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“A dragon, did you say? Oh Gods, you must be one of those, ” the man groans at Dean, getting back to whittling the stick in his hand, “and no, we haven’t had any dragon trouble nearby. Not now, not ever. Now get away and let me finish.”
“Just one more question, I promise,” Dean tries to wheedle, smiling brightly at the old man. “I have been tracking this dragon for months now, and all signs point to it having passed through somewhere here. Someone in this village might have seen something? Any disturbances in the forest?”
The old man doesn’t reply for a while, still frowning as he chips away at the wood in his hands, making tiny incisions. Dean holds his breath and waits. He’s learnt it the hard way, the art of persuading unwilling villagers to talk.
“The nettle bushes deep in the woods have been destroyed,” the man says dreamily after a while, “can’t have been an animal, they leave nettles alone. And no one from the village but me goes there, they think the place is cursed. My father took me there as a boy though - mostly for herb picking. I haven’t been seeing as many deer either. It might be your dragon’s work.”
“Which way are the bushes?” Dean asks him.
“South west of the village,” the man says, finally deigning to look a little interested. “No more than two hours walk. With your fine horse it will be faster,” he looks appreciatively at Impala.
“Thank you,” Dean says, dropping a couple of coins in his hand and mounting the stallion.
“Think the Prince is still alive?” the man asks him, his glance shrewd.
Dean grimaces.
“I sincerely hope so.”
+
It had been five months and twenty three days since Prince Castiel of Preterra had disappeared on a stormy winter’s night. Rumors flew about the whereabouts of the missing Prince, but the most persistent one seemed to involve dragons. Several people from the outlying villages swore they had seen a great dragon the night concerned, carrying with it a small dark haired man. The Prince’s distressed parents, King Michael and Queen Naomi, had sent their soldiers far and wide, hoping to find their only son. When a week had gone by, yielding no clue whatsoever, they had made an announcement.
Half the Kingdom to the one who found and returned their son safe and sound. The palace would provide a knapsack full of provisions and some basic weapons for every man who signed up. The Kingdom had buzzed with the news, and within days, every able bodied man in the kingdom had equipped themselves with what they could, leaving behind their fields and workshops, seeking to kill the dragon and retrieve their lost Prince.
+
The forest is oddly quiet and peaceful, the only sounds the far off twittering of birds and the quiet shuffles of a stray hare. There are no deer, as the man said. He passes a large, leafy beech tree, with low branches a few feet off the ground. The image of Castiel’s gap toothed smile comes to his mind with a pang, the times they would climb up the tree in the palace grounds and nestle there like two birds, eating the apples Dean had stolen from his mother’s kitchen.
The nettle bushes are just ahead, past a little knot of junipers. Dean grimaces as he sees them, a huge sprawling sea of bushes all trampled through. He dismounts, cautiously approaching on foot, taking care to not touch the leaves directly. Slight scorch marks litter the trunks of the trees nearby, long since faded. He examines every inch of the broken bushes, noting the spots of gold - dragon blood.
He sighs and goes back to impala, dusting himself off before mounting the animal.
On to the next two villages on the track.
+
“We saw a dragon two weeks ago,” an excited urchin volunteers, accompanied by a shorter boy. Dean has learnt to be cautious with information given by children, which tended to be exaggerated or worse still, completely made up. But he’s willing to give these two a chance. There’s a ringing conviction in their voice, and their grimy faces gleam with intelligence.
“You saw one, did you? How big was it?” Dean asks them.
“It was smaller than we thought,” the littler one pipes up.
“Yes, Gavin always told us that dragon were as big as a mountain,” the older boy says, not bothering to explain who Gavin was, “but this one wasn’t that big. We saw it flying close by and it was only as big as a farmhouse.”
Dean smiles encouragingly.
“That sounds right. What color was it? Where did it go? Did you boys see if there was a person on it by any chance?”
“We saw it when we were fishing by the pond at the edge of the old Berne farm. It was blue, bluer than the sky. And it wasn’t breathing fire.”
“Dragons don’t breathe fire all the time,” Dean protests mildly.
“And there was a person on it. A man.”
“What did he look like? Was he shouting for help?”
“We couldn’t see him that well - ”
“And he wasn’t shouting.” the littler boy interrupts.
“Can you show me this pond?” Dean asks them, rifling in his pocket for a gold piece or two.
