Archive of Our Own

The carriage sped through the night, the horses pulling it whipped to a frenzy. It clattered through the town, bouncing along the old cobbled streets, the sound of hooves enough to wake the dead. Yet still every house remained dark, as people slumbered on

All except in one house, were a lamp was lit.

Dean Winchester watched from his window as the carriage passed. He did not know why the sound had awoken him, but he did know that something was not right. Their town was a sleepy nowhere, a place travelers avoided rather than passed through. It was not on any of the main routes. It would have taken a detour for the carriage driver to find them.

It was strange also for anyone to travel at night when the forests around the town were filled with wolves and bears, stranger still for those who could afford a carriage to do so.

Once Dean had noticed how strange it was, he felt an odd sense of foreboding. Nothing good could come of this, he was sure.

As the carriage passed by his house, the curtains of its window opened slightly and a pale face peered out into the darkness.

Dean’s gaze was drawn to deep blue eyes. The face reminded him of a corpse in a casket, too perfectly composed to be alive. There was a peaceful serenity about it that Dean couldn’t look away from, even as his stomach churned and something ancient and fearful awoke inside him to warn him about this man.

He stared at the stranger’s face and felt exhausted. It was a sudden, rapid exhaustion and he yawned loudly, covering his mouth with his hand.

He set down his lamp on his bedside table and turned down the light until the flame was extinguished then collapsed into his bed. It was an exhaustion that was impossible to fight against. He was tired down to his bones and he needed to sleep.

He struggled to keep a hold of the image he had glimpsed before the exhaustion overtook him – the image of that worried face at the carriage window.

He fell asleep, that face etched into his mind, along with the knowledge that whatever ill-fated wind was coming, that man from the carriage had brought it here.

**

“Castiel, in!” Inias snapped, grabbing hold of Castiel’s shoulders to pull him away from the carriage window. He shut it tight and drew the curtains across, confining both himself and his charge in gloom.

Castiel sat down, a frown marring his otherwise pretty face. He was a very handsome young man with bright blue eyes and untidily combed black hair. His skin was uncannily smooth, like the surface of porcelain. There was a hint of something unnatural about him, something that reminded the primal, animal part of Inias’s brain that he was a mouse looking at a snake. Castiel hid his fangs well but they were still there.

“There was a man looking out at us, Inias, a man in the window. I had to make him go away, I had to make him forget,” Castiel said.

“Everyone in the village will know about us soon,” Inias said.

“But they won’t know we arrived at night. They won’t know…” Castiel trailed off.

Inias could guess what he was thinking about. He was thinking of how well they had covered their tracks. They had travelled during the day time as well as the night, Castiel swaddled up and the curtains of the carriage window tightly drawn. It had taken them days, rather than weeks, to make the journey that way. They never had a difficulty in finding new horses or men to drive them. What Inias could not pay for, Castiel could compel.

Castiel had always known it would take them far away from home but it was for his own safety. They could not stay in that place. Inias had his orders and those were to keep Castiel safe. He would lay down his own life if it meant doing so. He knew that deep in his bones. It was written into him, a promise he had made before he had taken Castiel away.

“You’re tired,” Inias said. “We’ll arrive soon.”

Castiel’s frown only intensified.

“I am not tired, Inias! Michael told me to run, to stay safe and I have done. I simply want to cover our tracks. You’ve never objected when I made people forget before.”

Castiel sounded like a petulant child. He could hardly be described as a child any more, although he had been turned on the edge of adulthood. He would always look young but his mind aged, even if his body did not. It was unfair for Inias to judge him on the way he looked.

Even so, he worried that Castiel was not strong. It drained him to use his power and he had hardly eaten since they took flight. Castiel would not feed from the peasants in the towns they stopped at and Inias accepted that. A trail of men and women with bite marks in their veins would lead straight to them. It was more than just a desire to protect them though. Castiel was punishing himself. He was forcing himself towards starvation because of what he was. They would not be in danger if it wasn’t for his blood lust and so Castiel rebuked himself by refusing to allow himself what he craved.

It wasn’t good for him to go so long without feeding. It left him weakened and every time he used his powers, he diminished himself a little more. If they were being tracked, Castiel would be safer if he was at the height of his powers.

Inias sighed and unbuttoned his cufflink, rolling back his sleeve.

“You should have something to drink,” he said.

Castiel turned his head away.

“You said we’d be there soon,” he objected.

He made it sound as if he’d drink when they arrived but Inias knew how unlikely that was. He moved so he was sitting next to Castiel, one arm wrapped around Castiel’s shoulder, Castiel slotted tight against him.

“Drink now,” he urged. “There will be a lot to do when we arrive and you need your strength.”

He held his hand out again, his wrist turned upwards. The mark on his wrist from Castiel’s last feeding had almost scabbed over. It would never heal completely. The skin there would always be paper thin. Castiel had broken it open so often.

Castiel stiffened in his arms and tried to turn away, but Inias didn’t let him. He knew that Castiel needed this. It wouldn’t take him too long to accept the offering. Not when Inias was this close to him. Castiel would be able to smell him, would be able to hear the pounding of his heart. It would awaken the need in him.

Castiel drew in a shaky breath, closing his eyes as he fought against himself. He opened his eyes slowly and Inias caught a glimpse of the control Castiel usual exerted slipping away. Then Castiel pounced, grabbing hold of Inias’s wrist and sinking his fangs through the old scaring, into the vein. Inias gasped out in pain. It always hurt at first. They had done this a hundred times but the pain never really went away.

He cuddled Castiel tight against him as the young vampire fed, sucking at his wrist like a babe. Inias had always been a constant fresh and willing source of blood for him. Castiel was his charge and providing him with a meal fell in line with Inias’s other duties as Castiel’s guardian.

To the outside world, Castiel was still a young man, maybe seventeen or eighteen years of age and Inias was nearing thirty. They could not know that Inias had been in Castiel’s services since he was thirteen years old. No one would have believed that. It was true though. He had come to the household as a young boy and watched the change that rippled through them all.

Inias had long ago learned not to be frightened of Castiel’s bite.

**

“Did you hear someone’s taken the big house on the hill?” Ellen asked.

Dean shook his head. The news had not reached him, but that was not uncommon.

He knew that Ellen always managed to have the news first. It came from running the tavern. Travelers made it their first stop and Ellen was good at coaxing their story from them, although she would deny it to her dying day. She didn’t gossip. It was hardly gossip what she delivered. Dean had always thought gossip was heard at doors, the remnants of half-whispered conversations and imaginings. Ellen provided them with nothing more than the truth. It was a service in some ways. A man who came to town to sell his wares could expect a line of customers if he stopped and took a bed in Ellen’s tavern.

“When did they do that?” he asked, pausing in the effort of lifting his fork to his mouth.

It was his lunchtime and Dean always took his lunch at Ellen’s. It meant he could smile at her pretty daughter, Jo, and eat his fill before it was time to return to work. The food was good, the sort of meal that kept a man warm and put hair on his chest. The only jobs Dean was fit for were the ones that forced him outside. He didn’t need his stomach rumbling at him or to feel as if he’d be bitten through by the wind before he finished.

“A few days ago. I would have thought it means a tidy commission for whoever arranged it. That place has stood empty for years,” Ellen said, leaning against the bar.

Dean took a bite of his meal, well aware that this pause was just a momentary stop from breath before Ellen continued.

“It’s a young man and his guardian. The boy is sickly apparently, can’t overtire himself. He has to stay in bed all day with the curtains drawn. The guardian sent down this morning for things to be delivered to the house – milk, bread and eggs. You know the sort of things that one wants once settled. They haven’t brought servants with them so they’re looking. They don’t want them to live in. They’ll need a cook and a maid or two, I would say. They brought horses and a coach but they’ve got a groomsman to tend to those.”

“Are you trying to imply there could be a job for me up at the house?” Dean asked.

He felt strange, listening to Ellen talk about the people who had taken the house. It aroused some memory that stubbornly stayed at the edge of his mind, refusing to become clearer. Something about a carriage and a pretty, worried face. Even if he could not recall the memory, the feelings it evoked were still strong and sinister.

“Winter is coming,” Ellen said. “There’s not a lot of work for you over winter. I know Sam has work all year round. There are always new notices to be written, always a baby being born or someone dying. He’s kept busy in records and it’s a good wage but he might want to move on one day, might finally tip his hat to one of the young girls and make a match. You can’t live off generosity alone.”

