Work Text:
Dean crashed through the wood, running on instinct and the little sense of smell he had left. This was unfamiliar terrain and it certainly wasn’t playing in his favor, but he had to continue. He felt brambles catch at his clothes and then he stumbled over something and fell down. He bit down a yelp when his already bruised wrists took the brunt of the fall, but he forced himself to stay down. By the feeling of it, he was lying in a patch of ferns, probably high enough to shield him for a moment. He held his breath and tried to listen to the sounds of the forest through the deafening rush of blood in his ears.
It was silent, almost conspicuously so, but he was a wolf on a frantic run, sometimes that was enough to force everything into hiding. He rolled onto his back and allowed himself to breathe now, panting loudly. He slowly tried to open his eyes, but everything was blurry. He wiped his shaking palm over his eyes, rubbing the blood and sweat out of them, but it was only marginally better now. The indistinct green slivers moved with his breathing and above them was the mottled yellow, brown and red of the forest’s canopy.
He knew he couldn’t remain lying here, even half blind and feeling like he could die from all the pain in his body. He listened some more, hearing that some sound had returned to the forest; birds and something walking through the forest nearby. Something light. Probably a deer. Hopefully just an animal.
His ears twitched, listening intently even as he dragged himself somewhere that felt less exposed. Trying his best to keep track of where he was going, Dean eventually found a small sort of shelter in a slightly hollowed out rock. It wasn’t quite a cave and there were only bushes to hide him and if you added the sickening scent of blood that clung to him it was not a good place to be at. But the adrenaline was slowly leaving him and he felt the cuts and bruises and fatigue pressing him down.
“Maybe if I fall asleep now, they’ll find me. Maybe they’ll kill me… Maybe I won’t wake up again,” Dean thought, shivering even though it wasn’t too cold and the ground beneath him was soft with moss. Dean sighed in defeat and fell unconscious.
A sound close by startled him awake again. He tried to sit up but he was so tired and he hurt all over. Even when he squinted into the falling evening, he could see only blurry shapes. Something small and red stood out against the green backdrop of the forest.
“You need help,” the stranger said and Dean had trouble placing that voice.
“No shit,” Dean hissed, but when he saw the fleshy blur of an arm extending towards him, he collected some of his remaining strength and pulled a knife out of his jacket. It was still dirty from a night of fighting for his life, but it would do. Even in the state he was in he could kill. “I don’t need help from you!”
Surprisingly enough the stranger sighed at that and if Dean wasn’t wrong it had sounded almost annoyed. Dean dared to sniff the air, but the scent of blood was still too strong around him. He could smell herbs and spices that almost masked the clean scent of flower fields and grass and the more earthy scent of the forest. Dean wasn’t sure but he guessed that he was dealing with a deer person. He clenched his hands around the knife to keep them from shaking, but after a while he gave up and let it fall to the floor with a soft thud. A deer he could deal with. They were arrogant and annoying, but they had very few enemies and also little allies. Dean would be as safe in their presence as he would be lying here, bleeding or starving to his death if Alistair’s people didn’t find him first.
“You need help,” the deer repeated, more forcefully now and the scent of herbs got closer and then Dean felt a small, soft hand close around his wrist. He wanted to pull it away, maybe just put the knife in the stranger’s chest and take his chances. But if he had run as far as deer country, then it would be a terribly long way back to Sammy, especially on his own and wounded. He would never manage, he would never reach him alive. That thought made him sit up, wincing and nauseous.
“I need to get to my brother. He’s waiting for me.”
“I understand. That’s good. But you’re leaving behind a trail of blood. Let me have a look at your wounds and feed you. Then you can be on your way.” When Dean didn’t reply, the stranger put both of their hands around Dean’s wrists and started pulling. “Please.” Dean stumbled to his knees but before he could fall into the deer’s arms, he pushed himself off their chest. The deer made a small sound of protest.
