Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Dean whined low in his throat, curling further into the corner until he was pressed fully against the unforgiving walls. Typhon would be returning soon, possibly with another kill or another omega for his hoard, and then Dean would have to be back on high alert.

As soon as he thought of it, he heard the sound of wingbeats in the distance, growing louder. Typhon was returning.

Dean scrambled out of the corner he was in. The dragon lived in an old, ruined castle, and that meant there were some hallways Typhon, with his massive ruby wingspan and bulky frame, couldn’t fit in. Dean could always hide out in there, although he risked incurring the dragon’s wrath if he disappeared for too long.

He wasn’t well-equipped enough to make an escape, of course. Even if Typhon hadn’t blocked and barred all the exits with barriers too heavy for Dean to move and too big to slip past, he wasn’t going to get far on the rocky terrain with his bare feet and only wearing the dirty, stained nightshirt he’d been abducted in nearly a year ago.

And a year, wasn’t that something? Because dragons generally picked one thing to hoard, and Typhon had picked omegas, but he wasn’t all that good at keeping them alive. He forgot they needed food and water; he forgot they needed warm clothing when winter came. Dean, though, was able to scrape together courage nearly unheard of in his designation to remind the dragon of those things when he could feel his body beginning to give out. And so he was the only omega in Typhon’s hoard to have survived this long.

As Typhon descended into the courtyard of the old castle, his tail swinging wildly and knocking a few more stones loose from the wall, Dean scurried down a passage that had once led to the kitchen. A large portion of the castle had collapsed, of course. Typhon, for his part, kept mainly to the great hall and the courtyard.

Dean huddled in the hallway, watching around the corner as Typhon walked into the great hall and huffed out a plume of smoke, curling up on the floor. He blinked, then his massive eyelid began to droop.

He’d been out hunting then. He’d eaten a full meal of sheep or deer, and now he was ready to sleep it off. That would afford Dean a little bit of freedom.

“Omega,” Typhon rumbled, his voice like a rockslide in Dean’s ears, and Dean forced his feet to move, creeping out of his hiding space. He didn’t want Typhon to go into a rage and start thrashing around. That would knock down more walls, and might end up with Dean trapped or killed.

“Yes, Dragon?” he responded, making sure to keep his eyes cast respectfully low.

Typhon whirled to face him, one giant eye nearly level with Dean’s head. “The scales on my wing are displaced. You will fix them.”

Dean swallowed his fear, nodding in agreement. Typhon stretched the wing in question out, making Dean duck out of the way, before the dragon settled into his new position.

He could see the furrow where the scales had been pushed awkwardly out of the way. It looked like an arrow had just barely missed the dragon, instead scraping through the flexible scales on his wing instead of piercing it.

He carefully reached a hand out, smoothing a couple of the scales back into place, then jerked back as Typhon growled, his wing twitching. The wing caught Dean across the chest, and he fell backward, breath going out of him as he hit the ground.

Typhon gave himself a little shake, and then held the wing out again, the growl dying down in his throat. Dean scrambled back to his feet, wincing, and got to work, taking great care not to let any of the wayward scales pinch the dragon.

He was nearly done when there was a clattering noise from outside the hall. Dean quickly finished arranging the scales, checked to make sure Typhon had dozed off, and hurried to look out into the courtyard.

There was a knight climbing over the wall.

An actual knight, like with the sword and armor and everything. No horse, although Dean figured it was probably left on the other side of the wall. The knight made it to the ground inside the courtyard, and started carefully creeping around, holding the sword out in front of him.

Dean stepped out of the hall and waved to get his attention. The knight, upon seeing him, rushed over as quietly as he could. “Are you all right?” he asked. “No, wait. Stupid question, I’m sorry.”

Dean blinked at him. No knight had ever actually made it this close before; Typhon always saw them coming and killed them before they reached the castle. Dean knew because eating them in their armor always gave him indigestion, which made him cranky, which made Dean more likely to get tossed across the hall if he made noise at the wrong time. “Are you here to, uh, slay the dragon?” he asked.

The knight nodded. “Where is it?”

“He’s asleep in the hall, right through there.” Dean pointed. “But he’s probably going to eat you, that’s what he usually does.”

“I would hope he doesn’t eat me,” the knight said, “as that would deprive me of the chance to get to know you better. What’s your name?”

“I’m Dean. You?” Dean led the knight toward the hall, gesturing to which places on the cracked floor were safe to step on. 

“Castiel. Here, you wait back here out of his range in case he gets angry, all right?” And with that the knight was sneaking even closer to the snoozing dragon.

Dean held his breath. He wanted Castiel to be successful. He clenched his fists, leaning forward as he watched anxiously.

Castiel had made it up to where Typhon’s head was resting on the floor. His shoulder was nearly level with the bottom lid of Typhon’s eye.

He raised the sword, but- Dragon scales were notoriously impossible to break through. What was he planning? Dean didn’t want him to get eaten.

“Dragon!” Castiel yelled, and as Typhon’s eye blinked open, he drove the sword into it, then dove out of the way, yanking the sword around with him, as Typhon blindly spewed fire in an arc across the room. When the fire smoked out, and before the dragon could close his mouth, Castiel leaned in again and thrust the sword through the roof of his mouth.

And Typhon fell to the floor, undeniably dead.

“You actually did it,” Dean murmured, moving out of his hiding place. “He’s actually dead.”

Castiel retrieved the sword, giving it a hasty wipe-down. “Yes. Now let’s get you out of here, all right?”

“Where did he take you from?” he asked as he helped Dean climb up the courtyard wall. “I assume you’re a prince and that’s why he kept you instead of killing you?”

Dean huffed for breath, reaching for another handhold. His bruised chest protested the movement. “Isn’t it usually princesses that they keep?”

Castiel gave an uncomfortable sounding cough. “Well, uh.”

“Not a prince,” Dean eventually said, putting the poor knight out of his misery. “Typhon, uh, hoarded omegas.”

Castiel froze and turned back to look at him. “There are others? Should we go look for them?”

Dean shook his head. “His treatment wasn’t exactly… conducive to survival. I’m the only one left.”

The knight reached the top of the wall and reached an arm down to pull Dean up, then tugged his helmet off.

Then Dean’s words seemed to sink in, because his handsome face paled alarmingly. “His… treatment?” His hand reached out for Dean seemingly of its own accord, the knight itching to offer comfort. “He didn’t- did he?”

“Dude,” Dean said in disbelief. “He’s a dragon .”

Castiel coughed awkwardly. “They have, uh, been known to. On occasion.”

“No!” Dean hurried to exclaim. “No, he just forgot we needed food. And water. And clothing. And he threw us around a lot when he got mad.”

“You need medical care,” Castiel said. He gestured down the wall, where a horse was patiently waiting. “If it’s all right with you, I’d like to take you to my family’s lands.”

“ You’re a prince?” Dean asked. Now that he thought about it, it did make sense. Castiel’s training was impeccable, his warhorse expensive, and his armor wonderfully made.

“I’m a fifth son,” Castiel answered wryly as he began climbing down “So barely. But you needn’t worry, I swear I have no nefarious designs on you.”

Dean, as he followed the knight in his descent, privately thought that he wouldn’t mind so much if Castiel did have nefarious designs. So far, he seemed a drastic improvement from the dragon and, as Dean had noticed whenever he got too close, the man’s scent was pleasingly cinnamony and marked him distinctly as an alpha.