Dean didn’t take offense to it. He knew that the work dried up over winter. Normally, he made ends meet by chopping firewood and helping with household repairs. In the summer, when the farmers needed someone to help them tend their sheep or bring the harvest in, Dean was a god send to them, but in the winter he’d always been more trouble than he was worth. His brother Sam had always been different. He’d shown aptitude at a young age, enough to get himself apprenticed as a clerk and he’d done well at it. He could read and write, do his sums. He’d passed a little onto Dean but it had never excited Dean the way it did him.

It had been too late for Dean when Sam began to teach him. He’d already started his toil. He’d had his reputation then as well. No one was going to offer him a second chance and not one where too much money might cross his palm. Dean had always had a way with money. He earned it and spent it like no one else. He could charm it from people, con it from them too. It had got him into trouble more than once, but he’d kept himself on the straight and narrow for a while now.

“Dean,” Ellen said again. “I really think you should try. There’d be something up there you could do. Sam would prefer it if you had something steady too. If you got sick from being out in the cold…”

“I’ll go up to the house when I’ve finished lunch,” Dean said, stabbing his fork back into the pile of fried cabbage, potatoes and bacon on his plate. He wanted to linger, to keep away from the big house and its new occupants. He knew he couldn’t do that forever. Ellen wouldn’t let him. She’d send him up there or ask him why he’d never gone. He smiled at her, a placating smile, trying to buy himself a little more time. “I wouldn’t make a good impression if I was hungry still.”

Ellen sighed.

“Just see that you do go,” she said. “You’re the first one I’ve told. If you make yourself look presentable, they might just hire you.”

**

Dean headed up to the big house after he finished his meal. It was five miles outside the village and when the snow came, sometimes the roads could be impassable. It took Dean an hour’s walk to reach it and by the time he did, he was cursing whoever had built the old house.

It had stood there for as long as could be remembered, built for the richest family around in by-gone days. They’d owned all the land as far as the eye could see, but slowly they’d sold it, parcelling it off to the tenant farmers and old servants who had built the first few little homes that had eventually grown to Dean’s village. The family had declined; too much interbreeding, not enough money.

Finally, the last of them had shut up the house and gone to the capital to seek a wife with money and a fine pedigree of a different type. The house had stood empty for a long time. It was still owned by the old family, or so Dean had heard. It had never been sold, but now according to Ellen, it had been taken for some months.

Dean didn’t know how long anyone would last out here. It wasn’t the sort of place anyone coming from a city would like. It was a hidden, nowhere house, removed from everyone. It had had gardens once, but those were now overgrown. Nature had taken back what had once been its own, overrunning the neat beds and garden walls. The house had been boarded up for as long as Dean could remember. There would be dust everywhere.

It wasn’t a house to be taken on a whim. It wasn’t a place for hunting. Dean knew what lived in the woods and in January there would be deer and in the spring months hare and rabbit, but now everything was bedding down, heading to earth. No one would come up for the shooting or to ride to hounds. There was no fishing to be had either. There was a river running through the valley, but the fish that swam in it where neither rare nor big. They would not be worth such a long trek.

Dean knew from Ellen that apparently there was an invalid in the house. He pondered how such a long ride could be worth the strain on the young man’s health. The house would have to be set to and properly cleaned. It would need airing out. It was true that their air was clean and pure, not tainted by the smog of the industrial cities, but Dean knew there were other places a sickly man could go. There where famous estates and other health resorts where the waters ran naturally warm and a man could be cured by drinking from them.

All of this seemed so much work. Dean couldn’t help but think it was odd. It seemed natural to him, to notice the oddness of the thing. Whoever had taken the house was peculiar and Dean could not help but feel an odd sense of foreboding as he walked up the long carriage drive. He had felt it when Ellen mentioned the house had been occupied and he could not shake the feeling that he had felt it before then, although he could not remember when or why.

He stopped as the drive tapered out and the house came into view. Dean looked up at it, licking his lips. He could turn around. He could tell Ellen that he’d seen the house’s new guardian and that he’d been refused a position. It wouldn’t be the first time that Dean had been turned down for a job.

Even though the boards had been removed from across the windows and doors the curtains of the upstairs rooms were all drawn. It made the house look unwelcoming, as if it was still shut up. The house itself seemed to ward against visitors. Dean felt that no one wanted him there. The occupants of the house wanted to be left alone. It was the only reason Dean could imagine that would bring them to such an out of the way spot.

He was almost about to turn and leave when the front door opened.

A man stepped out. He was well dressed. The fabric of his suit and waistcoat were expensive and tailored to fit perfectly. Dean judged that he was in his thirties. His brown hair was neatly cut but there was stubble on his chin. He looked tired. There were dark circles under his eyes and that made him seem older, making it harder for Dean to judge exactly how old he was. Dean didn’t think this was the sickly boy Ellen had mentioned. This was more likely to be the guardian.

Dean was surprised by how otherwise normal the man appeared. In his mind, he had suspected some sort deformed monster or an obvious villain, but this man was not like that. He looked very respectable.

The man noticed Dean then. He took a step backwards, towards the house, before recovering himself and striding towards Dean.

“Who are you? Why are you here?” he asked. He looked angry, his eyes narrowing. Dean hadn’t expected such a cold reception.

“Dean Winchester, from the village. I was told that there might be a job available,” he said quickly.

The man stopped. He clenched his hands then unclenched them.

“Oh yes, I mentioned something about that when I was in the town,” he murmured, as if reminding himself. He looked Dean up and down. “I was thinking we would have women servants. You’re not what I expected.”

“I suppose with the house being aired there’s a lot to clean out or the garden would need sorting?” Dean said, trying to suggest jobs at which he would be useful.

“Yes,” the man agreed. “Yes, I suppose there is the garden. That should be cleared. It’s too overgrown.”

Dean said nothing, just let the man mull the idea over in his mind. It would mean months of work if he gave Dean the job. Dean had never grown anything in his life but he could cut back the bracken and the brambles. In the winter, clearing the grounds, going back to the old patterns and beds, would be all he could do. Once the summer rolled around and the master of the house realized he was no gardener, Dean would already have been paid handsomely for the winter’s work and his usual summer jobs would be open for the taking.

“Yes,” the man murmured again. He stepped forward and held his hand out for Dean to shake. “Can you start today? I am Inias. We will not be able to provide you with accommodation but I will provide you with your pay at the end of every week. If you wait by the back door on the Friday, I’ll pay you then. I do not want you to come into the house unless you are asked. I have my ward with me and he is unwell. It wouldn’t do to have him frightened by strange men about the house.”

Dean nodded slowly. He shook Inias’s hand, sizing up the man. He still felt he had not got the full measure of him.

“Is he an invalid? Your ward?” he asked. “Maybe when I have the garden cleared, he could come down. The sunshine and fresh air would be good for him.”

Inias pulled his hand back sharply.

“Are you a doctor? No. Then you’ll do your work and keep to yourself.”

Dean bit his tongue. The suggestion had only been a polite one on his part. He hadn’t expected to be spoken to so rudely. He could think of a lot of things he’d like to say, but those would get him fired before he’d even started work. This would be an easy job. Dean liked physical work. He enjoyed it and he enjoyed being outdoors. It would be a shame to lose something that could keep him comfortably fed through winter.

“I’ll go around the back of the house and start, shall I, sir?” he asked through gritted teeth.

Inias nodded.

“I think that would be best,” he agreed.

Dean stalked off around the house, drawing in a deep breath. He’d like to get his hands on the over grown shrubs and weeds, like to pull them out by the roots. He’d build a big bonfire, burn the lot of them. It would make him feel better. He could take his anger out on the plants and pretend they were his new master instead.

**

Inias climbed slowly up the stairs. The day was overcast, cloudy and miserable but there had still been a steady flow of bodies from the village – young men and women, all of them looking for work of some kind. It had been a long time since Inias had been forced to hire household staff.

The staff he had worked with before had been in the household almost as long as he had. It was a shame that they had not been able to arrive with a whole fleet of maids but he and Castiel had attracted less attention traveling on their own. Inias was not certain about the new help he had hired, but he had gone with his instincts on the matter. There was no one around he knew well enough to ask and references seemed out of the question in such a lowly little spot. There were no other large house for miles around, nowhere else nearby that required such staff.

