned away from Castiel, hugging his arms around himself.
”Dean…” Castiel pleaded, reaching out for him with his wings.
”Just go,” Dean whispered.
Blinking away tears, Castiel faltered. He didn’t want to go like this, but Dean was standing unnaturally still, his face as an emotionless mask, and his eyes squeezed shut.
Then Michael gripped Castiel’s shoulder and looked at him with sad eyes.
”I’m sorry,” he said softly. ”It’s time to go home, Castiel.”
Resigned, Castiel closed his eyes and let the other Angels carry him to the Clouds.
He didn’t see the blackbird perching on Dean’s shoulder or the way how Dean’s eyes, filled with tears, flew open to see him go.
The halls of the Clouds no longer felt like home to Castiel. They were too airy, too bright, too light. He craved the thrum of the woods around him, the feeling of earth under his feet, the sounds and smells of the animals. He missed the forest and the cabin.
He missed Dean.
After his return, Mother had fussed around him, relieved to see him alive and well. The healers of her court marveled at he expert way his wing had been treated, even though they pursed their lips at the residue of the paste clinging to his wings. They tried to interview Castiel about Dean’s healing, but he claimed he didn’t know how to answer.
In truth, he didn’t want to talk about Dean. Not to them anyway.
Gabriel seemed unusually subdued by his return, lurking guiltily near Castiel. After confronting his cousin, Castiel found out that Gabriel’s newest invention had been the reason for his injury. Gabriel had used the device to shoot silver marbles through storm clouds to create lightning, and one of the marbles had been misfired, ending up tearing through Castiel’s wing and causing him to fall.
A sentry Angel had seen him plummet from the sky, but she had been too slow to see exactly where he had crashed. By the time she had come to search the lake, Dean had already pulled Castiel out of the water and taken him to his cabin. Gabriel had been horrified, and it took some time to get him stop apologizing for the unfortunate accident.
However, his guilt quickly gave way to curiosity. He wanted to know everything about Dean: what he looked like, what he wore, how he spoke, what he ate. Every question brought up a new memory, reminding Castiel how much he missed Dean. The result was snapped one-word answers that Castiel hoped would drive his cousin away. Of course, it didn’t work right away, but eventually, Gabriel grew tired and left Castiel alone.
Mother didn’t understand. She frowned and asked why Castiel couldn’t just be happy to be home, back where he belonged? Castiel tried to explain her that the Clouds didn’t feel like home anymore, but she merely looked at him and huffed.
”You’re just tired, Castiel,” she said. ”I’m sure you feel more like yourself after you’ve gotten some rest.”
But he didn’t.
He wandered through the corridors and stood on the balcony, staring into the distance with empty eyes. He only smiled when he remembered Dean’s laughter, and fell asleep with the memory of Dean’s lips against his own.
Gabriel watched him and worried.
Time slowly trudged on.
Mother stopped giving him encouraging smiles, going for worried frowns instead. She tried to cheer him up, reminding him about the upcoming Seasonal Tournaments, gently teasing him about the possibility of finding someone to court or be courted by. If her startled gasp was anything to go by, Castiel’s desperate tears were not the reaction she had been hoping for.
As the whole court bustled with excitement and laughter, eagerly waiting for the highlight of the year, Castiel retreated into solitude. He had never really understood the need to preen or search for someone to impress. After meeting Dean, he understood the need, but was even less willing to attend.
The day of the Tournament dawned bright, but it did nothing to lighten Castiel’s heavy heart. He really didn’t want to go, but his position in the court demanded it. Silently, he let Mother’s maids help him into his ceremonial garbs and lead him to the Tournament field. Without looking around, he shuffled to his appointed seat and sat down, trying to shut out the noise surrounding him. There was singing, catcalling, and furious whispering, the normal sounds of Tournament day. There was always someone who caught everyone’s attention. Castiel didn’t have any interest in it.
Not this time.
When the whole crowd fell silent, he blinked and frowned.
Then his mother asked, icily, ”What is a Human doing at the Seasonal Tournament of the Angels?”
Castiel’s head snapped up. It was Dean.
With wings.
Castiel gaped. He couldn’t believe his eyes.