It had taken Castiel multiple days to reach the castle where Typhon had lived, and the return trip would take longer, as the horse was now burdened with two people and they didn’t want to overwork the poor animal, and so when night began to fall, Castiel stopped them near a small stream in a heavily wooded area and dismounted.

Holding the reins, he looked up at Dean. “Is this place amenable to you as an overnight camp?”

Dean nodded, dismounting himself and staggering a little. Castiel caught him, Dean leaning into the knight’s chest for a split second before Castiel pulled away, making sure Dean was stable. “I have a small tent and a bedroll,” Castiel said. “You will take them.” He began moving about the small clearing, gathering up twigs and branches.

“They’re yours,” Dean argued, joining him. “You take ‘em. I’ll handle first watch anyway.”

“Please,” Castiel said, starting to make a small fire. “I insist.”

Dean pulled the pot and satchel that Castiel had indicated out of one of the saddlebags. “No, I insist. They’re yours anyway.”

“I would like to be assured,” Castiel said haltingly, “that you are resting in relative safety and comfort after your period of captivity.” 

And then, because Dean really had nothing to say to that, they were quiet as Castiel produced chunks of dried meat and assorted spices from the satchel and set them to simmer in the pot over the fire. And then they ate, and Dean crawled into the small tent and settled in, while his knight in shining armor sat by the fire and kept watch.

Chapter Text

They reached Castiel’s family home just a few days after, and a massive clamor immediately arose. They rode in through the gates and were swarmed by a pack of people, all talking over each other and waving their arms around and generally being excited about everything.

Dean shrunk closer to Castiel, unaccustomed to this many people making that much noise, and Castiel reached back to pat Dean’s thigh reassuringly.

Dean’s arms tightened around Castiel’s waist as he made to dismount, and so Castiel did so awkwardly to make sure that Dean made it off the horse at the same time as he did.

“Sir,” said one man, looking a bit out of breath. “I take it you’ve returned?”

Castiel gave the man a dry look. “Yes, it would appear so.”

“I’ll inform your brother!” the man exclaimed, hurrying away again.

Castiel turned to Dean, shielding him from the bustling courtyard. “That would be much more reassuring if I knew which brother he was talking abou-”

“Cassie!” Came a joyful voice, and then a blond man, shorter than Castiel, came hurtling through the crowd to crash into Castiel’s chest, nearly knocking him over with the force of the hug.

“Gabriel,” Castiel said, only sounding a little bit strangled. “How are you?”

“Better now that you’re back,” Gabriel admitted, his voice somewhat muffled by virtue of being buried in Castiel’s chestplate. “Michael and Lucifer have been at it nonstop.”

“Please tell me they’re not here.” Castiel detached himself from Gabriel politely to carry on their conversation. Dean, for his part, pressed even closer to Castiel’s back. 

Gabriel caught sight of him and his eyebrows rose. “No, they’ve gone trotting off to Camlann to get their frustrations out fighting on… hopefully the same side of the battlefield. Now, who is this you’ve brought back?” He pushed past Castiel, eyeing Dean up and down. “Did our little Cassie finally find himself an omega?”

“Uh,” Dean said. “Um.”

“The stupid dragon hoarded omegas instead of something sensible and inanimate like gold,” Castiel told him, tugging Dean closer, under the shelter of one arm. “And,” he continued, reaching out to get the attention of a maid, “I’m sure he’d be very appreciative of a bath and a chance to get cleaned up.”

“Right,” she said, also eyeing Dean, rather like he was something stinky she’d stepped in. “Follow me.”

Dean, thoroughly overwhelmed, looked back to Castiel beseechingly, but the knight smiled kindly at him. “Meg can be prickly, but she’ll take good care of you. I’ll see you at dinner?”

Nodding haplessly, Dean followed the maid - Meg - into the castle and up the stairs, then down a series of hallways until they came to a door. 

“I suppose this is where you’ll be living,” Meg told him, opening it. 

The room was beautiful, spacious and well made up, with two doors leading off of it. “Wow,” Dean said. “No, this can’t be right. This is way too nice.”

“It’s where our blue-eyed angel would keep his wife,” Meg told him, smiling sweetly, “if he managed to find one. As of right now, he’s got you. Make yourself comfortable, I’ll go see about a bath and some new clothes for you.”

And then she went, closing the door behind her, leaving Dean standing in the middle of the room quietly mouthing the word ‘wife?’ to himself.

The bath, though, once it was put together, was glorious. Dean sank beneath the hot water - there’d been an entire room behind one of the doors, containing a tub and a table with a mirror and whatnot but also clothing racks like a closet, and he’d been reliably informed that the other door did in fact lead to Castiel’s rooms - and relaxed.

Once he’d relaxed enough to feel like his muscles were made of jelly, he set about scrubbing himself. He’d been provided with a rough sponge and a soap that smelled divine, and he made good use of both as he cleaned every speck of grime off of his body. He was careful around the scraping and bruising on his chest from his most recent brush with Typhon, but the warm water was soothing the ache there too.

He had just gotten out of the tub, feeling more relaxed and cleaner than he had in a long time, when Meg bustled back in. Dean yelped, clutching his towel closer to himself and making sure he was covered.

“Calm down,” she ordered, rolling her eyes. “You’re not my type.”

“Uh,” Dean said.

“Sit,” she ordered, gesturing at the table with the mirror and the chair in front of it. Then she set down the large box she was carrying.

“What,” Dean asked, perching warily on the chair, “is that?”

“This,” she said, opening it. “Is the basic omega starter pack. But it’s not really, is it now, because Castiel sent Bartholomew down into the city to buy these things with a very heavy purse, so I’d say it’s more like the basic starter pack for omegas who happen to either be royal or have caught the eye of incredibly socially inept but marginally wealthy alphas.”

“What?” Dean said again, because he wasn’t sure he’d caught all that, but she was already pulling things out of the box. 

“There’s a couple of outfits here,” she said. “What they had already made. I’m sure you’ll be getting a visit from the tailor soon.”

“ What, ” Dean said, again, although he was beginning to despair of ever getting an answer.

“Plus makeup, plus jewelry,” she said briskly, pulling out the aforementioned items. “I’ll be helping you get ready for dinner, shall I?”

Dean, to his horror, felt tears beginning to well up. He was so out of his depth, and so confused, and he didn’t know what to do or what was expected of him, and he told Meg as much, in one long, hiccupping sentence.

“Oh sugar,” she said after a minute. “You’re not expected to do anything, not really.”

“But- the rooms, and the clothes, and the- surely he’ll expect me to show him gratitude.” Dean couldn’t quite meet her eyes.

“Then you can tell him thank you at dinner. I’m serious, Dean. All he wants is for you to grow to be healthy and happy.”

“Weird alpha,” Dean observed, keeping his tone free of judgment. Castiel was, if weird, also a good man, it seemed.

“Oh, very,” Meg confirmed. “But half of the castle is already hoping you fall in love with him.” She pulled out one of the outfits, and presented it to Dean. “Here, put this on. Hey, does he smell good to you?”

Dean wriggled into the pants, then the shirt. As he poked his head out of the shirt, he nodded sheepishly. “Heavenly.”