Inias worked by the rule that he could hire and dismiss his staff as he saw fit. He wanted only loyal workers, workers who could be relied upon to be discreet and to focus on the task allotted to them. With this thought in mind, Inias already regretted his hire for the gardener. The man spoke out of turn. Inias did not know if he could be trusted not to poke and pry. Then again, he was an outside worker. There would never be a reason for him to come inside the house and money could do a great deal to make even the most cumbersome of workers into gentle lambs.

He reached the top of the stairs and headed along the landing, coming to the third door, which he pushed open. This was Castiel’s room. It was the largest of the bedrooms and faced the back of the house. Inias had chosen it because he did not want Castiel to spend his nights watching the carriage drive, looking for his brother, waiting for Michael’s return. Castiel was likely to do that. He was fidgety and nervous, unhappy about being separated from his sire for so long.

Inias had expected to find Castiel in bed, resting. During the day, Castiel’s powers waned. He could not go outside. If he went anywhere in sunlight he would be consumed by flames. Inias expected him to sleep during the day, waking once the night came. Castiel wasn’t in bed though. He was up and peering through the gap in the curtains, spying on something or someone in the garden.

“Castiel!” Inias said loudly, loud enough to make his charge jump and turn to look at him guiltily. “Do you want to burn?”

“It’s overcast. There’s hardly any sunlight,” Castiel said.

Inias hurried to look at him. He couldn’t see any marks on Castiel, nothing that suggested he’d been in direct sunlight but Inias did not want to take the chance. He took hold of Castiel’s hand firmly and tugged him towards the bed. He made Castiel sit down, ignoring the way Castiel sighed. Inias had promised that no harm would come to Castiel.

“What are you doing up?” he asked. “What were you looking at?”

Castiel looked away from him, refusing to meet his eye for a moment. It was a childish reaction, trying to deflect the conversation, pretending that if he wasn’t looking at Inias he wouldn’t have to answer the question.

Inias could guess easily enough what Castiel had been looking at but he still wanted Castiel to tell him. If the gardener was going to be a distraction, Inias would have to find a way to let him go. He wouldn’t allow any dangers to Castiel, however slight the temptation was.

Castiel sighed again after a long pause. He still didn’t look at Inias, but at least he answered his questions now.

“There was a man in the garden. I was just curious,” he said. “I just wanted to see what he was doing.”

“What if he’d seen you spying on him? What if he was curious too?” Inias asked. “You aren’t supposed to draw attention to yourself, Castiel. I have told our new staff that you are not to be disturbed. I have told them you need bed rest. What are they going to think if they see you up and about?”

“I understand,” Castiel said quietly.

“I just want to protect you, Castiel,” Inias said. He hated the way Castiel sounded.

He wished that it could be easier. He wished that they weren’t in hiding but they were and the less gossip they created, the better. He and Castiel would be talked about for a little while, they were new and therefore interesting, but that did not mean that they would always be. Eventually the chatter would die down and someone else would seize the villagers’ interest. Inias didn’t want to do anything to draw their attention back.

Castiel would come to see that it was for the best eventually. He would begin to understand that Inias was only doing what he had been told to do. They could not have someone poking and prodding around, someone who could discover their secret.

“Get into bed,” Inias said. He unbuttoned his cuff and rolled his shirt sleeve up. “You should have a drink before you sleep.”

Castiel slipped under the covers, pulling the blanket up high around his chest. He looked at Inias like a reproachful child but took his offered hand, drawing the wrist up to his mouth to feed. Inias sighed again, closing his eyes at the brief pain.

With his eyes closed, Inias remembered the first time that Castiel fed from him, just after he had turned. He remembered being brought into Castiel’s bedroom, a mere slip of a boy himself. Castiel had always been sickly. A bedridden invalid who’d die before his time was the opinion of the staff. Inias could remember the change in him, the pallor of death on his cheeks, the way Castiel’s breathing had stopped. At first, he’d thought that this had been the end, that Castiel had passed on but then Castiel had opened his eyes.

He had been ravenous with hunger but Michael had held him back. He had offered Inias the choice and Inias had chosen to let Castiel feed. Even after so many years, Inias still remembered every second of that first meal.

Castiel was more controlled now, gentler than he’d once been but he was still that boy who’d gained a second chance at life through death.

 He was still reliant upon Inias for his survival.

**

Dean trudged home at the end of the day. His back hurt, his knees ached, and the walk back home was a long, tiring one. The light was almost gone by the time he reached home and Dean cursed under his breath. It was never a good idea to be out in the dark. He knew the path, he wasn’t fearful of getting lost, but the winter months brought wolves and other creatures that hunted by night. He would have to arrange to leave the house earlier, especially as the winter months drew on.

It took him a long time to reach home. There was a lamp lit in the window and smoke curling from the chimney. It looked warm and inviting. His own home was a small house, with one large room downstairs and two small rooms above. Dean had patched it, fixed the roof and rehung the doors. It was the house he was born in and where his father before him had been born. The fact that it was only Dean and his brother Sam who lived in the house now made Dean feel uncomfortable and slightly sad. Their parents were dead and buried, all of their family were.

One day, Sam might get married and then Dean would pass the house on to him. He had no doubt that Sam would want him to stay, to live with them, but newlyweds didn’t need anyone else sharing their roof.

Dean couldn’t see himself getting married. He’d flirted, made overtures and had more than his fair share of tumbles in the hay, but the thought of matrimony left him cold. So many of those rolls in the hay had been shared with attractive young men, farm workers or hired labor like Dean. Dean couldn’t imagine settling down into domesticity and leaving those men behind. He doubted there’d also be any young woman in the village whose mother would let her make a match with him.

Dean stomped his feet, trying to get some warmth back into them, before he pushed the front door open. Light washed over him, along with the scent of dinner bubbling away on the stove. Sam sat at the table that took up half the room, having pulled it up close to the fire. There were papers laid out in front of him and Dean wondered what he’d brought home with him this time.

Sam jumped up as the door opened, shoving his seat back and rounding the table to get to Dean.

“Where have you been?” he asked angrily.

“I’ve got a job,” Dean said. He shut the front door behind him and started to unlace his boots. “Ellen told me about it at lunch time. It’s up at the big house. I’m going to be their gardener.”

Sam looked at him in some confusion.

“But you don’t know anything about gardening.”

“Neither does anyone at the house,” Dean said confidently. “Besides, it’s all so overgrown, it’s going to be months of work just digging out and cutting back. When summer comes, they can hire someone else who knows about flowers.”

“Dean,” Sam said softly. “Are you sure?”

“What’s wrong with a little extra money over the winter time?” Dean asked.

Besides, he did not want to stay up at the big house for too long. Dean still hadn’t completely shaken his dislike of the place. He’d worked there all the afternoon and it still made the hairs on the back of his neck stand. No doubt in the summer, it wouldn’t look nearly so cold or forbidding but Dean didn’t want to stay. He had never taken a position anywhere for too long and he didn’t see this time being any different.

He liked the freedom to come and go as he pleased. Simply because he’d gone into service didn’t mean he wouldn’t still want that. Dean had never liked to stay anywhere for too long.

Sam sighed, shaking his head. “No, I suppose it’s good that you’ve got yourself a job. I just wish you’d settle down. You can’t go on changing places whenever you feel like it. Soon people won’t hire you. You’re not responsible.”

Dean kicked off his boots and frowned at Sam.

“You’re too responsible. Besides, there are always people willing to hire labor. It’s just clerks like you who have to worry about their jobs.”

“It wouldn’t be a bad thing if you worried about a job. You’re getting older, Dean. What if you’re injured or get sick? You need something with more life in it than seasonal work.”

“Sam, I’m tired and I just want to eat,” Dean snapped, silencing his brother.

He didn’t want to talk about his future. He didn’t want to think about what would happen if he became ill. He couldn’t see a future for himself. He lived in the moment and that had always worked. He knew the old men who’d lived all their lives as seasonal workers often starved, but Dean didn’t think he’d live to see old age. Neither of his parents had been old when they died.

Sam would die an old man, asleep in his bed but Dean doubted he would get past forty. It didn’t frighten him. The thought of growing old, of living in his memories and wasting away, scared him.

Sam sighed.

“I’ve only got soup. There was some sausage left over so I used that up.”

Dean smiled. A bowl of warming soup, eaten in front of the fire, would help with his aches and pains. He’d go straight to bed after that and maybe Sam would see that this was a good thing for them. Dean had a job to do, something to keep him on the straight and narrow through the winter months. It would mean they’d come into the new year with money in their pockets and Sam wouldn’t always have to support him.