“Don’t touch me or I’ll cut your hands off,” Dean warned, baring his teeth and hoping that the deer knew enough about wolves to get also the unvoiced warning signals. He was mostly posturing right now, because Dean doubted he could both walk and have the strength to aim for something as specific as their wrists.
“Okay,” was all the deer said and Dean saw the blurry movement of them picking something up (a basket of herbs if the scent was anything to go by) and then they started walking.
Dean stumbled after the deer, trying to rely on his ears because his eyes were pretty much useless. And he really didn’t want to tell them that he was almost blind because that would give them another advantage over him in case they turned out to be far less friendly than they pretended to.
Dean guessed that whoever that was, they were young, maybe even younger than Sam. But Dean had learnt the hard way that he shouldn’t trust anyone and that no kindness was free.
“It’s not far. Hang in there,” the deer promised gently and Dean wanted to say something snarky, but he really was too tired. “My name is Castiel by the way.” That name didn’t ring any bells, even though he felt like it should. Dean filed it away for later and concentrated on not tripping or fainting. The scents of herbs was becoming stronger and soon enough Dean’s feet landed on uneven stones. Judged by the blurry gray and brown shape in front of him he was probably standing on a path leading to a small hut. He followed Castiel, but didn’t enter the house before sniffing it extensively. There were no other scents, no other sounds. The place was empty apart from them. He didn’t let Castiel close the door, but did it himself, planting himself firmly in front of it. Castiel sighed again and went about their business. It was darker in here even when they turned on a small light. Dean leant heavily against the door, his legs far too tired to carry his weight, but he grit his teeth and endured.
“Don’t you want to lie down on the bed? It’s freshly made.” Dean snapped out of his pained haze. “There.” Dean turned his head to where the voice came from, but even when he looked around, he couldn’t identify any shape as a bed. “Are you blind?” There was no particular pity in that voice, or cunning, just neutral curiosity.
“No,” Dean hissed out, “I just don’t see well right now.” The deer didn’t verbally react to that, but then red blob approached him. Dean wished he hadn’t let his knife drop, but the deer just took the clawed hand Dean held out protectively in front of him. The small hand of the deer was gentle but insistent, tugging him towards the bed and making him lie down. The bed was soft and fragrant, clean smelling and so inviting.
“I’m mixing some medicine. I’m not a doctor, but I know some things,” Castiel explained and Dean took a moment to figure out what the soft tugging at his chest was. “I’m undressing you. Just your torso right now, because I can see that you have some cuts that might need stiches.”
“I thought you’re no doctor,” Dean said, biting back a wince when Castiel pulled off his jacket. He was colder without it.
“I’m not. But I’m a seamstress. I know a few things about stitches.” Dean was too preoccupied by Castiel trying to peel off his shirt to reply immediately.
“Well, that’s good then, because that was my favorite shirt,” he bit out with a false grin. Then, sooner than Dean would have liked, his chest was exposed to the chilly air. He shivered and squirmed around a bit, tugging at the blanket he was lying on for something to still cover himself with.
“It’s okay,” Castiel whispered soothingly, “I don’t mean to hurt you.”
“Oh yeah, that’s very comforting coming from a stranger.”
“Well, allowing a wolf on the brink of panic into my house isn’t really the most comforting scenario I can imagine either,” Castiel replied drily and Dean had to concede that this was true. “I have turned the heating back on and the kettle is already on the stove. I’ll leave your side for two minutes. I don’t want the fabric of the blanket to stick to your wounds, so I’ll leave you uncovered for a moment.”
“Do you have to?” Dean asked with a pathetic sounding whine before he could stop himself. He heard Castiel’s steps stop and then a really small sigh before Castiel was coming back. Soon there was a soft and light fabric covering him, probably a bedspread. Dean shuffled around a bit, feeling more comfortable at once. He pressed his head further into the pillow, breathing in what he assumed to be the deer’s scent. Soft and comforting, which was something he hadn’t smelt since leaving home. Sammy – even though he was the most comfort Dean still had in this life – was different; for the overgrown cup he was he still had a sweet baby scent about himself that was only slowly growing into something more distinct. And most of the time Dean could only taste the cold stink of fear and sadness in their damp little shack. Dean felt bad to be lying here, being taken care of and caressed by a comforting scent and soft covers while Sam was all alone.