Meg grinned. “Do you want to get to know him better?” She pulled out a tub of ointment, setting it on the table. “For your chest,” she explained. “So? Get to know him better?”

“Y-yeah.”

“Wanna make him fall in looooove with you?” She swooned dramatically over the table, startling a laugh out of Dean.

“Well,” he said, chuckling. “I’d like to get to know him a bit more before I decide that but… let’s keep it in mind for the future.”

“Sit back down,” she ordered, picking up the smaller box that was apparently makeup. “You are going to go down to dinner looking ravishing, then, if I have anything to say about it. At least that crying earlier made your eyes look lovely.”

Chapter Text

Meg did, as promised, make him look like an entirely different man by the time he was ready to go down to dinner. “Deep breath,” she ordered. 

Dean, staring at the omega in the mirror, obeyed. There was a gentle shimmer of color across his eyelids, and his clothes, nicer than any he’d ever worn before, fit to his form perfectly. He looked- well, he looked like the wealthy omegas who lived in castles and traveled in fancy carriages and wanted for nothing. 

Meg, misinterpreting his expression, poked him in the ribs. “We’ll get some meat on your bones in no time, don’t worry,” she reassured him, and Dean huffed out a disbelieving laugh. 

“Sounds like I’m expected to stay here indefinitely.”

“Well, you know, when a Princess is rescued from a dragon, she gets to choose whether to stay in the keep of her rescuer or return home. I’m sure you’ll be offered the same decision.”

“Doesn’t the Princess usually marry whoever saved her, often immediately?” Dean tugged at the clothing nervously. 

“Only if she wants to,” Meg told him, putting a small swipe of blush across his cheeks. “Only if she falls in love with the dashing and kind fifth son who came swooping in to rescue her-”

“ Meg, ” Dean whined, knowing full well she wasn’t talking about any hypothetical princess anymore. 

“Fine. You’re ready. I’ll take you to the dining hall.” And she tugged him out of the room and down the hallways until they reached the dining hall. 

Dean, as soon as he entered, made eye contact with Castiel, and found it difficult to look away. Sharp blue eyes held him spellbound even as he made his way to the seat Castiel indicated, right next to him at the head of the table. 

That had to mean something in fancy rich people etiquette, right?

Dean didn’t know what, though, so he sat. It was a small gathering, just him and Castiel, Gabriel, and a few other people that Dean was sure he’d meet eventually. 

His attempts to talk to them, though, were cut short, because Castiel kept drawing him into conversation. 

As he, after seeking permission, put the best of the chicken cutlets on Dean’s plate, he asked Dean about his childhood and where he was from, responding to Dean’s answer and following query with a story about trying to ride on his own for the first time as a child and going flying. Dean laughed, and the conversation continued flowing easily as they both ate. 

***

“So,” Meg said smugly as she washed the makeup off of Dean’s face. “He couldn’t keep his eyes off you.”

“Shut up,” Dean said without heat, knowing what she was about to say next. 

“And you,” she said, pulling a set of sleep clothes out of his new closet, “couldn’t keep your eyes off him.”

“He’s a good conversationalist,” Dean defended himself. “I had a good time.” He pointedly avoided thinking about how something deep inside him had thrilled at the way Castiel had served him the food, making sure he wanted for nothing throughout the meal. 

He then pointedly didn’t think about what it would be like for Castiel to hand-feed him bites of that food, how sweet and intimate it would be- Dean shook his head, refocusing. “I did have a good time.”

“You,” Meg said accusingly, “laughed your ass off at all of his jokes.”

“He’s funny. And the delivery of the jokes was charming.”

“He is not that funny.” Meg was putting some kind of cream on his face. Unsure of what exactly she was doing, Dean sat still and let her work. “Nobody warrants five full belly laughs during one meal.”

“You were counting?” He asked, incredulous. 

“Of course I was! Everyone who could spare the time was watching!” 

Dean blushed, though he wasn’t sure why. “Why?”

“Because this,” Meg made a sweeping gesture, “is the most human we’ve ever seen Castiel act. You’ve brought him out of his shell in a way nobody else ever has.”

“Oh.”

“Oh, he says. I tell him he’s worked a miracle, and he says ‘oh.’” Meg tossed the lotion down. “Get changed, you’re ready for bed.”

Dean obeyed, his head still spinning. Castiel really acted so differently around him? Did Castiel want Dean to stay?

“I’ll see you tomorrow morning,” Meg told him, and left. 

And Dean lay in bed, hugging one of the pillows to his chest, and thought about the way Castiel’s eyes crinkled when he smiled. 

Chapter Text

When Dean woke up the next morning, he was less sore and achy than he’d been for the entire duration of his captivity, and filled with more energy than he knew what to do with. He got out of bed, only mourning the loss of the soft warmth for a few minutes. He would be in bed again that night, it wasn’t gone forever. Meg appeared, somehow knowing as soon as he’d awakened, and Dean let her choose his clothes and once again apply the hints of makeup to his face. “You’ve been invited to eat breakfast with Castiel,” she told him as she combed his hair back.

“Yeah?” he asked, privately pleased.

“Alone with Castiel,” she stressed, like he was supposed to know exactly what that meant. Hell, he probably was. 

“Alone with Castiel. What, you think he’s gonna make a move on me?” Dean asked, then chuckled as she let out an exasperated sigh.

“You,” Meg scolded, gently applying the sparkly stuff to his eyelids, “need to hang around with better alphas.”

“Meg,” he whined, when no more information was forthcoming. “What does that mean, along with Castiel?”

“Alphas of his status only eat alone with omegas they’re related to, or have intentions toward. Either he sees you as a brother, or he’s going to ask to court you.”

The last few words fell heavily, Dean feeling like all the air was sucked out of the room. Him? Worthy of Cas’s courtship? As much as he might want it, there was no way. “Probably the brother thing then,” he managed to say.

Meg stood back, pronouncing Dean ready for the day. “Sure,” she said. “Whatever you want to tell yourself. I’ll take you to where you’re eating.”

He followed her obediently through the halls, coming out onto a terrace overlooking a large lawn. Sitting alone in the morning sun at a small table was Cas, with a breakfast spread on the table and one empty chair across from him.

Meg gave Dean a little shove, and then disappeared, and so Dean crossed the terrace and sat down hesitantly. Cas looked up to greet him with a wide smile, and all of Dean’s anxieties melted away.

“Dean! How are you settling in?” Cas asked, gesturing at the food. “I’d serve you a plate, but I’m afraid I don’t know what you like.”

Dean’s certainty that this was a brotherly sort of breakfast was quickly diminishing, especially with the whole thing about Cas wanting to serve him a plate. “That’s, uh, okay,” he said. “I’m settling in really well. Meg is great. How are you?”

Cas looked uncharacteristically nervous, he noticed. He also looked adorable while he was doing it. Seriously, how could one guy be that cute, with the sun shining on his dark hair and- Dean cut off that line of thinking in favor of scrambled eggs.

“You should eat more than that,” Cas said, looking at the amount Dean had served himself. Dean, who had been scolded in the past for eating an un-omegalike amount, blinked at him in surprise.

With a steady hand, Cas reached over and nearly doubled the portions of everything on Dean’s plate.

Dean smiled at him, that part of him deep inside his chest that wanted to be taken care of purring happily at the action. Cas cared about him. Cas wanted to feed him.