Maybe Dean would stay on at the big house if they offered him enough. He was no gardener but that house was going to rack and ruin. Dean was a good handyman and he might be able to prove that yet. They might keep him on to help them fix it up and then Sam would stop worrying so much.

Once Dean had been there for some time, once the superstition he felt had passed, he was sure he could settle into the old house. He might even come to like the people living there, provided they could restrain themselves from being rude to him.

**

Three weeks later:

Dean stomped his feet on the ground and blew onto his cupped hands. It was bitterly cold and he had better things to do than stand at the back of the house, waiting for Inias to arrive. The last two weeks had been no problem. Dean had finished his days’ work on Saturday. They’d arranged that he shouldn’t come on the Sunday. It would be looked at askew if Dean worked on a Sunday and he had Wednesday afternoons off. It was a good job, much better than his temporary work had ever been.

Only now Inias was late and Dean wasn’t in the mood to stay. The night was drawing in and he didn’t want to be late walking home. He knew that he wasn’t supposed to go inside the house, but if Inias didn’t turn up soon, Dean would be forced to go looking for him. He wasn’t going to wait until Monday to get his pay.

Dean stomped again, feeling the cold work its way into his fingers and toes. He didn’t want Inias to think that Dean could just be ignored, that he’d go away quietly. Inias might start forgetting to pay him and that wasn’t something Dean could agree with.

He looked down at this boots. The ground was so cold; the dirt wasn’t sticking to them. He wasn’t about to risk tracking muddy footprints into the house. He’d be in trouble for this and leaving marks behind would only add to that trouble. He stomped one final time, just to be sure and then pushed the back door open.

It led into the kitchens. The room was empty. There was no cook around, but that didn’t surprise Dean. He knew there was someone, a middle aged woman, who came up from the village to see to meals, but she didn’t stay much longer than Dean did. She left early on Saturdays and over Sunday the household ate cold meats, bread and cheese.

The household staff consisted of the cook and two young maids, one of whom Dean had already kissed when she’d come outside to beat the rugs. He’d tugged her behind one of them, away from sight of the house, and kissed her until she pushed him away, her cheeks pink and told him he’d get the two of them fired if he did any more. None of the household staff lived in, which was a shame as Dean wouldn’t have minded meeting that maid again.

He walked quietly through the kitchen and paused for a moment before the door. He’d come in to the kitchen once or twice before, the cook was good about giving him leftovers, but he’d never been any deeper into the house than that. He steeled himself and pushed the door open, stepping on to the carpeted floor.

He had stepped out into a long corridor. There was a staircase right in front of him and a door just before that. There were doors all along the hall and Dean had no doubt that they would lead to a drawing room and a dining room and whatever other rooms this draft old place had been built with.

Dean thought about opening the doors, looking into the rooms in his search for Inias but somehow he fancied Inias wouldn’t be there. He had the idea that most of Inias’s attention was focused on his sick ward. If he was anywhere, Inias would be upstairs, tending to him.

Dean carefully, slowly, climbed the stairs. He put his hand on the banister and took each step lightly, worried that the boards would creak under him and give his presence away. It seemed to take forever but eventually he reached the top and stood on the landing, listening.

His heart was beating fast but he could still hear voices. They were muffled but Dean knew one of them to be Inias’s. It had the right pitch and timber for his voice. The other one he did not know but that had to be the mysterious ward.

Dean edged forward slowly. The whole of the upstairs was dark. There were big dark curtains pulled across the windows. A little light escaped around the curtains, but hardly enough to light his way. One of the doors was slightly ajar and that was the room that the voices echoed from. Dean stole up to the door, eager to get a glimpse of the invalid boy.

He peered through the gap and was immediately taken aback. Dean didn’t know what he’d expected. Maybe, he’d entertained the idea of someone close to death, but the young man lying in the bed didn’t look terribly sick. His skin was pale but it wasn’t sallow. There were no dark circles under his eyes. He seemed to light up the darkness of his room all on his own, a little star swaddled in the blankets.

His lips were red, his hair was dark and Dean had the feeling that he had seen him somewhere before. He tried his hardest to remember where but it felt as if they’d met in a dream. The boy was too beautiful to be real. He seemed to have sprung fully formed from Dean’s imagination.

Dean wondered why the boy would need to stay in bed. Maybe he couldn’t move his legs but then he could have had an invalid chair and that didn’t explain the reason for the big black curtains and the lack of light. Dean had hoped he’d learn something when he finally got a glimpse of the boy, but it seemed to just raise more questions in his mind.

Dean leaned closer, his own breathing sounding loud in his ears, straining to hear what they were taking about.

“Inias,” the boy said quietly. “Has there been any word?”

“No, there hasn’t been anything yet, but it’s only been a few weeks. We have to be careful,” Inias replied.

Dean had no idea what they were talking about. It could easily have been a question of medicine or doctors, but Dean fancied they were talking about something else. The way they spoke, the fear in their voices - it was as if they were frightened to even talk about the subject. Dean didn’t want to believe it was the boy’s health they were talking about.

“Aren’t we being careful? We’re hidden away in this little backwater and I’m never allowed to leave or see anyone!” the boy complained.

“Castiel,” Inias said angrily. “You know why.”

The boy, Castiel, frowned.

Dean licked his lips. He mouthed the name to himself. It was a strange name. It seemed antique. It belonged to the past. It made him feel uneasy all over again although he couldn’t put his finger on exactly why that was.

“You’re upsetting yourself,” Inias said softly. He unbuttoned his cuff, the motion odd and business like. “You should drink.”

Dean stared. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise up but he couldn’t move. His feet were firmly rooted to the spot. Some primal inside him told him that this was very wrong. It told him that he needed to get away but still Dean couldn’t move. He could only watch as Castiel opened his mouth wide to show off his fangs.

Inias held his hand up to the boy’s mouth and Castiel took hold of it, holding it gently as he sank his fangs into Inias’s wrist. Inias made a noise, a twisted sort of moan, that finally broke Dean from the trance he’d been in. He could see blood on Castiel’s lips, could hear the greedy sounds he made and that was enough to make him run. He didn’t care if they heard him. He just needed to get away from the house.

He ran down the stairs, through the kitchen and out of the backdoor. The weak winter sunlight hit him full on, making him blink in dazed surprise and for a second he stopped, holding his hand up to shield his eyes. Now, he understood why no one was asked to stay. He understood the big black drapes and why Castiel had to stay in his room. He understood everything and it chilled him to the bone.

Those things couldn’t come out into sunlight, could they? But Inias wasn’t one of them. He could be behind Dean, ready to drag him back into the house and make him a meal for the monster he was keeping.

Dean felt the panic from before, a surge of adrenaline rushing through him, his blood pumping fast in fear for his life. The sun would be setting soon and then it could leave its room. Dean had to get away. He had to get home before either Inias or his ward could catch him.

He took off again, sprinting through the garden and around the front of the house. He ran down the carriage drive and kept running. His legs ached, his lungs burned but he pushed himself not to slow down. Every second was precious.

It was growing dark as he made it to the village and Dean nearly collapsed against his front door. He gasped for breath, opening the door and tumbling in. He slammed it shut behind him and collapsed against it, panting and exhausted.

What he had seen up at the house had not been human. It was something he’d heard whispered about, a story to tell around fires. It belonged to cold nights when the wind was howling and the darkness felt close at hand. It wasn’t supposed to be real but Dean had seen him. He’d seen him feed.

He knew what Castiel was.

He was a vampire.

Dean’s heart hammered painfully in his chest. He had to make a decision about what to do. He couldn’t go back to the house, he couldn’t work there but should he do more? He could go back, take a wooden stake and drive it through the monster’s heart. He could do that and the thought appealed to him, but he couldn’t shake the fear that accompanied that plan. He would be walking straight back into the spider’s lair and the vampire could be waiting for him.

So far, the vampire had kept to itself. It had yet to hurt anyone. Dean could let it live for the moment. He could find another job for the winter, something safe that kept him close to home. He could guard his home against the creature, guard Sam against it and keep a store of sharpened wooden stakes to hand.

Dean closed his eyes, seeing the mouth covered in blood and the sharp fangs again. He shuddered. He did not want to face those up close.

He would wait, he would bide his time, but he would prepare for the possibility of killing the monster. That seemed to best course of action he could take.

**

A month later:

A wretched sound ripped through the air. Chuck collapsed on to his knees, clutching at his wife, Naomi. She stared out over his head, her eyes unseeing and dry. Dean had never seen Naomi break down and even now, she wouldn’t. Her husband wrapped his arms around her legs and wept.