He must have dozed off because Castiel’s voice made him start awake.
“I have a medicine for you, it’ll take away some of your pain. It might be good if you drank it before I do the stiches,” they said and Dean grunted.
“Something that will rob me of my senses? No-“
“I’d prefer it if you took it for your own benefit, but I’m not going to force you,” Castiel told him but Dean knew that they still held the glass with the medicine close by. Dean sighed and nodded. Castiel helped him sit up and guided the medicine to his mouth.
“I’ll heal anyway. Eventually,” Dean muttered, when Castiel took the glass back and warned him that they would start cleaning the worst of the blood now so that they could see what exactly they had to do. Dean knew there was a nasty cut on his shoulder and his stomach. At least the guys Dean had fought hadn’t been particularly good fighters. “I heal faster than normal people. I’m an alpha.” Dean waited for the taunts to come. The “you’re too pretty to be an alpha” or the “you’re too weak to be an alpha” or the nasty “just be a good omega bitch instead”. He had heard them all in the last few months and they had shaken his trust in himself more than he should have allowed. To have a mark of submission on his shoulder was probably not making it any better. Damn his dad. Damn Alistair. Damn them all.
But Castiel said nothing, accepting his explanation without any second guesses.
Dean was surprised by how grateful he actually was to not have to hear doubts. Castiel started cleaning him, carefully telling him what he was doing.
“What are you, Castiel?” Dean couldn’t help asking once Castiel was done bandaging his wrists. The medicine had kicked in quickly and Dean felt slightly numb all over.
“What do you mean?” they asked. “Careful, I’m starting stitching now.” Dean didn’t feel much of the pain, so he let Castiel work in silence for a while. Castiel was very close to him now and when Dean turned his head he could see their dark hair and blue eyes. When Castiel turned away something soft brushed Dean’s cheek. Was it an ear? “You’re not a deer?”
“I’m a lamb,” Castiel replied quietly and even though it wouldn’t help him see Dean stared at them.
“Seriously?”
“Why are you so surprised?” Castiel answered with some amusement in their voice, then they started bandaging Dean’s arm.
“Because lambs live in herds on a pasture, most certainly not on their own when they’re still reasonably young. And they most certainly don’t help wolves.”
“I just did,” Castiel told him and Dean fell silent. Well, he knew from experience that a person’s nature wasn’t necessarily an indication of their character and their abilities. Alistair had been a good example of that. He wasn’t a natural predator, but he was the most rotten, most terrible person Dean had ever had the misfortune to meet.
“Are you an omega?” Dean found himself asking and was instantly embarrassed about it. He wanted to blame the sort of indecent question on the medicine or the poor state of his sense of smell, (certainly not some sort of sick desperation and hope that had been building in the pit of Dean’s stomach) but Castiel apparently didn’t care.
“We don’t have those. But I think if you’d try to apply your status types to me then I assume I might be an omega.” Dean opened his mouth, but Castiel continued: “I prefer male pronouns, in case you were wondering.”
“Male omegas are quite rare,” Dean muttered before he reminded himself that the lamb was not in fact an omega. His head was woozy. He was being silly and lured into a false sense of security and comfort by Castiel’s warm fingers on his arm and the good scent that mingled with the herbs.
“Do alphas get into fights a lot?” Castiel asked as he started covering Dean’s wounds. He made him lie down again, but this time he urged Dean under the covers. It was even better like this. Dean wished Sammy was here so they could share the fantastic warmth.
“Not the kinds of fights I get into… I was working to keep my brother and me alive. But I couldn’t stand it anymore. I had to leave. I would have probably died out there if you hadn’t found me.”