“I had a question for you,” Cas blurted out once they’d made small talk and had both finished their meals. “And Dean, I want you to in no way feel pressured to answer in the way you think I’d like to hear, okay? You will always be welcomed and appreciated here no matter what response you give.”

Dean put his glass down, giving Cas his full attention. Cas took a deep breath, then reached his hand across the table, laying it down palm up. For Dean to take, if he so chose. “Would you,” Cas said, taking a steadying breath, “Dean Winchester, allow me to court you?”

Dean took his hand. “Yes,” he said, quietly, and Cas breathed a sigh of relief. 

“I must warn you,” Cas told him, giving his hand a gentle squeeze, “That even though I’m a fifth son, an event of some kind is expected to announce this.”

Dean leaned forward, interest piqued. “An event? What kind of event?”

“Usually a tournament of some sort,” Cas told him. “Although with Michael and Lucifer battering away at each other hundreds of miles away, and Raphael off being an advisor to Lucifer and a spy for Michael, the only brothers in attendance will be myself and Gabriel. Not the biggest tournament the place has ever seen."

“Quick question,” Dean said. “Who actually rules, Michael or Lucifer?”

“I’m not sure even they know,” Cas answered wryly. “It’s certainly a state of things. But since they’re gone, there will be more slots in the tournaments for traveling knights and so on. If a tournament is amenable to you?”

“More than,” Dean answered. He thought he would quite enjoy the excitement. Although… “You’re not competing, are you? I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Cas smiled softly at him, and Dean squeezed his hand reassuringly. “No. As host, it would be impolite of me to compete, because then it would be impolite of the other competitors to beat me.”

“That’s good,” Dean answered, relieved. “I need you in one piece, I’ve got plans for you.” For a moment he thought he had been too forward, but then Cas let out a laugh, and Dean relaxed again. If anything was a reciprocation of Cas’s declaration of intent, Dean thought, then that certainly had been!

“I’ll put plans in motion for that then,” Cas told him. “But first, is there anywhere you’d like to see? I can take you there.”

“Do you happen to have a library?” Dean asked, and Cas smiled, standing up without letting go of Dean’s hand.

“I do, and I would be thrilled to escort you there.”

Chapter Text

After breakfast, feeling like he was walking on cloud nine, Dean walked to the library, where Cas regretfully had to leave him. He sat on the nearest chair, pulling his knees close to his chest and hugging them happily. His sweet alpha wanted to court him! He grinned, lost in thoughts of Cas until Meg wandered back into the room, carrying a stack of towels. “Dean!” she said. “Castiel told me you were here. Come on, you have a fitting.”

“I just got here!” he protested. “I haven’t looked at all the books yet!”

“You will have plenty of time to do that once we have your outfit for the tournament figured out,” she promised. “Please?”

“Give me half an hour?” he asked, reaching out and running a hand across the spines of the books on the shelf next to him. “And then I’ll come back, I swear.”

She eyed him suspiciously, but agreed readily enough, picking her towels up from where she’d set them down and leaving the room, and Dean turned to the shelves, spellbound.

He’d never seen so many books in his entire life. Dean could read, sort of, because it was a skill alphas needed, even alphas that were the sons of sellswords and so Sam had known, and Sam had taught him, but some of these books were huge! And even written in different languages. As he wandered through the shelves, Dean looked over all of them, enchanted. Finally, along the back wall, he found a shelf full of fiction, stories of bold knights and beautiful princesses and wily sorcerers, and gleefully climbed the small stepstool to read the titles on the higher shelf. These, right here, were the kind of stories Dean loved. He’d have to ask Cas if he could borrow one to read it.

His foot slipped on the stepstool and Dean grabbed for the wall to steady himself, his hand catching on a candelabra before he overbalanced and went crashing to the ground.

As he picked himself up, mournfully thinking that there was probably going to be a bruise across his cheek where he fell on it, there was a loud creaking noise and a panel of the wall not covered by a bookshelf slowly swung in.

Dean looked up at the candelabra, now tilted at an odd angle.

Secret passageways.

He’d stumbled upon the entrance to a secret passageway.

Deciding that he probably had a few minutes left before he had to return to Meg, Dean did the only logical thing, which was to finish standing up, brush the dust off of himself, and march into the dark doorway.

He reached back and grabbed one of the candles for light, and in doing so shifted the candelabra back to its original position. Dean got his arm, and the candle, inside the door just as it closed.

“Okay,” he said to himself. “I’m sure there’s a way to open that from the inside.” But first, exploration. Holding his candle high, Dean made his way down the narrow passageway, treading softly and trying not to yelp when he walked through cobwebs.

There, up ahead, was a small ray of light spilling from one of the walls, near the floor. Dean got down on the floor to investigate, finding a small peephole in the wall.

He was looking down into a bustling kitchen. The castle kitchen, and he was posed up near the ceiling, able to see everything that happened.

Spirits buoyed by this discovery, Dean continued onward, following twists and turns until he found another peephole, this one showing him an empty meeting room.

Then he was up a flight of rickety stairs, and there was another one at the top, looking into another empty room. He went around a few twists and turns, and found one that showed him a bedroom- a bedroom that looked awfully familiar, now that he thought about it. Dean pictured his room in his mind, and realized that he was standing behind the large painting opposite his bed, looking through the wall and the painting.

A shiver went down his spine at the thought that someone could be watching him sleep, but he put it aside and continued on. He could always just find and block the tiny hole in the painting.

Soon he reached another peephole and, looking through it, saw Cas sitting at a desk, shuffling papers around. Cas’s study, then.

Cas swiped a hand across his brow, and Dean admired the tensing and relaxing of the muscles in his strong arm, leaning against the wall as he did so.

Leaning, apparently, against a hidden mechanism, because next thing he knew, the painting he was behind this time swung outward and Dean tumbled into the middle of Cas’s study, dusty and covered in cobwebs.

Cas was on his feet in an instant, his hand going to his hip for a split second before he remembered that he wasn’t carrying his sword, and then realized that it was Dean on the floor in front of him. “Um. Hi?” Dean said, giving him an awkward little wave.

“Where did you come from?” Cas asked, his eyebrows still raised in surprise. His eyes softened, though, and he offered a hand to help Dean up. Dean took it gratefully, and then stood still while Cas gently removed a cobweb from his hair. 

“There was a secret passage in the library, and I went down it, and I wound up here.”

“There’s a secret passage in the library,” Cas repeated. “A secret passage. In the library.”

“Did you not… know that?” Dean asked, shifting awkwardly as the cinnamon in Cas’s scent became more pronounced, his scent sharpening in worry.

“We lost the knowledge of where the entrances were some generations ago,” Cas told him, relaxing a little bit as he looked Dean over and realized he was uninjured. “I can scarcely believe you managed to find one so quickly.”

“It was an accident,” Dean confessed sheepishly. “Oh, and I was supposed to go see Meg, and- Oh no, Meg is going to kill me when she sees how dirty I got!” He was sweaty and dusty, and no doubt looked an absolute mess. “I’m a mess.”

“I think you look cute,” Cas told him, successfully frying his brain completely. “Would you be willing to show me the passageway in the library, and then I’ll release you into Meg’s clutches?”

“Sounds good,” Dean said, and Cas took his hand as he led him out of the study and back to the library, Dean’s head spinning at the touch and the proximity and the fact that Cas had called him cute.