Dean turned away. He didn’t need to see any more.

Their child, Alfie, had gone missing that morning. The whole town had been searching all day and now night was setting in. The search would have to be called off. The searchers risked getting lost themselves if they headed out in the night. The forest was an unwelcoming place during the day, more so at night when every path was obscured and things hunted between the trees.

They’d used dogs to try and track the boy’s scent but there’d been no sign of him. Dean had hoped. He had convinced himself more than once that he saw something out of the corner of his eye, but every time he checked it was his imagination playing a trick on him.

They had found no sign of Alfie, alive or dead.

The longer the hours ticked by, the less likely it would be that they would bring the boy home. That was why Chuck was crying now. It was a death sentence the town was passing. They’d set out again at first light but the boy would have frozen to death by then.

Dean knew there was another place that Alfie might be. He might not have wandered into the woods. Early in the morning, it was almost still dark. Something could easily have crawled down from the big house and carried the child off. Or maybe the monster that lived there had grown tired of Inias’s blood and requested a fresh meal to feast on? Alfie was a little boy, a scrawny thing. He wouldn’t make much noise if he was grabbed and he could hardly fight back against an adult man.

Dean hadn’t told anyone what he’d seen that day up at the house. He knew no one would believe him. He hadn’t gone back to work. For a while, he’d expected a visit in the night. He’d put up iron over the door, stayed up long into the night, once his candle had burned down, waiting for something but nothing had come. Sam hadn’t understood and Dean hadn’t been able to explain. He knew his brother was angry that he’d given up his place but Dean couldn’t go back.

Dean looked up at the sky. The sun was setting. He’d be risking his own life if he went to the house. Alfie might already be dead. The vampire might have drunk every last drop from him.

He kicked his feet, feeling disgust settle in the bottom of his stomach at the thought of the little boy being at the mercy of that monster. If he was dead, Dean could at least avenge him and bring his body home. Dean was not a coward and there was still a slim chance the boy could be alive. He had to take that chance and go up to the house.

He walked determinedly away from the scene in the village square. People were trying to comfort the couple, offering them something to drink, trying to get them to go inside. Dean could offer better than that. He could offer them their son back.

He walked purposefully, his heart hammering in his chest. He knew that there was a chance he would not come back but that was a risk he had to take. He thought about turning back but pushed resolutely on. He didn’t dwell on the idea for any real length of time.

The sun had set by the time he reached the big house. The lamps were lit and the curtains of the upstairs thrown open. The lap light streamed out of the big windows and the house should have felt welcoming, especially to a man who had walked so far, but Dean knew just what was lurking in those upstairs rooms.

He’d always gone around the back of the house, the dutiful servant, but this time he charged straight through the front door. It wasn’t locked. That didn’t surprise Dean. A vampire had nothing to be afraid of.

He went straight up the stairs, taking them two at a time. He burst into Castiel’s bedroom, not certain if he would be there but it was the first place Dean knew to look. He’d tear the house apart if he had to but he’d start in Castiel’s room.

The vampire was there. He was up, dressed and he looked at Dean with such confusion that for a moment Dean hesitated.

“Dean…?” Castiel said, puzzled, waiting for Dean’s explanation of himself.

Dean hadn’t even realized that Castiel knew his name. They had never spoken. Dean had seen him once, when Castiel had been feeding, and that had been enough for him.

He gathered his courage, remembering his revulsion at that moment. Castiel might look human now, he might look beautiful but his beauty covered the ugliness inside.

“Where’s the child? The boy, Alfie, where have you hidden him? If you’ve harmed him, I’ll cut off your head.”

Castiel stared at him.

“What are you talking about?” he demanded.

“There’s a child missing from the village. You took him, didn’t you? Don’t lie to me!”

Castiel’s lips curled back, showing his fangs and he hissed angrily. He looked like some wild, cornered animal reading itself for a fight.

“Inias said it was you in the house, that you’d seen me. Is that what you think I am? You think I’m some sort of monster that snatches children from their beds? I haven’t laid a hand on this boy and I would never lay a hand on him! I only take blood from willing donors.”

Dean stared at the pointed teeth in Castiel’s mouth. He didn’t believe a word that the vampire said. It seemed too much of a coincidence that Alfie could just have wondered off when there was a monster that fed from humans around.

“You’re a monster,” he snarled.

“I am hunted!” Castiel cried. “I am in hiding for my life. I wouldn’t do anything to draw hunters here! I did not take that child!”

Dean didn’t know what Castiel was talking about but even so, the desperation in his voice rang true. It reminded Dean of how odd he had thought it when the house was rented. It was a miserable, damp place, not the sort of place for an ill man to recover but it was the perfect place for a frightened man to hide.

“You are hunted because you’re a killer,” he said, although his conviction was lacking now.

“No, I’m hunted because of people who make assumptions like you! I am a vampire so I must have abducted this child. I drink blood so I must take it from unwilling victims. That is what you think of me and that is why you want me dead. I know you do,” Castiel said.

His eyes flashed full of anger but he made no move towards Dean.

Dean didn’t understand why. If Castiel was a monster, why didn’t he attack? If the legends were true, then he should be faster and stronger than Dean, he should easily have been able to overpower Dean, but he only stood there. Castiel wasn’t reacting the way Dean had expected him to and that confused him.

In the back of his mind, he had the nagging feeling that all of this was getting him nowhere. Alfie was still missing and he was Dean’s priority, not Castiel. Castiel was a distraction. If Alfie wasn’t here, then Dean didn’t know where he was and that worried him. It meant the boy could be anywhere and something awful could be happening to him.

There was the sound of running feet on the stairs and then Inias burst into the room.

“I heard voices, Castiel…” he started but stopped in his tracks as he saw Dean in the room.

Dean shook his head. Inias was hardly an effective watchdog. If Dean had been planning to hurt Castiel, he could have done it easily before Inias ever arrived.

“What are you doing here?” Inias demanded breathlessly. “You left! Get out, leave now. You are not employed here and you have no right to come here and frighten my ward.”

“I know he’s not your ward. I know exactly what he is,” Dean said coldly.

Inias looked across at Castiel, his face horribly pale, looking for confirmation.

Castiel nodded slowly.

“It’s true, Inias. He knows about me.”

Inias frowned. “We’ll have to leave. I’ll pack and get someone to ready the carriage and horses. We can leave before dawn, Castiel and we’ll take only what we need.”

He reached out for Dean, grabbing hold of his arm but Dean pulled himself free.

“I could take you in a fight easily,” he said.

“Then what do you want? Money? Will you keep your mouth shut if we pay you and leave?” Inias asked.

“No,” Castiel said. “I don’t want to leave. I don’t think we should leave. Dean came here because there is a boy from the village missing. He thought we had taken him. I want to stay, Inias, I want to help find this boy.”

“I don’t think that’s wise,” Inias said hurriedly.

“Why not? All I do is sit at home in the dark and while I do, this poor boy may be running out of time.”

“We don’t need to get involved.”

“Yes, we do,” Castiel said. “I am going to help, Inias. I am not going to run away, not this time.”

“Do children regularly go missing where you are?” Dean asked.

Castiel glared at him.

“You know nothing about me. I was referring to something else.” He pulled himself up to his full height, tipping his chin up and looking defiantly at Dean. “Shall we go then? We won’t find this boy by standing here and arguing all night.”

“Fine then,” Dean agreed.

“I really don’t think this is a good idea, Castiel,” Inias said.

Castiel ignored him, walking past him and Dean and out of the door. He held his head high; the way a man of breeding did when he had made up his mind. Castiel was the master here and always had been, not Inias.

Dean found himself admiring Castiel’s determination even though he wasn’t certain yet that he could trust the vampire. This might all be a terrible trap. Dean had no proof yet that Castiel hadn’t killed Aflie, no matter what he said.

Still, this was the only chance he had to find Alfie before the sun rose and the search could start again. Dean knew that with every hour that ticked by, Alfie’s chances of survival diminished. He wouldn’t leave the boy alone in the night, not when there was someone who might be able to help him.

**

Castiel’s footsteps made no sound. Dean found it unnerving.                                     

They were padding through the undergrowth of the woods that surrounded Castiel’s home. No matter how carefully Dean tried to tread, in the darkness he still found himself stepping on twigs and crunching through leaves. Even when he followed in Castiel’s shadow, keeping his footsteps to exactly the places Castiel had walked, he still made a sound.

