Chapter Text
"This is stupid," Dean grumbled for the hundredth time as he hacked his way through the brush. "No way did you hit the alpha, Sammy."
His brother did not answer, as he was currently at home, no doubt comfortable and warm. Dean should be at home too, not hacking his way through the forest looking for a dragon, but Sam had pulled out the puppy dog eyes. Dean could have let Sam go himself, but Sam was young, and he'd refused to set foot in dragon training. Sam might be tall and strong but he was also clumsy, and if he had brought down the alpha, there was no way Dean was letting Sam anywhere near it.
Dean stubbed his toe on a root and sighed irritably. He'd been at this for hours. At least he was nearing the end of where it might have landed. Sam said that after he'd hit it, the dragon veered to the east. If he didn't find it soon, Sam must have been mistaken.
If it had been anyone but Sam, Dean would have ignored their claims outright. Sam was truthful to a fault, though, so Dean had no choice but to give him the benefit of the doubt.
There was a rustling to his right, and Dean drew his sword. A moment later a rabbit hopped across his path, and Dean relaxed, feeling ridiculous.
Although... the rabbit had come from under a tree. A freshly fallen tree. The trunk was violently splintered. Dean crept forward quietly, peering around the trunk. He could see a path of broken and trampled undergrowth leading east. Despite his doubts, his heart sped up in anticipation.
Keeping his sword out, he followed the trail of destruction as quickly and quietly as he could.
Eventually, he came to the edge of a cliff. Peering over, he saw that it wasn't a cliff at all, but a hollow, ringed on all sides by walls of stone. The floor was grassy and dotted with small bushes, and there was a small pond off to one side.
More importantly, in the center, was a dragon.
Dean could hardly believe it. Sam had done it. He'd brought down a dragon - not just any dragon, but the one no one had ever seen - the alpha. There was no doubt in Dean's mind that this was the alpha; he'd never seen a dragon like it. It was large, close to the largest that Dean had seen, but what removed all doubt was its color. The dragon was as black as night. All the other dragons were pale and colorful. It was no wonder no one had ever seen it. Sam said he'd brought it down by watching for it against the stars.
The net Sam had shot was wound tightly around the dragon. It had burned a hole around its head, so that meant it was probably still alive. The rest of its body still looked secured.
Dean cursed himself for not bringing a crossbow. From this distance, he could have killed it without having to get close. For a moment he debated going back to the village for a crossbow and some help, but he discarded the idea. He couldn't just leave it here. It might get away, and if he let the alpha escape he would be a sorry excuse for a warrior of the village. He had no choice but to kill it at close range.
He scanned the walls of the hollow, looking for a way down, or more accurately, a way back up. He saw a likely spot to his left, and after examining it as best as he could from the awkward angle, decided that the series of ledges and handholds were consistent all the way to the bottom. To be safe, he tied a rope to a tree and threw it down. It didn't reach all the way, but if he had trouble near the top it would help. He sheathed his sword, and with one final look at the dragon, began making his way down. It was relatively easy going, but Dean knew it would be more difficult on the way up, especially if he was carrying a dragon head.
When Dean reached the bottom, he turned around to find the dragon staring at him. He knew it had been facing the other direction when he'd started down; it must have flipped itself around somehow. It opened its mouth, and Dean heard the familiar whooshing sound the alpha made before it breathed fire. He dove behind the nearest boulder.
The fire hit the rock wall a few feet to the left of where Dean had been standing. Dean peeked around the rock and saw the dragon's open mouth. He pulled his head back quickly. This time the fire struck a few feet above his head.
Dean drew his knife. He'd never been the best at knife throwing, preferring to take dragons down with his sword, but if he could wound it long enough to get close...
Dean took a deep breath and hurled his knife at the dragon as quickly as he could before ducking back behind the boulder. The dragon let out a bellow.
Dean risked a glance, saw his knife embedded in the dragon's shoulder, and broke into a sprint. He got a few seconds before the dragon realized he was charging. It opened its mouth.
Whoosh. Fire soared to Dean's left.
Whoosh. The ground in front of Dean burst into flames. He leapt over it and kept running.
Whoosh. This time the fire sailed above Dean's head. Then he was there, far enough to the dragon's side that it had no hope of turning its head far enough to kill him.
Dean drew his sword. At the sound, the dragon tried to shuffle away, but bound as it was it, it couldn't go far. He moved up along the dragon's flank cautiously. Once he was within reach, he placed a hand on the dragon's head to keep it still, and with the other he raised his sword high. The dragon bucked its head frantically, and as Dean struggled to keep the dragon under control, the pattern of scorch marks caught his eye.
The alpha never missed. It hit its target every time, but it had shot at Dean five times and Dean was still breathing. It must have known his intentions, especially after he'd thrown a knife at it, but it still hadn't killed him.
Those had been warning shots: warning shots of something that had been bluffing. Dean backed away, and the dragon went still. Its eyes were wide. It looked as confused as Dean felt.