When they got to the library, Dean tugged on the candelabra again and the passageway opened, Cas stepping into it with an awestruck expression on his face. “And you ventured in here? Alone, not knowing where it leads?” he asked as Dean sheepishly replaced his pilfered candle in the candelabra.

Cas turned to face Dean, and so Dean nodded. “I was curious, I guess,” he said, shrugging. 

“You were brave,” Cas corrected him, stepping out of the passageway and taking Dean’s hand again. “You are brave.”

“Is that good?” Dean asked. It was certainly an un-omegalike trait.

“To survive that dragon, and to do this…” Cas trailed off, his eyes meeting Dean’s gaze. “Dean, you are truly impressive.”

“Oh,” Dean said in a small voice. Apparently brave was a good thing. 

“I know it’s unseemly,” Cas said roughly, standing close to Dean. Dean wanted to lean into his warmth. “But I very much want to kiss you right now.”

“I’m all dirty,” Dean said, which was true, and then “But I really want to kiss you too,” which was also true, and then Cas was kissing him there in the library, his strong arms holding Dean steady, and Dean had always thought it was bullshit when people said sparks flew when you kissed your lover, but he could have sworn he saw them.

Chapter Text

Once Dean had been returned to Meg, still dizzy from making out with Cas, and had stood uncomfortably through his fitting, getting poked with several pins in the process, Meg sat him down and grinned knowingly at him.

“What,” he said flatly, giving her a teasing smile.

“So…” she trailed off. “I’ve just heard that there’s going to be a tournament organized.”
“Oh. Right. That.” Dean fidgeted with one of his sleeves. “He, uh, asked to court me.”

“You’ll be good for him,” Meg said, uncharacteristically serious. Then she got up and left, apparently having had as much of a conversation with him as she felt she needed to.

Over the next few days, preparations for the tournament became evident around the whole castle. Knights as well as other warriors started showing up, some of them there to try to win glory, and some there for the prize purse. Everyone seemed to be bustling about all the time, and there was an undercurrent of excitement, Meg told him, that the castle hadn’t felt for years. Events like this were, it seemed, usually put on as a way for Michael and Lucifer to snipe at each other, and the promise of a tournament with all of the fun and none of the politics had everybody up in a stir.

One morning, Cas showed up at Dean’s door just as Meg was finished with him, and asked Dean to accompany him to the kitchens, to approve the food that would be served at the banquet held in the evening on the day of the tournament. He offered his arm to Dean, who took it immediately, relishing the chance to get closer to his alpha.

“Hello,” Cas murmured, inclining his head toward Dean. “How did you sleep?”

“Wonderfully,” Dean answered. “Really, I cannot thank you enough for all the kindness you’ve shown me. How did you sleep?”

Cas hummed. “Well, although I found myself wishing to hold you.”

Dean flushed red at that, ducking his head and clearing his throat before he managed to squeak out an “I’d like that.”

Their conversation continued as the made their way down to the kitchens, and soon they were chatting familiarly, trading stories and making each other laugh.

“I’ll be damned,” whispered one woman as they walked by, and Dean remembered Meg telling him that he, Dean, had somehow brought Cas out of his shell. Looking at the vibrant, sweet alpha walking attentively at his side, it was hard to reconcile him with how shy and awkward Cas had been when they first met, let alone whatever he’d been like before that.

They made it into the kitchens, eventually, and the head cook, Ellen, came over to greet them. “Castiel Novak,” she scolded, opening her arms and tugging a surprised Cas into a hug. “Why did I have to find out you were courting by a page telling me there was going to be a banquet?”

“Ellen,” Cas said, extracting himself carefully from the hug. “I do apologize for not coming to see you more once I returned.”

Ellen had already turned to Dean, and given him a hug too. Dean allowed himself to relax into her comfortable beta scent, returning the embrace. “You,” Ellen said, pulling back, “must be Dean! It’s nice to meet you!”

“Nice to meet you too!” Dean exclaimed, one hand finding Cas’s again. 

“Ellen practically raised me,” Cas explained sheepishly. “I guess I’ve been neglecting her a little bit.”

“Damn right I did, and it’s why you turned out the best of your brothers, and damn right you have been,” Ellen told him, turning to lead them into the kitchen. “Now, we’ve got a few options here for you. Dean, Cas told me you liked pie.”

“Pie?” Dean perked up, impulsively pressing a kiss to Cas’s cheek. “I absolutely like pie!”

She led them over to a long table, through the bustling crowd of people working in the kitchen, and installed them both in seats at the table. “First course of course is pottage, leeks good with both of you?” She plunked a small bowl down in front of them and handed them each a spoon, and they both sampled the soup.

“Wonderful as always, Ellen,” Cas told her, grinning, and Dean agreed immediately.

“Wild boar, if you can manage it, for the second course, and broiled pike?” Ellen asked, moving the bowl off of the table and replacing it with the pike on a plate, handing them both forks. As they once again sampled and approved, Dean had to compliment her on the wonderful cooking. “The food I’ve had since I’ve been here is the best I’ve ever eaten,” he told her honestly.

“Good,” she said decisively, appraising him. “I’ll have to feed you some more, get some meat on your bones. Cas, can you handle the boar?”

“I can handle the boar,” Cas told her. “Dean, would you like to accompany the hunting party?” He squeezed Dean’s hand under the table, letting him know that any answer would be okay.

Ellen had other ideas, and gently whapped him on the back of the head with a dish towel. “A hunting party is no place for him to be, not until he’s recovered more,” she insisted.

“I’ve recovered fine,” Dean protested as she set a slice of roast chicken on the table for them to sample, but both Cas and Ellen looked at him until he was forced to sheepishly amend his statement. “I’ve recovered fine, but I’m not fully healthy yet.”

“Better,” Ellen nodded. “You’re far too thin, still, and don’t think I can’t tell your chest is still hurting you from the way you’re sitting.”

“How did you know-?”

“Unfortunately,” Cas said, smiling, “people in this castle talk.”

After a moment’s consideration, Dean deemed that to be fair enough, and turned to taste the chicken, humming happily and nodding enthusiastically at Ellen to communicate how happy with it he was. Cas chuckled, taking his own bite to enjoy.

It was when Ellen turned away from them to bring the pie over to the table that Dean saw him. Sitting on a stool in the corner of the kitchen, swinging his legs and chewing on a sandwich, was Sam.

“Sam?” Dean asked, standing up from his chair, and his kid brother’s head jerked around, eyes finding Dean, and then he launched himself across the kitchen, expertly dodging Ellen, to throw his arms around Dean.

“Dean!” he exclaimed, burying his face in Dean’s shoulder. “Dean, we thought you were dead! I thought I’d never see you again.”

Dean’s arms came up to hold Sam almost automatically, rubbing soothing circles on his back. “I’m not dead,” he reassured his brother. “Hey, it’s okay, I’m right here. You found me.”

Then he looked up, to see both Cas and Ellen, who was holding the pie in one hand, staring at them.

“This one came in with one of the sellswords here for the tournament,” Ellen explained, “looking half starved.”

“Thank you for the food, ma’am,” Sam piped up.

“Ellen, Cas,” Dean said, barely holding back tears of joy. “This is Sam. This is my brother!”

