Chapter Text
When Castiel was woken by the alarm bell at a little after four in the morning, he knew that the guards coming in at the guard change had discovered the absence of their prisoners. Charlie had a good head-start and Rowena was powerful enough to hide them if need be. Castiel went back to sleep with a smile on his face.
A few hours later, Castiel found Dean lying in a ball on his bed, still in the clothes from the day before. The phial on his nightstand was missing more than it should and for a moment Castiel was afraid that something might have happened. There wasn’t enough missing to be terribly worried about, but still. When he hurried over, however, he saw the night pod beside the bed, with a thin sheen of dried liquid on the bottom. Checking that Dean was really asleep, Castiel took the phial into his hand and allowed his eyes to flash. A few spots the crust on the bottom gleamed blue, indicating a match with the liquid in Castiel’s hand. In that case, he could let Dean sleep. At some point not long after taking the medicine, Dean had apparently thrown up, which had likely saved him from waking up with an epic headache.
Castiel busied himself with taking care of the room until Dean would wake up; this being his job there was not really any other place he was supposed to be anyway. He could help Bobby, but Dean would throw a fit if he woke late and Castiel was absent. That said, he would probably throw a fit simply for not having been woken up on time anyway. Allowing Dean more time to rest would therefore only give him more energy to scream at Castiel later, and given that Castiel did value his own well-being over that of a pretty-PRATTY! prince, Castiel figured he might as well wake Dean up. That turned out to be difficult, but Castiel enlisted the help of a towel drenched in cold water.
Dean shot up screaming bloody murder, and, as expected, started cussing Castiel out for waking him late, for waking him the way he had, and, once he sat down to have breakfast, for letting his breakfast grow cold. Oh yes, Castiel had definitely chosen wisely when he had told Rowena he would stay behind and not come to her fancy mountain castle. However, Castiel also remembered Charlie’s words, and he could see in the haunted look in Dean’s eyes that the prince was doing his best to keep his emotions to himself. The day continued on much the way it had started.
They were attending a council meeting - Dean was attending the meeting, and Castiel was attending Dean - when there was a knock and Benny came in, bearing news of the fugitives. One of the patrols had found traces of a scuffle in the woods; from what they had been able to gather, two, probably three, travellers had been attacked by bandits. There had been lots of blood, and they had found a few bright red hairs tangled in the thicket of the undergrowth. The tracks had led them to and into the river, a little upstream of some violent rapids that tore the river up before the water disappeared into a rocky gorge and not soon after underground. They had followed the water downstream until the terrain had been too rough to continue the search, at least with the equipment they had brought. They had, however, discovered a leather-boot, branded with Charlie’s seal, and scraps of fabric consistent with what Rowena had been wearing. There had been no traces of Tanya, but by the looks of it, the women had tried to escape the bandits by crossing the river and had fallen victim to the current. Benny had sent one of the guards around to check on the other side whether there were any traces at all, but there had been none.
“Excellent,” King John said. “That removes that burden from our shoulders.”
Dean excused himself a little later. Castiel followed him, but Dean did not seem to truly notice. Castiel received a glare when he entered Dean’s chambers after the prince and closed the door, but he wasn’t being sent away. Dean fell into his huge armchair in front of the fireplace like a puppet whose strings had been cut all at once. He dropped his head beneath his knees. Neither of them said anything. Castiel was unsure what he should do, and, for a lack of a better idea, grabbed one of the rags from a box of cleaning supplies in the closet in the antechamber, and started wiping down the table. When he had finished there, Castiel moved on to the other surfaces in the room. He almost dropped a letter weight onto his foot when Dean suddenly started speaking.
“It’s all my fault. Not Rowena, but Charlie. Why did she have to hook up with a fucking witch? She knew better than that! Still… I should have fought harder. I know… I know that I could not have swayed my father, but I…”
Dean looked so heartbroken that for a teeny-tiny moment Castiel almost considers telling him the truth. But that could never be. Dean might feel sorry about Charlie, but that did not change his views on magic and that he would have Rowena killed should he ever find her.
“Benny hasn’t found the bodies, maybe they’re not dead after all…” Dean continued, the war between hope and doubt bordering on knowledge obvious in his face. He sighed. “I hope Charlie is alive. I don’t want her dead.”
“You may always choose to believe that, Dean.”
“I would have given her hell, but if it had been my decision, I would have found a way to pardon her… People can’t help who they fall in love with, and Charlie made a giant fucking mistake when she didn’t immediately report that witch, but love makes people do stupid things and she didn’t deserve to die for that if she didn’t use any magic herself! There has to be some other way…” Dean trailed off, running out of steam.
“One day you will be the king, Dean, and justice is always a noble goal. The punishment should match the deed, but sometimes mercy, if granted wisely, has unexpected benefits.”
Dean nodded. He seemed to collect himself a little.
“If you tell anybody I said that, I swear, you’ll spend so much time in the stocks, you’ll never walk straight again.”
“That’s not something I do anyway, Dean.”
Dean gaped at him, wide-eyed. Castiel could feel the colour rising in his cheeks.
“I mean—“
“Don’t even try.”
“But—“
“That was one of the worst puns I’ve ever heard.”
“That wasn’t bad, that was smooth as—“
“Why, Cas, I didn’t know you were declaring any intentions.”
“I wasn’t!”
“So what were you trying to say?”
“Nothing!”
“It sure sounded like something.”
“I— Will you let this go?!”
“Not in the near future. Middle and distant future ain’t looking good either.”
“Dean!”
“You can’t call me Dean, I’m the friggin’ prince!”
“If you call me Cas, I’ll call you Dean!”
They were staring at each other from opposite sides of the room, but Castiel had to check before he could be sure. Yes, the table was still between them. Dean was grinning, and a sparkle had returned to his eyes. He was a misguided idiot, but much of that was probably not his fault. Probably. Maybe there was hope there after all?
“So, what did you mean with you’re not straight? Guys? Girls and guys? No preference at all?”
“Dean!”
“To you Your Royal Highness! Or Your Grace, I can live with that. Will you call me Your Grace, Cas?”
Oh yes, Castiel was so happy he had stayed.