In the field, right in front of Mother’s lodge, Dean was hovering in place, proud, tall, and confident. His mechanical wings were deep black, almost matte in the bright sun, and they thrummed as they swayed back and forth. Castiel recognized that sound. It was the same he had heard in the woods on his walks with Dean.
Bewildered, Castiel glanced around and saw the shock on the face of every Angel.
Well. Of almost every Angel.
Gabriel was sporting a smug smirk. When he noticed Castiel looking, he grinned and winked. Castiel blinked and frowned, but he didn’t have a chance to even mouth a question, when Dean spoke.
”I have come to officially request permission to court Castiel,” Dean said.
The Angel crowd gasped and turned to stare at Castiel.
Mother frowned and glanced at him. ”Castiel?” She asked, confused.
Castiel couldn’t believe what was happening. He had secretly been hoping that Dean would come for him, but he had known it was impossible because Dean couldn’t fly. Except that now, he apparently could.
It took him a moment to realize the whole crowd was holding its breath, waiting for his answer. Slowly, he stood up and looked at Dean. His throat was dry and he had to swallow several times to get his tongue working.
”I accept the request,” he managed, and was proud how his voice was steady and his wings didn’t quiver.
Dean’s face split into a huge smile, and Castiel mirrored him without a conscious thought.
Mother’s eyebrows shot up, but she didn’t question him, merely nodded and turned back to Dean.
”Have you been informed what the request means?”
Dean nodded. ”I have,” he answered gravely.
Castiel didn’t need to look at Gabriel to know who to thank for that.
Mother pursed her lips and gave Dean a narrowed stare. Dean didn’t cower, but squared his shoulders and lifted his chin. It was a brave, challenging pose, and Castiel could feel the appreciative murmurs of the Angels around him.
”Very well,” Mother said grudgingly, even though she knew that, by tradition, she had no choice but to grant Dean the right to attend. ”Who will stand for Castiel?”
Michael stood up. ”I will. Castiel is my little brother and I’m proud to defend his honor.”
Mother nodded. ”So be it. However, before we start, I would like to know who you are, why you think you have any grounds on courting my son, and why you have Demon wings to fly.”
The last part came out sharply, and Castiel swallowed.
Dean wasn’t fazed. ”My name is Dean Winchester —”
He didn’t get any further, as excited calls erupted from the Angels.
Dean Winchester was a famous war hero who had led the victorious attack to the Below against the Demon Alistair. During the attack, he had been captured and held prisoner for several years before he had been freed, but his spirit and charisma had been the driving force behind the successful rebellion.
The scars Castiel had seen made a lot more sense now.
Mother snapped her fingers and the crowd grew silent once more.
”My name is Dean Winchester,” Dean started again, unfazed by the interruption, ”and I’m the warden of The Forest of Anorus. I was on my rounds by the lake on the outskirts of the forest when Castiel fell from the sky. I dove in after him and rescued him. I healed his broken wing and nursed him back to health. And in doing so, I fell in love with him.”
Castiel’s eyes went wide and he pressed his hand against his mouth. As much as he had wished for Dean to come, a public declaration of love was something he had never dreamed about.
”As for the Demon wings…” Dean paused and closed his eyes for a moment. ”These wings are not Demon wings. It’s true that they are made from Obsidian, but they are not powered by Demon magic. They are fueled by my love and the magic of the forest that came to hold Castiel as its own during the time he was living with me.”
”I hope you’ll forgive me for wanting some proof of that,” Castiel’s mother said, not unkindly.
Dean nodded and smiled. ”I expected nothing less.”
He stayed still and waited calmly while Lady Naomi’s guards tested his wings for the dark Demon magic. Castiel sat back and stole a glance around the Tournament field, trying to quell his nerves. He wasn’t nervous about the testing because he already knew the answer, but he would’ve been lying if he said the upcoming encounter between Dean and Michael didn’t scare him a bit.
After Dean’s wings had been declared pure, the area was cleared. All other activities were put on hold for the duration of the main event: a Tournament for the right to court the middle son of the Lady Naomi. The grandstands were packed full of Angels, all eager to witness the greatest event of the century.