Cas rose from his seat then, and extended his hand for Sam to shake. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said seriously, and Sam returned the favor.

Dean made it all the way back to the table, leading Sam and Cas with him for pie and possibly more in-depth introductions, before a thought occurred to him. “Ellen, you said Sam came in with a guy here for the tournament. Sam, are you here with Dad? Is Dad here too?”

Chapter Text

“He’s here,” Sam answered, still not letting go of Dean’s arm. “He’s gone into town for a bit, I think. We were going to stay there instead of here, he just came here to do registration stuff.”

Dean gently shoved Sam down into a seat at the table and pushed the rest of his roasted chicken over to his brother. Ellen retrieved the plate with Sam’s sandwich on it, and brought that over too, before sitting down as well.

“So he got registered and then what, forgot you were here and left?” Dean asked, that familiar low anger at his father igniting in his stomach. If everyone here wasn’t so nice, if Ellen wasn’t such a good person, Sam could have ended up hurt or kidnapped or killed.

“I think he figured I’d turn up eventually,” Sam shrugged, finishing off the sandwich and starting on the chicken. “He does that a lot.”

“He does not sound,” Cas said severely from the counter, where he was putting together another sandwich, “like a very good father.”

“He’s not,” Sam answered promptly. “But he’s better to me than he was to Dean.”

“He did his best,” Dean protested, the need to defend the man deeply ingrained in him, but it was half-hearted at best. “After mom, he just wasn’t equipped to take care of two pups.”

“Sweetheart,” Cas rumbled, coming back to the table and depositing the new sandwich with Sam before standing behind Dean and resting his warm hands comfortingly on Dean’s shoulders. “Is this a man I need to disbar from the tournament?”

“He fights fair,” Dean reasoned. “He’s always fought fair. He’s got a weird sense of honor.”

Cas moved to crouch down beside his chair then, tilting Dean’s head up with one finger under his chin to meet his eyes. “Did he ever hurt you?” he asked, and in the steely set of his shoulders Dean got a glimpse of the icy prince Cas had apparently been before Dean showed up.

Dean looked down. He couldn’t lie to Cas, but he didn’t particularly want to give an answer either. Cas looked to Sam, who gave a slight nod. Ellen’s lips thinned noticeably.

“Did he ever hurt you , Sam?” Ellen asked, and Sam shifted uncomfortably. Dean immediately snapped onto high alert. With him gone, swept up one day from the road in the claws of the dragon, had John turned his drunken rages onto his younger son?

Sam shook his head hesitantly. “He never- never on purpose,” he answered eventually, and Dean breathed a slight sigh of relief. That was good. “I’m alpha,” Sam added on, like that explained everything, and Cas’s cinnamon scent immediately sharpened in anger.

“Hey, whoa, Cas, chill out,” Dean pleaded, tugging at Cas’s sleeve. “Hey, let’s try Ellen’s pie for dessert and then we can go have a conversation somewhere else, yeah?”

Sam was relatively newly presented, it had happened since Dean had been taken, and at Cas’s angry scent his hackles were going up as he rose half out of his chair, obviously intending to put himself between Dean and Cas.

He was acting like Dean’s familial alpha would, and Dean felt a rush of affection for his kid brother. Sammy was trying to protect him in a way John never had, even though he was still for all intents and purposes a gangly, underfed youth who would obviously have no chance against an alpha like Cas.

“Hey,” Ellen said sharply, picking up a dishtowel and lightly thwapping Cas with it. “Control yourself.”

Cas sheepishly settled back, getting his scent under control, and Sam relaxed back into his seat, although he didn’t take his eyes off of Cas for a second.

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” Ellen told them. “We’re going to sit here and eat some pie, okay, and then Dean, you’re going to take Cas somewhere else and talk to him until he stops glaring like he’s going to try to murder your father at your courtship tournament, and Sam, you’re going to stay here and talk to me for a little bit. Sound good?” And she put the pie down on the table.

“That sounds like a good plan,” Dean agreed, guiding Cas fully into a chair and picking up a knife with which to cut the pie.

Ellen nodded, pleased with her solution, and sat down with them.

The pie was, of course, absolutely delicious, with a flaky crust and a sweet blackberry filling that Dean absolutely adored, and he told Ellen as much. Enthusiastically.

Next to him he could smell Cas’s scent softening even more, into something that smelled suspiciously like adoration, and at that Sam also started to relax, and by the time the pie was finished, there was an easy, superficial conversation among them happening. Sam had asked Ellen about the blackberries and how they’d gotten so sweet, because he was used to eating wild ones, and she explained that there was a farmer in the town that cultivated them to be like this, and then Sam was off on a tangent about cultivation and asking about the proper climates for different crops, and Ellen was chuckling and indulging him as best she could.

“You,” she said, pointing to Dean and Cas during a lull in the conversation. “Go talk. I’ll take care of Sam.”

Sam agreed, although he made Dean promise to come find him again soon, and so Dean and Cas took their lead.

Dean followed Cas through the halls up to his study, where Cas immediately sat down in one of the two chairs in front of his desk, gesturing Dean to the other one. “Dean,” he said softly. “I understand if you don’t want to tell me, and you’re under no obligation whatsoever to do so, but I would like to ask. What did your father do to you?”

Dean shifted uncomfortably in the soft chair. “He wasn’t that bad, really. Don’t, like, kill him or anything.”

“I’m not going to kill him if you don’t want him dead,” Cas promised, leaning forward. “I just want to make sure you are safe and protected, and know how much I need to reward whatever knight manages to take him out of the tournament. Preferably concussed at the very least.”

“I can’t argue with concussed,” Dean decided. “He was kind of a dick.”

“You mentioned something about your mother…?” Cas trailed off tactfully, and Dean picked up the thread.

“She died in a house fire when I was four and Sam was just a baby. Dad’s been pretty focused on hunting down the robbers that caused it since then. I’m guessing since he’s still on the road, he hasn’t found them.” Dean twisted his fingers together anxiously, and Cas reached out to place a gentle hand over them, calming him.

“You were raised on the road since you were four years old?”

Dean shrugged. “Sometimes he’d get a temporary job and we’d settle somewhere for a while. It was harder on Sam than it was on me, I think, because it was all he ever really knew.”

“You’re an omega,” Cas pointed out.

“Thanks,” Dean said wryly. “I hadn’t noticed.”

The joke had the intended effect, and Cas snorted in laughter before continuing. “I mean, Dean, you’re hardwired to want a home. Someplace where you’re safe. It’s- that you managed so well in a situation like that is a testament to your strength.”

Dean blushed, looking away at the unexpected compliment. “I mean, I had Sammy. Taking care of him was the most important thing in the world to me. He was my home.”

“And so you protected him from your father’s anger.” Cas filled in the blank Dean had left unspoken.

Dean shrugged. “Sometimes, when Dad had had a bit too much to drink, yeah, I got in between them. Always knew Sam was gonna present alpha, he was trying to go toe-to-toe with Dad before he even hit his teens.” He laughed a little bit at the memory.

Cas wasn’t laughing. “You got in between them,” he repeated, obviously piecing together a scenario in his mind. His scent sharpened again as his brow furrowed. “To take the hits meant for Sam.”

“Maybe sometimes,” Dean allowed, knowing that he smelled distressed at the topic of conversation and, noticing it, Cas immediately sat back.