The children look at each other, excited.
“Can we go on your horse?”
Dean laughs and lifts them both up carefully onto Impala, before mounting himself. He hold them both tight as Impala begins to trot, earning squeals of glee from his tiny passengers. They deliberately make him take a long route to the abandoned farm, determined to make it stretch for as long as they could.
“It flew that way,” the older one says, a little disappointed when they reach the pond, pointing south.
“Thank you for your help,” Dean says, lifting them back down. He smiles at the downcast faces and tosses them five gold pieces, enough to buy a month’s food. “I’ll come back sometime, and you can get to ride on Impala again.”
He lets them pet Impala before leaving, plunging back into the dense forest. The children wave at him till he’s out of sight.
+
Two days later, he sits exhausted by the side of a muddy pond, opening his pack to pull out a loaf of slightly stale bread and pork jerky. He’s perilously close to running out of food, and though the trail leads deeper into the forest, he might have to double back to the village for supplies. Normally he’d hunt or fish, living off the land like his father taught him to, but this forest is curiously empty. Something lies dull and heavy in the air, and the silence is oppressive - not a bird or rabbit in sight.
“ Cas, ” he mutters to himself, trying to quell the dull throb of pain that emerged every time he thought of his best friend, his… more than friend. So many weeks had gone by, and nothing. He’s not sure if he’s even on the trail of the right dragon, if Cas is elsewhere, legions away, if he’s dead, those beautiful blue eyes glassy and empty.
+
Dean was a chubby nine year old hunting for birds’ nests in the palace gardens when he met Castiel for the first time. Cas was older than him by a year, yet somehow smaller - thin and wiry with dark hair sticking up everywhere and big blue eyes that gazed solemnly at the world. Logically they should never have been friends. Dean was the son of a habitually drunken palace guard, and Castiel was the royal Prince. They had nothing in common, Cas preferring to spend his time up in his favorite tree, reading, while Dean preferred to run around or fish in forgotten ponds and catch tadpoles.
They had kissed years later under that very same tree, both of them breathless, cheeks flushed, their hearts pounding as one. They’d kept it secret, knowing Cas’s parents would never approve of Dean’s background.
“What are we going to do?” Cas would whisper against his skin on some nights, nights he knew he could get away from the palace with impunity.
“We’ll find a way,” Dean would promise, not knowing how exactly, but confident in his belief that one day it would all come together.
+
Dean sighs and scoops some water from the pond into his waterskin, grimacing at the grit in it. If only he could find signs of a cave or hollow somewhere nearby, some sort of ravine large enough to conceal a dragon…
There’s a small splash as a heavy twig falls from above into the pond. Dean closes his pack, fixing the waterskin to his belt. He’d explore for a half a day longer, then head back to the village.
“Come on, we need to leave,” he tells Impala, caressing the horse, leading it to the pond to take a drink, “what’s wrong?”
Impala is whinnying restlessly, unmoving when Dean tries to lead him. A minute later, he sees why. The pond’s glassy smooth surface is rippling, great concentric circles emerging from the center. Dean watches the edges, at the tiny pebbles bouncing into the water. Something big and heavy is approaching, stomping through the undergrowth nearby.
He pats his sword, coaxing Impala forward. There’s a low thrumming in the air as he inches his way carefully forward. A loud crack sounds from somewhere above and he hurries Impala ahead, avoiding the heavy branch that crashes just behind him.
“Don’t worry, I’ll get you out,” he soothes the agitated horse, making his way toward the source of the sound and shouts in pain as he almost falls forward.
It’s a gigantic hollow, overgrown with vines. The sound of rushing water comes from somewhere inside. Impala nickers, his ears flicking back and forth.
“Follow me,” he whispers to the agitated horse, caressing the silky mane, “it’s too dangerous here. It’s not far, I promise.”
He unsheathes his sword, hacking his way across the vines, trying to get a little light in, one hand on Impala’s reins. The ground beneath him is rocky, and he stumbles more than once as he makes his way down. A small brook rushes by at the bottom of the cavern, the water leaping and bounding. There’s a large cave beyond it, it’s walls rounded, like some great creature had burrowed its way through. A roar emerges from its depths, reverberating across the cavern.
“Stay here and wait for me,” he says to the horse, pressing a kiss to its forehead. “I’m going to go get Cas and we can go home afterward.”