“When did the boy go missing?” Castiel asked.

“Mid-morning. That was when his mother noticed it,” Dean said. “We started a search party, but with night setting in…” He stopped, drawing his coat tighter around him.

It was bitterly cold. Dean was dressed up warmly, a coat and hat, gloves on his hands and his big winter boots on his feet but little Aflie would have none of those things. He could already have succumbed to the awful chill in the air.

Castiel didn’t seem to feel the cold. He wore no coat, no gloves. He walked about like a man in the middle of a beautiful spring day. He seemed perfectly at home in the night. Dean knew that was only to be expected, that was the truth of his kind, but it was still strange to see.

“And you’ve been searching since then?” Castiel asked. “Aren’t you tired? Don’t you want to go home?”

“No, I wouldn’t be able to sleep, not knowing that Alfie is out here somewhere.”

“Tell me about him. How old is he?”

Dean thrusts his hands into his pocket, shivering.

“He’s about five years old. He’s a sweet boy, I see him playing sometimes. He was sickly when he was a baby; his mother nearly lost him once. He got a fever and it wouldn’t shift but he recovered eventually,” Dean paused for a moment, drawing a deep breath in. “It seems wrong that he should survive that and die now.”

“He won’t die,” Castiel said confidently. “We’ll find him.”

Dean didn’t share that confidence. He wasn’t convinced they weren’t already looking for a corpse, but he did find Castiel’s certainty reassuring. He didn’t think the vampire would give up the search and he really was the only one of them who could search late into the night.

Suddenly, Castiel held up his hand, stopping them both in their tracks. He sniffed the air, drawing in a long, deep breath.

“There’s a scent. It’s faint, but it’s there,” he said quietly.

“Where?” Dean asked but Castiel had already set off.

Dean struggled to keep up. Castiel was light on his feet, leaping over obstacles and avoiding the bushes that loomed up suddenly in the dark. Dean stumbled behind him, tripping up in rabbit holes and catching his coat on brambles and thorns. He lost his footing completely and tumbled down a bank of earth, the ground disappearing out from underneath him before he completely understood what was happening to him.

He rolled over and over, coming to a stop, the breath knocked out of him. It took him a moment to come to his senses, gasping for air. His body ached but Dean was certain that nothing was broken.

A few seconds later, he had enough sense of his surroundings to notice the huddled bundle on the ground near him. Squinting in the darkness, Dean could almost believe he was looking at a parcel of abandoned clothes, but a soft whimpering noise told him he was looking at a person.

He pushed himself up and crawled across to the little figure. It was Alfie alright. He was lying curled in a ball, making little, miserable sounds. Dean guessed he’d fallen too but the fall had been worse for the boy than it had been for Dean. He’d hurt himself and couldn’t get up or make himself known.

“Alfie?” Dean said softly. “Alfie?”

“I hurt my knee,” the little boy murmured.

His voice was weak. Dean wondered how many hours he’d been lying there, the cold seeping into his bones.

“I’m here to take you home,” he promised.

He scrambled quickly to take off his coat, covering Alfie with it. Dean shivered, wishing he had something else to wrap himself in. He wished he knew where Castiel had disappeared off to. He felt very alone. He didn’t know if he should move Alfie or if he would make the boy’s injury worse, but he was sure Alfie shouldn’t be left lying out on the cold ground.

Dean crawled closer to Aflie, wrapping his arms around him as well as his coat.

“I’m going to try lifting you, Aflie. If it hurts too much, tell me,” he said, slowly, carefully easing the boy up and close to his chest.

He was sitting up now, Aflie held in his arms. The boy was sniffling but he hadn’t cried out. He was being very brave about it or else he was too tired and cold to really feel the pain any longer.

“Dean?” Castiel called, his voice floating through the air.

“Down here!” Dean called back, cursing Castiel under his breath. He might have a heightened sense of sight and smell, but he was obviously no tracker.

A moment later, Castiel appeared at his side.

“I didn’t see this little ditch, I jumped right over it,” he said ruefully.

“It’s hardly a little ditch, Cas,” Dean complained.

He was aching, the memory of his fall down the bank still fresh in his mind. Castiel had just carried straight on it seemed.

“You found him then,” Castiel said. He reached his fingers out, brushing them gently through Alfie’s hair. “Dean, he’s so cold. We need to get him inside. He needs food and something to drink.”

“He’s hurt his knee. We need to take a look at it,” Dean agreed. “We better get him back to the house. It the closest place.”

He looked up at the side of the ditch, frowning as he thought about climbing it with Alfie in hand. It wasn’t easy to see where he’d reach for a hand-hold. It wasn’t a gentle slope but one that got steeper at the top.

Castiel held his hands out. “Give him to me; I’ll be able to carry him. You need to get yourself up and out of this ditch.”

Dean hesitated for a moment. Castiel was strong and he was fast. He could sprit Alfie away and there would be nothing Dean could do about it. He could end up walking around and around in the woods, completely lost.

“Dean,” Castiel snapped. “Give him to me. We need to go. You can’t stay out in this cold any longer either.”

Dean made the choice quickly, thrusting Alfie into Castiel’s arms. Castiel held the boy close, looking down at him as if he couldn’t completely believe that Dean had trusted him. Then he turned away, bounding up the side of the bank easily. Dean scrabbled after him. He was almost at the top when he looked up and saw Castiel’s hand offered down to help him.

“You stayed,” he said, grasping Castiel’s hand, feeling the strength behind the slight frame as Castiel hauled him up and over the top.

“I did,” Castiel agreed. “I wouldn’t leave you here alone.”

Dean found himself smiling at Castiel, his hand clasped tightly around the vampire’s. Castiel still had Alfie balanced against him, held with one arm. Alfie looked exhausted, his skin an unhealthy pale even in the weak moonlight that filtered down on to them through the leaves. Dean wished they’d be able to find him sooner, but the boy was here now. They’d get him back to the big house and then they’d do everything they could to make him comfortable.

“We should go,” Castiel said. He looked down at their hands, still joined together, then back up at Dean. “You can let go now.”

“Yes,” Dean said, dropping Castiel’s hand quickly now it was pointed out to him.

Castiel shifted the little boy in his arms, hugging him closer.

“I’m not very warm,” he said apologetically. “There’s no blood in me, I don’t have a heartbeat. I suppose you should take him back now.”

Dean stepped closer, tucking the folds of his coat tighter around Alfie.

“I think you’re doing a pretty good job,” he said, reaching out to touch Castiel’s cheek gently.

He was cold. It was the same type of coldness that Dean had only felt in one bound for the grave. He held Castiel’s gaze though and didn’t shiver at the touch.

“Thank you,” Castiel said. “You didn’t have to trust me.”

“You’ve proved yourself. You didn’t take Alfie and you helped me find him, I think I’m the one who should be grateful,” Dean murmured, dropping his hand and stepping back self-consciously.

He turned away from Castiel, looking around him, trying to get his bearings in the dark. He wanted to walk, wanted to stop talking, but in the dark he didn’t know which way to go, only that he shouldn’t go backwards because he’d fall down into the ditch again.

“Maybe you should lead the way,” he said, glancing sheepishly at Castiel who smiled at him.

It was certainly a strange way to form a bond, a rescue with such high stakes as the precious life of a child but Dean was glad that he had given Castiel this chance to prove himself. He was more than just a bloodsucker, exactly as he had said he was. Dean wanted to know now just what he had run away from and why he had come here, of all places, to hide but there would be time for that. They needed to return back to the safety and warmth of the big house first.

**

Inias was waiting for them in the doorway of the house, a candle held in his hand. The flame flickered in the darkness of the night, making Dean think of warm fires and cozy beds. It gave him the push he needed for the last few steps. He was shivering and tired, the exhaustion of the day finally sinking deep into his bones, making him drag his feet. He’d been searching for so long that now the relief at finding Alfie had set in, Dean wanted to lie down and catch a few seconds of sleep.

He knew he couldn’t yet. There were still things they needed to do.

Castiel forged on ahead, meeting Inias at the door.

“Are the fires lit upstairs Inias? We need warm water and something for this child to eat. A little sweet tea would help, I think,” he said.

Dean found himself smiling. Castiel was more than capable. He was utterly in charge of the situation. Inias disappeared back into the house and Castiel motioned for Dean to follow him upstairs.