“Okay. Thank you for trusting me with this, Dean,” he murmured, making an effort to calm his own scent. “I won’t keep pressing, but please know that I’m here if you ever want to talk about it.”

“Thanks,” Dean managed, through the lump in his throat. How had he lucked out with an alpha like this? “Hey, do you wanna do something fun to kind of reset our moods?”

“That seems like a good idea,” Cas agreed, pressing a kiss to the back of Dean’s hand. “Did you have something in mind?”

Dean thought for a moment. “Well, I’d love to explore those secret passages more, but I feel like you’d want to prepare more for that excursion, so how about we go down and visit your noble steed, who carried you to save me and then brought us both back here?”

“I’m sure Halo would be grateful for the visit,” Cas agreed. “I must admit I’ve neglected her a little bit since returning, and she’ll be wondering where her daily ration of purloined apples is.”

And with that decided, they headed down to the stables, and if Dean didn’t want to let go of Cas’s hand for the whole walk down there, well then, that was his business. Not that Meg, walking down the hallway with the laundry, didn’t see and make a mental note to tease him about it later, though.

Chapter Text

Halo was, predictably, thrilled to see Cas. He stepped into her stall and she immediately gently bumped her head into his chest, only stopping when he began petting her nose and talking to her. “There’s my sweet girl,” Cas murmured, the last vestiges of anger at John still present in his scent dissipating, and Halo, trying to shove her way closer to him, hung her head over his shoulder and nibbled at his hair. “You quit that,” Cas laughed, shoving her lightly away but finishing the motion up with another pet.

If Dean had thought he was adorable before, watching Cas interact with his horse made the alpha seem even more cute, from the way he talked to her to the way he interacted with the massive animal, like she was a treasured pet. In fact, Dean realized, that was almost certainly what she was.

Having her head slung over Cas’s shoulder put Halo face to face with Dean, and she snuffled curiously at him before reaching out, nearly causing Cas to overbalance, and gently nudging her face against his shoulder. “She likes you!” Cas murmured, obviously delighted.

Halo tried to chew on Dean’s sleeve, and Dean laughed, gently redirecting her as Cas extricated himself from the horse and dug into the bag hanging at his side.

“Did you swipe some of Ellen’s freshly sliced apples,” Dean asked him, still chuckling and petting Halo, who was now nosing at his hair and the side of his face.

“I did,” Cas confessed, passing several slices to Dean. “Here, if you hold them flat out on your palm, she’ll take them.”

Dean followed his head, holding one of the slices, and Halo delicately plucked it from his palm, chewing and swallowing. She nudged him, urging him to give her another one. Dean, of course, obliged.

“Apples!” Cas said suddenly. “I’ve been trying to place your scent - and forgive me, I realize that this is hardly an appropriate conversation.” He trailed off there, busying himself digging around in the bag.

“No apology necessary,” Dean told him. He, like most omegas, had a scent that tended toward sweetness, and while Cas had the more alpha scent of cinnamon, Dean smelled sweetly of ripe apples. He was lucky, he thought, in that his scent was light and not overly cloying. The scents of some omegas were beyond any identification besides ‘sweet,’ and those scents always made Dean’s nose itch. “I do smell like apples.”

“No wonder Halo likes you so much,” Cas chuckled, and warmth spread through Dean. He didn’t know why he was so happy about winning the approval of a horse, and doing so with something he had no control over at that, but he was still pleased. He offered Halo another apple slice.

“We could,” Cas said, a decidedly mischievous grin spreading across his face, “braid her mane.”

“Does she like it?” Dean asked.

“Well, she’s never indicated to me that she doesn’t, and if she didn’t want it braided she’d have no problem letting me know,” Cas reasoned. “Do you know how to braid?”

Dean shook his head. “I’ve never had reason to learn before,” he said.

“No worries,” Cas said. “Would you be all right with me making a suggestion that somewhat crosses the bounds of propriety?”

Dean fed Halo the last apple slice, and she whuffed happily at him. “Wouldn’t be the first time we’ve ventured beyond the bounds of propriety,” he reasoned, “and I trust you. We’re courting, even. I’m sure it will be fine.”

“I could stand behind you,” Cas told him, “and guide your hands as you form the braids?”

Dean took a moment to think about that. Cas, smelling all happy and content, standing right behind him, his arms coming around Dean to cover Dean’s hands… “That sounds good to me,” he said, and so Cas moved into position.

It was, as Dean had expected, distracting in the best possible way, as Cas guided him through taking a chunk of the hair and sectioning it off into three parts, and then they began the intricate task of weaving those three parts together.

“Now, carefully here,” Cas murmured, his mouth very close to Dean’s ear, “We’re going to take this piece of ribbon and tie off the end of the braid.”

Dean’s hesitant fingers, guided by Cas’s sure ones, were halfway through forming the bow in the ribbon when a familiar, booming voice cut through their peace and Halo startled away, pulling the braid from Dean’s grasp.

“And just what do you think you’re doing?”

It was pure instinct that had Dean whirling around, stepping in front of Cas and presenting himself as a shield between his alpha and the man who had just entered the stable, his father. “John,” he said, blinking in shock. He’d known from Sam, of course, that John was in town, but he hadn’t been expecting to run into him. Let alone while Dean was all cuddled up with Cas.

“Dean,” John snapped. “I don’t know what you’re up to in here, but you need to come with me. I’ve got a room down in the town.”

“I’m staying here,” Dean insisted, still hovering anxiously in front of Cas. 

John’s face softened. “Son, I thought you were dead,” he said. “When the dragon took you, I thought I lost you. Please, come with me.”

Dean wavered, but Cas’s steady presence behind him strengthened his nerve. “When the dragon took me, did you look for me? Did you try to find me?”

John shifted awkwardly on his feet. “Dean, you know what we were trying to do. You know we were on the trail of the robbers that killed your mother.”

“Mom was dead!” Dean nearly shouted. “Mom was dead! You were content to chase after vengeance for a ghost, but you couldn’t be bothered to track down your own son who might’ve still been alive?” He swallowed hard at the familiar anger sparking in his father’s eyes, but the dam had broken and the words just kept coming. “And what about Sam? How did you treat him, once I wasn’t there anymore to absorb every punch you threw?”

He only realized that perhaps saying that was a bad idea when Cas’s scent behind him sharpened into absolute fury so quickly it almost gave Dean’s nose whiplash.

Cas’s voice, though, was absolutely calm. “Dean,” he said, gently holding Dean’s arm to get Dean to look at him. “Dean, would you be able to go talk to Halo? I think she’s a little bit unsettled.”

Halo, who had been nervously hovering around the back of her stall, made a soft noise.

Dean was loathe to leave no barrier between his alpha and his father, but Cas looked at him and said “Please,” so earnestly that he couldn’t help but agree. He took a few steps back, standing close to Halo, and began softly petting her and talking to her, and she calmed under his touch.

Then he zeroed in on the conversation happening behind him. “What are you anyway,” John was sneering at Cas. “Some stable boy who thought he could get away with having some fun with my son? I saw how you two were when I came in here.”

“John,” Cas said, his voice all firm steel. “Listen to me very carefully.”

John interrupted him. “No, you listen to me. I saw what I saw, and you’d better be planning to mate my boy if you’re taking liberties like that. And Dean- “ he waited until Dean turned to look at him - “I raised you better than to be whoring around like this.”