Impala neighs fretfully, but obeys him. Dean smiles once and makes his way into the cave, his heart thudding.
Please be here, Cas. Please.
+
The cave stretches on and on, the darkness overwhelming. He doesn’t light his lantern, preferring to move at a snail's pace than alert the creatures inside. There’s a strong smell of decay, the sickly sweet odor of rotting flesh. His boots squelch unpleasantly as he makes his way, his stomach turning. Bats shriek at him as they flap past at the disturbance, the sound echoing ominously.
After what seems like hours, he sees a little flash of light, almost like an exit. He hurries toward it, ignoring the clang of metal as he pushes aside broken shields and pieces of armor.
It’s another cave. This one is well lit, shafts of bright sunlight piercing the gloom, the walls high and steep. Heaps of gold and precious stones surround him, blinding him with their unnatural luster. And just beyond, a gigantic dragon sits across, its mouth twisted into a grimacing smile. Dean’s heart nearly stops as he gazes petrified at the dragon,it’s blue scales gleaming in the sunshine, its yellow eyes fixed upon him.
“Cas,” he blurts, “it’s me.”
The dragon snorts threateningly as he steps closer, steam escaping from its nostrils.
“Cas,” he pleads, “Castiel. It’s me, it’s Dean.”
Castiel throws his head back lets out a piercing roar, making Dean’s hair stand on end. No matter how many times he had seen his lover in this form, it was always overwhelming.
+
They had been children when Castiel came up to him one night, blue eyes shining with suppressed excitement.
“Dean,” he had whispered, “can you keep a secret?”
“I can,” Dean had promised, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
“I found an old book in the library yesterday and tried something but you have to promise not to tell anyone.”
“I promise.” Dean had said, by now a little excited.
“Come outside, I’ll show you.”
They had crept together to an abandoned guards post, their favorite spot in the garden. Cas had made Dean stand a little away, whispering some words to himself. Dean had almost started screaming when Cas’s entire body gave an almighty shudder, his hands and legs elongating, the dark hair withdrawing, his eyes changing into yellow. By the end of the transformation, the only indication that it was Cas at all was in the colour of his scales, as deeply midnight blue as his eyes, sleek and shining like a serpent’s skin.
It was their great secret. Cas’s dragon form was by no means perfect at the start, he could barely fly or do anything useful. Dean remembered falling over laughing when Cas tried to breathe fire, puffs of smoke emerging occasionally, but not a hint of flame.
“Stop making fun of me!” Cas had shouted at him when he transformed back, his cheeks red. Dean hadn’t.
Cas had stomped off and not spoken to him for an entire week. Dean remembered breaking into his room, remembered finding Cas hiding in his room with a lantern and the book, his eyes heavy with sleep and dried up tears.
“I’m sorry,” the words had rushed out of him, alarmed at the miserable expression on Cas’s face, “I’ll help you get better at it, so please don’t cry any more.”
They had cuddled together that night, trading ideas back and forth, making plans on what they would do once Cas’s transformation became perfect.
“Save people.” Cas had enthused.
“Burn up bandits to crisp.” Dean had said, gleeful, “imagine the looks on their faces.”
Cas had laughed as well, taking Dean’s hand in the dark.
“You’ll help me? You promise?”
“Always, Cas.”
It had taken them years to get it right. They didn’t dare hunt too close to the Kingdom’s borders, but every moonless night they disappeared, heading toward well known merchant routes. It was a routine that had not varied for months, until the night Cas disappeared.
+
“Where were you?” Dean asks now, keeping his voice soft, “Cas, I’ve been looking for you for months now.”
Cas’s eyes drift toward the piles of gold, drops of acidic venom falling from his curved fangs. Dean stands his ground as the dragon approaches, gripping his shield tightly. Cas rears his head back and roars again, a great burst of fire emerging. Dean ducks underneath his shield, the ends of his hair singing. He’s not sure his shield will last long - it’s only darksteel, enchanted with the most basic of protection charms.
“Cas, please!” he pleads again when the fire dies down, “it’s me, it’s Dean, I’ve come for you, not to steal this damned treasure!”
Cas pays him no heed, swiping at him with his claws. Dean grunts as his shoulder catches the blow, his head throbbing as it hits the cave wall. There’s a sharp sound as his shield cracks a little, the steel warping around the edges. Dean briefly curses the oily blacksmith who had sold it to him, guaranteeing its dragon-worthy strength.