Dean climbed the stairs slowly, his legs aching. Castiel carried Alfie into his bedroom and put the boy down on the bed. He unwrapped him from his cold clothes, stripping them off and leaving them at the side of the bed for Inias to dry. Then he covered Alfie in blankets, smiling softly at him.

His actions were brisk, efficient but he was gentle too. It didn’t fit with the things Dean had thought about him but he had discovered quickly that Castiel wasn’t anything like he had imagined him to be.

Alfie seemed stunned, too tired and too cold to put up much resistance. He curled up in the soft, warm bed and Dean could see his eyelids flutter as he fought to keep his eyes open. It was a losing battle. He’d been outside, exposed to the elements, for far too long, his little body in overdrive trying to keep him alive. He needed to rest now he was safe.

Dean collapsed into a chair near the bed. The room was warm, Inias having had the presence of mind to light the fires while they were away. Dean could easily close his eyes and fall asleep but he forced himself to stay awake.

A moment later, Castiel joined him. His eyes were very wide.

“There’s a cut on Alfie’s leg,” he said. “It looks deep. The blood has mostly dried but I could smell it when I undressed him. You and Inias will have to take care of him, of binding that up.”

He looked guilty at Dean, embarrassed because of the effect the scent of blood had on him but Dean found his self-control amazing. Castiel was looking at him, waiting for him to be angry with him, betrayed by the fact that he had failings and demons he battled with but Dean felt that after all Castiel had done tonight, he didn’t deserve that. He had proved that he was capable of ignoring those impulses.

Dean found that he admired Castiel greatly.

“You look exhausted,” Castiel said, reaching out to cup Dean’s cheek, tipping his head up. “You should rest. Inias will be here in a moment, he can watch over Alfie. I’ll show you to one of the other rooms. You can sleep and take the boy back to his parents in the morning.”

Dean shifted, yawning. He covered his mouth with one hand.

“I don’t know. It seems so unfair to make his parents wait longer.”

“You should take care of yourself,” Castiel said. “Alfie needs to rest too. You’ll both be better in the morning.”

There was a knock on the door then and Inias arrived, carrying towels and a jug filled with warm water. He looked between the two men in the room, a frown cross his face. Castiel carefully dropped his hand. Dean felt his cheeks growing warm. He could only imagine what Inias was thinking.

Castiel touching him was hardly proper but it wasn’t as if they had done anything that crossed a line. Still, the man glared at Dean as he passed him, setting the jug and towels down on the bedside.

“The tea is almost ready and there’s a little soup that can be heated up,” he said.

“Good,” Castiel said slowly. He didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands. He clasped them together in front of him, looking much younger than he actually was. “Inias, the boy has a cut on his knee. I hoped you could see to that. I was going to show Dean to one of our spare rooms. He’s tired and I think he should rest tonight.”

“Certainly,” Inias said.

His tone was perfectly calm, but Dean knew from the clipped way that he spoke that he wasn’t happy. Dean had bitten his tongue enough times while working for the gentry to know that Inias wanted to say something else.

Dean got up slowly. He was starting to feel the aches and pains from rolling down the side of the ditch and he could only imagine how painful it had been for Alfie. The promise of a warm bed and a good night’s sleep was the best offer Dean had had in long time.

He followed Castiel out of the bedroom and waited while he shut the door. Then he followed Castiel down the corridor. Castiel paused in front of one of the doors and opened it, peering in.

“It hasn’t been aired but I can call Inias to light the fire for you and the bedding is fresh,” he said apologetically.

“I can light the fire for myself, don’t disturb Inias,” Dean said.

He didn’t want to see Inias again tonight. He could only imagine that it would lead to a conversation he would not enjoy.

“As you wish,” Castiel said, pushing the door wider to allow Dean inside.

“Where are you staying tonight?” Dean asked. “You can’t go back to your own room.”

Castiel shrugged.

“I’ll find somewhere,” he said quietly.

Dean nodded, his mouth feeling dry. He almost thought about offering to share his bed with Castiel but that would be improper. That could, indeed, see Dean escorted from the house. His desire and wants were still secret, unwelcome things.

“Dean…” Castiel said uncertainly.

He looked away from Dean, refusing to meet his eye. It was strange. Dean had only know Castiel a short time but in that time Castiel had never avoided him. He had met him full on, staring at him as if Dean was a puzzle box he was working out how to unlock. This sudden shyness was unusual.

“What’s wrong?” Dean asked.

He wondered if Castiel wanted to be asked to stay. He held his tongue, told his foolish heart to keep itself quiet and waited for Castiel’s reply.

“I feel that after tonight, I owe you the truth. I have other powers, other gifts that come with being one of the undead. I can control someone’s mind, make them forget things, make them think things they otherwise wouldn’t,” Castiel said. His whole demeanor displayed how much he didn’t wish to continue talking but he forced himself to go on. “You saw me, Dean, when we first arrived here. I made you forget and I’m sorry for that.”

Dean felt his mouth go dry. He had known that Castiel was powerful but that was a power he had not even imagined the vampire could possess. He blinked, remembering how Castiel had seemed oddly familiar to him the first time he had seen him.

“I thought I dreamed about you,” Dean said quietly. “When I saw you through the crack in the door, I remembered your face but I thought I’d made you up.”

“You must have a very strong will to remember even that much,” Castiel murmured thoughtfully. There was a hint of something else in his voice, possible pleasure at being remembered, although Dean wondered if that was truly there or something he wished to hear.

“Do you want to remember the rest?” Castiel asked, tilting his head and regarding Dean.

Dean nodded wordlessly. He didn’t want to forget anything. He didn’t want gaps in his memory. He wanted to know exactly when he had seen Castiel and what he had seen of him. He knew it wouldn’t be bad. Castiel wasn’t dangerous. He was certain of that now.

Castiel lifted his hand and placed two fingers gently against Dean’s forehead. The sensation Dean felt was strange, but not unpleasant. It was as if something in his mind had been shrouded in a cloud of mist but now that mist had parted. Dean could remember watching the carriage trundling down the street. He remembered thinking how strange it was, someone arriving in the dead of night like that.

He remembered Castiel’s face, beautiful and ethereal, peering up at him through the open carriage window.

“I remembered you,” he said, certain that that meant something. He had forgotten everything else but the image of Castiel had stayed strong in his mind.

Castiel smiled at him.  This time, Dean was certain that he saw something a lot like hope in it.     

“I should let you sleep,” Castiel said quietly, lowering his hand. He almost seemed reluctant to leave.

Dean was about to object but his muscles protested, reminding him of the fall he’d taken earlier and how tired he really was. No matter how much he wanted to stay awake, talking to Castiel, now wasn’t the time. He didn’t have Castiel’s strength and stamina. His body couldn’t heal easily from cuts and falls. Dean needed to sleep.

“I think that would be a good idea,” he agreed. “Goodnight, Castiel.”

“Goodnight,” Castiel said, turning and walking away along the corridor.              

Dean watched him walk away, down the stairs, to the lower levels of the house. No matter how tired he was, or how his body complained, he couldn’t turn in until Castiel had disappeared from sight. He wondered if Castiel was going to check on the soup that Inias had said could be warmed through. He was much more useful in a crisis than Dean had thought he’d be. Dean still couldn’t believe the turn that the evening had taken, couldn’t believe that he was trusting a vampire.

Castiel wasn’t anything like Dean had imagined he would be.

Dean found it hard to stop watching the spot where Castiel had been. He was tired and he ached, but he wanted to see Castiel again.

Finally, he convinced himself he should go to bed, turning into the room and shutting the door after him.

He took off his gloves and unlaced his boots. For a moment, Dean debated falling asleep fully clothed but his clothes were dirty and he doubted he’d be thanked for getting dirt on the bed linen. He took off his trousers and shirt, leaving his under garments on and climbed into bed.

The bed was softer than any Dean had ever slept in and Dean could hardly keep his eyes open. He closed them, smiling softly to himself, and imagined Castiel curled in beside him.

It was something that would never happen but that didn’t mean it wasn’t enjoyable to dream. 

**

The morning came too soon for Castiel. He knew the night never lasted for long, but he had never hated it as much as he did this morning. He had never had someone like Dean to watch over before. His existence had been lived behind closed doors, never seeing the light but with Dean, he felt as if the sun had come into his life again.

It was a sudden, frightening attraction. Castiel thought his desires had died when he became a vampire but that wasn’t the truth at all. It had only dimmed until he met Dean.