Anything else John might have said was cut off as Cas stalked forward, grabbing the front of the man’s shirt. “I do intend to mate Dean,” Cas growled out. “Provided that he wants me to, I intend to mate Dean and then ensure that for the rest of his life, he wants for nothing. And after hearing about what kind of man you are, I feel that I can reasonably say that you should not be in Dean’s life.”

He turned back to look at Dean, who after a few seconds of deliberating nodded in agreement. “But Sam,” he said, his voice small. Halo, sensing his unease, nudged him lightly.

“Sam will stay here,” Cas ordered, turning back to John. “Both of your sons will remain here, and you will leave. With my brothers gone, I am in charge of these lands, and I hereby order you to vacate them.” With that, he let go of John’s shirt, giving the man a little shove backward.

“You’re in charge…?” John’s question trailed off as Cas drew himself up to his full height, the scent of his wrath scorching Dean’s nose. Dean huddled closer to Halo.

“Leave,” Cas ordered, and John left. With him went Cas’s anger, and Dean felt himself relax as Cas came back to him. He opened his arms, and Dean gratefully fell into a hug that smelled of protectiveness and worry and above all, of Cas.

“He’s gone, just like that,” Dean said, muffled into Cas’s shoulder, and Cas rubbed his back soothingly.

“He’s gone,” he confirmed. “I’m sorry that I frightened you.”

Dean considered arguing that he hadn’t been frightened, but then he remembered that Cas could smell him just as well as he could smell Cas, and so there wouldn’t be much point to it. “It wasn’t so much you,” he explained. “Just the smell of anger.”

Cas tugged him even closer in the hug. “Still, I am sorry and I will try to make sure that it doesn’t happen again.”

They stood, embracing, until a pointed nudge from Halo made them break apart. Cas chuckled awkwardly, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Um, since I technically just banished your father, do you think we should go back to Ellen and Sam and let Sam know?”

Dean took Cas’s offered hand as they left the stables. “Yeah, I think that’s probably a good idea.”

Chapter Text

Sam reacted to the news by slowly setting down the sandwich he was still chewing on and looking at Dean in stunned disbelief. “Gone,” he said. “Just like that.”

“You couldn’t have eased him into it?” Ellen asked, handing Sam a cup of water and ordering him to sip. Sam obeyed.

“Gone,” Sam repeated. “For good. We never have to deal with him again?”

“Yeah,” Dean said. 

“And I…” Sam trailed off, looking between Cas and Dean.

“You’ll stay here as long as you want to,” Cas told him. “And if you want to go somewhere else, we can see if that can be arranged.”

“So I’ll be here long enough to go to school?” Sam asked.

Dean couldn’t help but grin at that. “Hell yeah,” he said, patting Sam on the shoulder. “You can go to school.”

Sam rocketed off his stool and hugged Cas, who stood shocked for a moment before his arms came up to tentatively wrap around the boy.

“Oh god,” Dean said, reality setting in as his adrenaline levels finally crashed. “Cas just met my dad.”

Ellen gave him a Look, and sympathetically handed him another piece of pie. “I’ll get Sam situated,” she said. “Dean, you’ve had quite a day, would you like to head up to your room and rest for a little bit?”

“Yeah,” Dean said, immediately seizing on the opportunity. He was starting to feel exhausted and more than a little embarrassed about the whole situation.

Cas startled out of the hug with Sam, turning to look at Dean. “I’m so sorry!” he exclaimed. “I didn’t even think. This must be very stressful for you. Will you let me walk you to your room?”

Dean nodded, gratefully taking Cas’s offered arm, and tried to subtly scent the air in the hopes that Cas’s cinnamon scent would calm him down. It worked, sort of, and he was feeling a little bit more centered when Cas brought him to his door.

“Thank you,” Dean murmured. 

“Of course,” Cas said. Then he dithered for a moment, looking torn, before pulling an embroidered handkerchief out of his pocket. “I realize that this may be too forward,” he said, “but this should smell like me and if you would like to keep it, in case the scent helps, uh.”

Dean pulled him into a hug then, shamelessly tucking his face into Cas’s neck to get a good deep whiff, and then pressed a kiss to his cheek. “How is it that you consistently do some of the nicest things anyone has ever done for me?” he asked, accepting the handkerchief.

“I just want to see you happy and cared for,” Cas answered, like that was any sort of normal answer to give at all. “By the way, if John refuses to leave, do you mind terribly if my men break a few bones?”

“There’s your bloodthirsty side,” Dean teased. “I knew it was hiding in there somewhere. I suppose that’s fine, but I don’t think he’ll refuse to leave.”

Cas reeled him in for another hug before Dean went into his room, and Dean relaxed into it, smiling and then giving Cas a tiny, definitely dorky little wave before stepping inside.

Meg was sitting there waiting for him.

“You were holding hands,” she said gleefully, and then she got a good look at him. “Oh my god. What happened?”

“We were holding hands,” Dean confirmed, fully aware that there was a sappy smile on his face. “And then my dad showed up and started being a jerk and Cas went all alpha on him and i think he actually banished him! And now my brother is here!”

“I let you out of my sight for three hours maximum ,” Meg told him. “How did that much stuff happen?”

“I don’t know,” Dean answered, surreptitiously sniffing the handkerchief and grinning.

“Well,” Meg said, already shoving him down onto the chair and coming at him with a cream or lotion of some sort. Dean, already used to this, let her have her way. “Do you want to know what I heard? You don’t have to, you might not want to.”

“Is it about Cas?”

“It’s about Cas,” Meg said, running a comb through Dean’s hair. “And you, sort of.”

“Oh, gosh,” Dean groaned, relaxing into the touch. “Did someone see us being too forward?”

“You’ve been too forward all over the property,” Meg said tartly. “You’re a match made in heaven.”

Dean grinned up at the ceiling, gently stroking the handkerchief with one hand. “Yeah, it really seems like it. I really like him. He’s so cool.”

“And there’s the first time anyone in the history of ever has described him as cool.” Meg put down the comb and picked up a small container of an alarmingly green gunk. “This is a face mask. Hold still.”

Dean, no longer baffled by anything she chose to do to him, held still. “So what did you hear?” he asked, trying to move his face as little as possible as she applied the mask.

“Well, you know, even though he’s the fifth son, he’s the first of his brothers to court an omega,” Meg told him, smoothing the gunk onto his face. She twitched out a stray eyebrow hair with tweezers, and Dean winced. “And by family tradition, that means he gets to propose with his mother’s engagement ring.”

Cas’s mother, Dean knew, had died in childbirth. Cas’s birth. Her room had been cleaned, but had otherwise remained unchanged since then. 

“The ring wasn’t on the bedside table when the maid went in to dust this morning,” Meg told him. “It hasn’t moved from that spot in over twenty years, except to be cleaned and restored by the jeweler.”

“Maybe that’s what happened,” Dean said.

“Nope,” Meg said cheerfully. “Trust me. It’s in his desk drawer now. There’s a betting pool going, but we think it’s going to happen at the tournament.”

Cas was going to propose. To him. To Dean. Castiel, a fifth son and a knight in his own right, was going to propose to him. Dean Winchester, son of a sellsword.

Dean didn’t completely faint, but it was a close thing.