“Then let’s be happy that I did find you. I was just on my way back home. This is just a little second hut I have when I’m collecting herbs. I live on the pasture usually.”
“The one guarded by that dorky ram?”
“Dorky ram?” Castiel asked, his voice carrying surprise and amusement. “You mean Gabriel?”
“That’s the dick I mean,” Dean mumbled, feeling really sleepy now. Castiel was still talking and Dean just let himself be lulled into sleep by his gentle voice and then a soft, warm hand that caressed his forehead and petted his ears.
Dean couldn’t place the scent of herbs that surrounded him when he slowly woke up again. He felt well rested but aching all over. When he opened his eyes the world around him didn’t come into focus, like it hadn’t for quite some time now. Dean had mostly resigned himself to his almost blindness, even though he feared that he wouldn’t be much use to Sam as a blind alpha. He had to hope beyond hope, that Sam would manifest as an alpha after all and that he could take the reins of their hopeless little pack. It was unlikely though and the soft scent of Sam implied beta, maybe even omega. An omega with a blind alpha. That wouldn’t end well.
Dean sat up in bed, recalling that he was in fact not in their shack and that his brother was still far away.
“Good morning,” Castiel called, “I have prepared some food for you. Can you stand up and join me at the table?” Dean hesitated getting out of bed, unsure when he would next feel so comfortable. In the end, he left the bed, taking a blanket with him. He felt for the chair and the edge of the table and carefully sat down. He could feel Castiel’s eyes on him and heard the silent noise of him chewing something. “You haven’t told me your name yet, alpha.” A surprised shiver went through Dean and he dug his nails into his blanket. His face was feeling hot now and he made an effort to glare down into his bowl of food.
“You shouldn’t call me that, dude.”
“Hmm. What’s your name then?” Castiel asked, with his mouth full.
“Dean,” he reluctantly replied, refraining from supplying a last name. He was no fool. Even if Dean was just rogue now, the Winchester pack was well known.
“Do you like the food, Dean?” Castiel asked and Dean nodded silently. “In what territory is your brother?”
“No man’s land. We crossed the mountains east, taking the River’s path around them. We’re about two day’s marches away up the river towards the pasture.”
“Still on the western side of the river?” Castiel asked and Dean nodded, drinking his tea. “Why there?”
“We’re pack less, Cas,” Dean answered, “nobody will take in wolves like us.”
“That’s not true…” Castiel replied, though his voice was a bit tentative. Dean had to laugh at this. It was sad and messed up. “I could talk to Gabriel and-“
“No.”
“But-“
“No.” He heard Castiel heave a sigh and then his spoon hit the bowl. The chair’s legs scrapped against the floor and Castiel was away from the table. “I appreciate your help, but I have to go now.”
“Of course,” Castiel said, his voice muffled. “I have fixed your clothes. You can have a wash and as soon as you’re ready to leave I will guide you to the safest path down the river.” Dean nodded and tried to ignore the regret he felt that he would soon have to leave.
Dean was stumbling far more than was prudent for an alpha wolf, but the path Castiel took was going straight through the overgrown forest.
“It’s the easiest way to reach the old road,” Castiel told him apologetically. Dean had given up trying to use his eyes and with the noise he was making his ears weren’t particularly useful either. He could still smell Castiel but that didn’t help him to not fall on his face more than once.
“What’s wrong with your eyes, Dean?” Castiel asked after a while, when Dean was once again brushing the soil and leaves from his knees. “Come, give me your hand.” Dean quickly snatched both of his hands up, not caring how ridiculous it might make him look. Castiel actually groaned at that and reached out, trying to grab Dean’s wrists even as Dean wriggled away. “Oh, don’t be so difficult! Give me your hand!” Castiel managed to grab Dean’s hand and pulled it down to his hip and before Dean could protest he pulled him with him. Dean took a second to fall into step with him, but when he did it was actually easier to walk.