The curtains were drawn, the house dark again. Castiel didn’t want to return to bed. He wanted to run, he wanted to dance. He wanted to experience everything he had stopped feeling when his blood stopped pumping. That was what no one ever said about eternal life. It got old. The joy turned sour. Things stopped being exciting, they stopped being new. To find someone like Dean, someone who challenged him, who wasn’t afraid of him and who didn’t defer to him, was the most amazing thing that had happened to Castiel in years.

It hurt knowing that Dean would have to return home today.

Castiel knew he couldn’t keep the man. He wasn’t a storybook monster. He didn’t kidnap men and steal their hearts from them. Dean needed to go home. He needed to take that little boy home. Inias had bound the cut on the child’s leg and the boy had slept through the night. He needed to be back with his family. Castiel was only being selfish otherwise.

He came up the stairs quietly and knocked on the bedroom door.

He didn’t know what he expected, but he didn’t expect Dean to open the door, his eyes still bleary, half-undressed.

Castiel stared at him. He knew he should look away, but he couldn’t bring himself to try.

“Castiel?” Dean asked, looking confused. “Is it the morning already?” He seemed to notice his state of undress, stepping back from the door, stumbling over his feet. “I’m sorry, I just woke up.”

“I can wait here until you’re dressed,” Castiel said, finally forcing himself to turn away.

He heard the door shut behind him and he let out a sigh. He felt tired. He wanted to curl up in his bed, far away from the danger of the sunlight. He’d done more in the previous night than he had in months. For all the powers his immortality gave him, using them exhausted him.

He heard the door open and turned to face Dean.

They were standing very close. Castiel could hear the man’s heart-beat.

He had no doubt that Dean’s blood would taste delicious but he forced himself not to think about that. He’d told Dean he only drank from the willing and he did not think Dean would be willing to offer a vein to him.

“I think you should take Alfie home,” he said. “His family have been waiting long enough for his return.”

Dean nodded slowly.

“Can you come too? They should know that you helped me find him.”

Castiel shook his head.

“I can’t go outside, not in the sunlight. It wouldn’t be fair to wait until tonight.”

“But I would never have found Alfie without you. You deserve some of the credit.”

Castiel shook his head.

“And I would never have been involved if you hadn’t come to find me. You deserve to be the hero of this hour.” He paused for a moment. It was strange, the sensation of butterflies in his stomach when his heart was no longer beating. It was odd to feel something so incredibly human again.

“Would you come back?” he asked. “I’d like to see you again. You were working on our garden and it isn’t finished yet.”

Dean laughed.

“I could come back,” he agreed. “I should finish that for you.”

Castiel smiled at him.

He wondered how long he could stand watching Dean working in their garden before the desire got too much. He had needed blood for so long but this was a different need and Castiel had no idea how strong his self-control would be. He thought Dean might not mind, he hoped he wouldn’t, but Castiel knew he was unusual, deviant, even before he was changed.

It had been so long since Castiel had cared for anyone, so long since he had felt a connection.

He didn’t want to lose that feeling, not when he had only begun to feel it again.

**

It hurt Castiel that he couldn’t watch Dean leave.

He hoped that Dean would be welcomed home as a hero. He also hoped that Dean would keep the news of Castiel’s involvement to a minimum. He didn’t want anyone to know how he had combed the woods with Dean. He was happy enough to let them think he and Inias provided shelter and warmth. He didn’t want people coming to the house to thank him. Castiel wanted people to stay away. He wasn’t supposed to draw attention to himself.

The only person he wanted to see was Dean. Dean had promised he would come back and Castiel was sure he would count the hours until he did.

“You should be in bed,” Inias said.

He had come upstairs to tell Castiel that Dean had left. He’d lingered in the doorway and Castiel knew why. Inias had been his guardian and servant for too long. It would be impossible for him not to know Inias’s moods by now.

“Why don’t you tell me what you think I’ve done wrong?” he asked.            

“You should have refused to help him. He’s a stranger, Castiel. You know the danger you’re in,” Inias said.

“I shouldn’t have helped find a missing child? I’d be a monster if that was true,” Castiel said angrily.

“He’ll be trouble. I’m worried about you,” Inias said miserably.                                 

“You don’t know that. I think he’ll be good for me.”

Castiel knew he was smiling. He couldn’t stop himself.

Inias looked at him in displeasure.

“Your brother told me to look after you, Castiel.”

Castiel swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. They hardly spoke about Michael. There had been no word from him and as the days went by, Castiel doubted there ever would be. He had been the one who turned Castiel and he had been the one who told him to flee.

“He did,” Castiel agreed. “He told you to look after me but the truth is, Inias, that Michael might well be dead. I have to make my own choices now, my own decisions. I know that Dean isn’t dangerous. I know he’s a good man.”

“And if the hunters come? If Michael wasn’t able to hold them off?” Inias asked. “Do you think this Dean would protect you then?”

“I would like to give him a chance,” Castiel said quietly.

Inias sighed. Castiel knew he would have liked to say more but he was a good servant. He held his tongue when Castiel challenged him.

It was time for Castiel to make changes in his life. He had always been at the mercy of someone else, relying on them to make his decisions for him. First Michael had changed him then controlled him, hiding him from the rest of the world. When the hunters had come, Inias had become his warder. Castiel never went out, he never made up his own mind on anything.

Last night, when Dean burst into his bedroom and forced him to confront the outside world, had been the first time Castiel had made a choice for himself.

He’d chosen to help someone and now he wanted to do it again.

He wanted to come back to the world, to be part of it. He wanted to be with Dean.

He wouldn’t be frightened to experience life simply because he was dead. He might be a vampire, but that didn’t mean he had to behave like a ghost, drifting through the days, waiting to be hunted down.

It would be a change but Castiel was ready for that now.

Epilogue:

Michael had lost track of time. He didn’t know how long he’d been locked away. It could have been days, maybe even weeks. Michael knew he was hungry, his stomach growled. He didn’t think a vampire had ever died from starvation but that didn’t mean Michael couldn’t feel the agony of his empty stomach, his gut twisting in on itself, searching for something to fill the nagging emptiness.

Michael shifted, the shackles on his wrists clanking together as he did. He couldn’t move far but that was the point. He should have been able to break the chains, he would have been able to if they were made of just metal but there was something carved into them, something to hold him.

The door to his prison opened. Michael raised his head. The man at the top of the stairs was hidden in shadows. Once, the darkness wouldn’t have bothered Michael, he would have seen clearly. That wasn’t the case now. The hunger was weakening him.

He still wasn’t sure how he had been captured. He’d had to sleep, he couldn’t go out in the sunshine and that had been when the hunters had struck. Michael had woken up chained in this underground cell. It didn’t take him long to realize that someone must have betrayed him. He wondered who from his staff had been responsible.

He knew it was not Inias. The hunter still asked where Michael’s family was. He had never taunted Michael with the knowledge of Castiel’s death and Michael knew that a hunter would never have been able to keep a secret of something like that.

There were footsteps, the sound of the hunter coming down the stairs. His boots scuffed on the stone floor and then he stood in front of Michael. Michael still couldn’t see his face. He didn’t think he had ever seen the man’s face clearly. He was certain there were more hunters. He didn’t think one hunter could have trapped him. If he had been killed, that would have been different, but trapping him and keeping him suggested to Michael more knowledge than one hunter would have. He also couldn’t believe that one hunter could terrorize them so much and send his family scattering.

“Are you ready to tell me where the rest of your nest is? Where you sent them off to?” the hunter asked. His voice was rough like gravel.

“Rot in Hell,” Michael offered in reply.

He would never give up Castiel. He would never give up anyone of them. The hunter would have to kill him because Michael wouldn’t betray them. There were so few of them left, scattered to the four corners of the earth and they had never hurt anyone. Michael wouldn’t leave them to die at the hands of this hunter. He’d do everything within his power to keep them safe.

The hunter sighed.

“I would have thought you’d learned by now, Michael, if you don’t give me information, you get burned. The sun will be up soon. I’ll give you a little time to consider your answer.”

The hunter turned and Michael heard his footsteps heading up the stairs. Michael bowed his head and didn’t see when the door was shut. He knew what would happen. He bore the scars across his body from being tortured for information. The hunter could expose him to the sun all he wanted and it still wouldn’t be enough to make Michael betray his family.

He and Castiel had a bond that went deeper than blood.

Michael had sired him and that made Castiel more precious to him than anything else.

Michael would escape, he would find Castiel again, and he’d kill anyone who got in his way.