One of Mother’s guards approached Castiel on Dean’s behalf to ask for a ribbon. With Mother’s eyes boring into his neck, Castiel ripped the hem of his tunic and handed it to the guard who took it to Dean. Ducking his head, Dean raised his right arm to give the guard room to tie the strip of bright blue cloth around his arm. Then he lifted his head to give Castiel a shy smile before sobering and nodding formally at Michael.
As the ceremonial fight started, Castiel barely dared to watch. Michael was fast and powerful, but Dean was cunning, skilled, and clearly experienced, and his determination made him daring. They circled and swirled around each other, engaging and grappling, both trying to get the upper wing and force the other down.
It soon became obvious that Dean avoided certain maneuvers to not hurt Michael with his wings, even though it made things harder for Dean himself. The decision raised approving murmurs from the Angels: Demon wings were dangerous for the exact reason that, being mechanical, they were easily capable of tearing Angel wings to shreds.
It didn’t take long before they were both breathing hard, but neither was ready to stand down. Michael was determined to test Dean’s resolve and Dean was ready to give his everything to prove himself. Everyone could see that they were evenly matched, and there was a good chance the Tournament would only end when one dropped from the sky from sheer exhaustion.
Castiel desperately didn’t want things to go that far, but he sat still, knowing he wasn’t allowed to interfere.
Then Michael and Dean whirled around so that Michael was facing Castiel, and their eyes locked. Castiel saw the question in his brother’s eyes and he nodded once. Michael answered him with an almost invisible nod of his own, then he slipped.
In a flash, Dean had the upper wing, one hand on Michael’s wing, the other on his neck, a classic pose that demanded a stand down.
”I yield,” Michael called in a clear voice, and the crowd erupted in applause.
Castiel didn’t hear any of it. He only had eyes and ears for Dean, who offered his hand to Michael, then straightened himself, and turned to look at Castiel.
After Mother had officially declared Dean the winner and thus granted him permission to court Castiel, they were escorted into the Great Hall for the formal dinner that had been hastily upgraded from the regular tournament feast into a courting feast. Not that Castiel cared. Walking beside Dean, he couldn’t stop smiling.
It was like everyone wanted a piece of Dean. The Fact that a Human had flown into the Clouds to court Castiel, was the best gossip of the decade. Dean had to explain time and time again how he had rescued Castiel, what he had used as the numbing paste for the injury (he graciously promised to write the recipe down for Castiel’s mother’s healers), how he treated his forest, and what on earth he saw in Castiel anyway (that one was from Gabriel, who received a smack in the head from Castiel for it).
The only thing Dean absolutely refused to narrate was how he had bargained for the Obsidian for his wings. When asked, his eyes got a haunted look in them and he shook his head. The only thing he said, in a hollow voice, was the only good thing he got from his time in the Demon realm was the way to find his way back to Castiel. At that, Castiel had no choice but to cover them both with his wings and kiss him.
Later, in private, Dean told Castiel how he had saved the life of the leader of the Demon rebellion, leaving him indebted. After Gabriel had come to see Dean and convince him to pursue Castiel, Dean had traveled to the Below and demanded Obsidian wings from Crowley as payment for the debt.
Castiel was left speechless by the tale of Dean’s bravery and determination.
They spent that night in the Clouds, going over formalities with Mother and Michael. Together, they agreed that the wisest choice was for Dean and Castiel to move back to the cabin, mostly because Dean was needed in the forest, also because Castiel felt more at home there than in the Clouds.
However, with Dean’s permission, Castiel welcomed them both to visit and reminded Mother that he wanted to take her for a walk in the woods and introduce her to one certain blackbird.
”The blackbird who pecked me in the head after I drove you away?” Dean asked.
Castiel blinked. ”Wha— You didn’t drive me away!”
Dean sighed. ”Yeah, I did. I was hurt and disappointed. Lucky for us, both the bird and Gabriel were able to make me see reason.” He paused and shook his head with a rueful smile. ”But it doesn’t matter anymore.”
”No, it doesn’t,” Castiel agreed with a smile and drew him into his arms to kiss him.
The next morning, when they were ready to depart, Mother beckoned him to the side.
”I’m glad to see you happy again, Castiel,” she said with a smile.
”Thank you, Mother” Castiel said.
He raised his face to the sun and smiled. He was going home.