“I’m not sure. I was sick a lot the last couple of months. No food, the cold and my line of work will do that to you.”
“What’s your line of work?”
“You don’t want to know,” Dean answered silently, feeling tired all of a sudden. “I don’t want to think about it anymore. It’s done now. I got away. I hope.”
“Good,” Castiel told him gently and just as silently as Dean had talked. They were quiet after that and Dean breathed out a sigh of relief when they apparently came out of the forest and crossed a field. He could hear the calls of birds of prey and the wind and water running. Then they were on a paved road.
“I think this is the time to say good-bye,” Dean said, pulling his hand out of Castiel’s. “I feel my nose can guide me the rest of the way.” Castiel didn’t reply at first, but then Dean felt something thrusted against his chest. As far as Dean could tell it was a big, woven basket and rather heavy as well.
“In there you will find some clothes and blankets. The food should last you about 3 days if you’re careful with it. The dried fruits and nuts will last longer. There’s water as well. Drink a lot of it, because you’re running a low fever,” Castiel explained. “I also packed some herbs and washed your clothes so that your scent should be masked relatively well. And in your jacket pocket is some medicine and a salve. Take the medicine in the evenings and rub the salve into your eyes carefully. It shouldn’t hurt and I’m not sure if it’ll help. But it’s worth a try.” Dean was too surprised and, if he was honest with himself, touched by the lamb’s generosity and thoughtfulness to reply immediately.
“Thank you,” he managed to say, his voice coming out rather shaky. He held out his hand and Castiel took it at once, shaking it before Dean suddenly found Castiel’s arms around his neck. “Just a last little scent kiss.” He said and rubbed his warm nose against Dean’s neck. Dean blushed even though he was sure that Castiel meant nothing by it. Scent kisses, as Castiel had called it, were rather common to give for travelling friends and family. Still, Dean put the basket onto the floor and held on to Castiel. “I would have been lost without you.”
“I’m glad you weren’t lost,” Castiel replied and Dean wasn’t sure why he did it but he pressed a kiss to the lamb’s forehead.
“Me too,” he whispered and gave Castiel another squeeze before he let him go.
“It’s okay. You’ll do well,” Castiel said when Dean let the fear of what would be happening now show through his composure. He took Dean’s arm and walked a few steps with him. “When you reach your brother, take him and leave where you are. It’s not a good place for your health. Let him be your eyes. Follow the mountain range to the west. There is a lake there. Follow it north and cross the stream the first chance you have.”
“Why?” Dean asked when Castiel let him go.
“Just trust me?” Dean wanted to object, but in the end he nodded.
“Good luck, Dean. I hope we will meet again.” Dean nodded, hoping once again that he could at least see him.
“I hope so too.” He turned around before he could think about it twice and was on his way. He would meet Sam and take him west, like Castiel had suggested. He felt they should manage. No, Dean would manage, for the sake of Sam.
And a small part inside of Dean hoped that if he survived this, if he found his pack and his lands and became a good alpha, he would be able to meet Castiel again.
With this thought lifting some of the terror of the days before him, Dean’s long journey back to Sam felt less daunting.
Dean shifted the glasses that were perched on his nose and brushed away the dirt on his butt.
“You still don’t quite know how to maneuver these woods, do you, alpha?” Dean looked up when he heard the rich and surprisingly deep voice. The wind and the scent of ramsons had made him unaware of his company. He looked up and saw a lamb standing not too far away. He had short, dark hair that curled with the damp morning air. His eyes were a deep blue and his cheeks and nose were a beautiful, healthy pink. He was smiling at Dean.
“Wow, you really sharpened up in the last 3 years,” Dean teased, “when I last saw you you were just a blurry red blob.” Castiel laughed, shaking his head. God, he was beautiful, Dean realized. More beautiful than he had imagined him in his mind’s eye.
“Hello, Dean.” Dean grinned.
“Hey, Cas.”