Cas looms over him, his mouth opened wide, ready to sink his fangs into his flesh. He glances at his sword, wondering if he should attempt to fight, but swiftly gives up the idea. It is impossible to fight a dragon, not alone, not under-armed like he is. And this, this is Cas. Dean can’t bring himself to hurt him even now. He knows he was stupid, walking in without a plan. But all the way here, all the endless days and nights he had spent searching for Cas, the faith that had sustained him was the belief in their bond.
“ Cas, ” he grits out, “ please. ”
Cas darts forward and he shuts his eyes.
+
The pain in his limbs is a faraway thing, dull and negligible compared to the thoughts of Cas’s uncomprehending amber eyes, lit up with bloodlust.
I’m so sorry, Cas. I failed you.
He feels the tears prickle at the corner of his eyes, running down the sides of his face.
“Dean?” a well known, gravelly voice sounds from somewhere far away.
Dean’s heart catches, his breath stopping for a brief second.
I must be dead. This must be heaven.
“Dean,” Cas’s voice sounds closer now. A calloused palm strokes gently at his cheek, thumb brushing the corner of his eye, “beloved.”
“Cas,” Dean grunts, trying to lift his arms. They feel like iron. He feels his head being lifted gently, and placed on something soft. Cas’s arms surround him as fingers brush through his hair.
Dean opens his eyes and tries to focus, smiling wanly when he sees the familiar eyes.
“ Cas, ”
Cas smiles at him, swooping down to gently kiss Dean.
“You’re alright,” he whispers between kisses, “I was so worried.”
“What happened?”
Cas pulls away a little, dropping his eyes.
“I… I made a mistake. Forgive me, Dean.”
“Cas…”
“I… remember that mage who came to court? He called himself Zachariah.”
Dean throws his mind back, vaguely remembering a greasy faced man, balding and corpulent.
“I went to him… after Father had dismissed him,” Cas stumbles over his words, his hands clenching, “he said he could help me, for a price.”
“Help you with what?” Dean asks him, trying to lift his head from Cas’s lap, “why didn’t you tell me?”
Cas doesn’t answer for a while, soothing Dean’s aching head back down. When he speaks, his voice is small and ashamed.
“I thought he could help me with persuading Father… about us. He promised me he could.”
Dean stares at him, shocked. Cas’s lower lip is trembling, and he seems unable to meet Dean’s eyes.
“And then? What did he want in exchange?” Dean asks him, the love he suddenly feels for his Prince threatening to carry him off.
“He knew I could become a dragon,” Cas whispers, “all he asked me was to witness it once. I… I didn’t think he could harm me.”
“But he enchanted you.”
“Yes, and forced me to serve his bidding - he wanted to acquire wealth, lots of it. And he needed me to guard it. There were moments of lucidity, but I could never break free from the curse and transform back. I was an animal most of the time, content to feed.”
“What happened to him?”
“I killed him,” Cas says dispassionately, “but it didn’t help.”
Dean says nothing, interlacing their fingers together.
“All those poor idiots who came after me, lured here by mentions of treasure…” Cas says, his voice heavy with guilt and bitterness, “I killed them.I killed them all.”
“And me?”
“What?”
“Why didn’t you kill me?”
“Oh,” Cas hesitates, “the curse… it was set to break when someone let me kill them. Zachariah thought it was foolproof.”
Dean laughs despite himself, pulling Cas down to kiss him hard. Cas makes a startled sound against his lips, his fingers gripping Dean’s arm tightly. The kiss continues long enough for Dean to get dizzy again, and he gasps for breath when Cas pulls away.
“I’m sorry, Dean.”
“Not your fault. Glad you roasted that bastard,” Dean says, “I… your troubles might be over though.”
“Hmmm?”
“Your Father promised half the Kingdom to the one who rescued the crown Prince from the big bad dragon.”
Cas stares at him, mouth dropping open.
“So let’s go back, you and me and some of that lovely pile of gold… and make good of that offer. He wants a dramatic rescue, he can get one.”
“And the rest of it?” Cas asks him, beginning to smile.
“Lots of poor villages on the way that helped lead me to you,” Dean says, smiling back, “I’m sure we can find a way to make use of it.”