"Damn it," Dean said, and despite every instinct and all his training telling him otherwise, he began to cut away the net.
When he cut three of its legs free, the dragon sprang up and pounced. It pinned Dean to the ground with its uninjured leg and stared into him. Its eyes were huge, blue, and angry.
Dean braced himself. Maybe it had been tricking him into freeing it before it killed him. If it had been, it was a gamble that paid off. Dean was at its mercy. It opened its mouth and roared. The air that rushed through his hair was hot and smelled like fire, but it didn't burn.
When it stopped, the dragon flapped its wings and flew away. It didn't get too far before it landed awkwardly, but Dean was grateful for the extra space. For a moment he just stayed on his back, his pulse pounding in his ears. Then he got up slowly, picking up his sword with trembling fingers. His knife was still hilt-deep in the dragon, but there was no way in hell that Dean was going over there to get it. He backed away until he could feel the rock wall at his back. The dragon never took its eyes off him.
He skirted along the edge until he reached the spot where he'd come down. He swallowed hard, drummed up some courage, and turned his back to start the climb.
Even though he couldn't see the dragon, he knew it was watching him. He felt extremely vulnerable. If the dragon wanted him dead, he'd be a burnt stain on the side of the rock.
It was with relief, and not a little surprise, that Dean pulled himself over the edge. He coiled up the rope and headed home, all the while wondering what the hell he was doing.
*
When Dean got home, Sam was waiting at the door, practically shaking with excitement. "Well?" he asked eagerly. "Did you find it? Was it the alpha?"
Dean sighed. "You definitely hit something," he said. He couldn't lie to his brother completely, not when it would make him miserable. "By the time I got there it had burned its way out of the net."
Sam looked disappointed, but at least he didn't look crushed. "But I hit something?"
"Yeah."
"It was the alpha," Sam said confidently. "It must have been. No other dragon is clever enough to escape a net."
"Probably not," Dean conceded. "In any case, you downed one of them, so it looks like your weird-ass net thrower worked, at least."
Sam nodded. His expression turned to one of intense concentration. "I'll make adjustments. Maybe if the net is tighter, or heavier, it'll stay down next time." He ran off to his room. Dean sighed and went to his own room. Now that he was back in the village, with the houses peppered in burn marks and the streets scorched, he felt ashamed. What did it matter that the alpha hadn't tried to kill him? It had killed plenty of people before. Any time someone got close enough to kill a dragon, they invariably were attacked by the alpha.
Dean paused: every time someone got close enough to kill a dragon - that was the only time the alpha ever attacked. Now that he thought about it, he didn't think the alpha had ever stolen food from them, or attacked first.
Dean's head hurt.
*
The next week led to another raid by the dragons, and Dean was able to channel his frustration into a bout of good, old-fashioned, dragon killing. The dragons were the same as they always were - intent on carrying off food and more than happy to kill anyone who got in their way.
"The alpha wasn't there," Sam said at the end of the night, a triumphant expression on his face despite his singed hair. Sam's net throwing machine had brought down a dragon, and they were able to take it alive. Pride was rolling off him in waves. "Maybe I injured it when I brought it down."
"Maybe," Dean said, thinking about how the dragon hadn't flown away when he released it.
The dragon still hadn't flown away. Peering over the top of the hollow, Dean could clearly see that one of its wings was injured, maybe broken. It was limping as well; Dean could see the glint of his knife in the sun. As Dean watched, it jumped up, jaws snapping at some birds that quickly flew out of the reach of the alpha's jaws. It watched them go, and then jumped against the rocks. Dean could hear its claws trying to dig in, but they slipped and the dragon fell back.
Whoosh. Instinct caused Dean to duck, but once again the dragon's fire wouldn't have killed him. With slightly more confidence, he looked back over the edge.
The dragon was glaring at him. There was no other word for it; even at this distance, Dean could see that its eyes were narrowed into slits.
The next day, Dean came back with a sheep. It was old and sick, and he doubted anyone would miss it. Sometimes the dragons managed to steal one by stealth, and sometimes less flashy carnivores got into their herds.
He tossed the bleating sheep over the edge with a wince. After a few seconds, during which he didn't hear anything, he peered into the hollow.
The dragon was staring at the sheep. The fall had killed it. Dean felt a little bad about that, but he was feeding it to a dragon, and it was probably better for it to go out on the drop.
The dragon's eyes flicked to Dean. It was a smart, observant creature, Dean gave it that much. It sniffed the sheep tentatively and dragged it back to the other side of the hollow. Interestingly, it lit the sheep on fire for a few seconds before devouring it.
No one had ever seen a dragon eat its food. Dean felt almost like he was witnessing a secret, and for some reason it made him feel uncomfortable. He backed away slowly.
The next day, he brought a bigger sheep, some fishing line, a needle, and his normal first aid kit. He also brought a length of rope.
He tossed the sheep in first, and once the alpha dragged it to the opposite side, Dean made his way down the rock face. He could feel the dragon watching him, but it didn't even fire a warning shot. By this point, Dean felt no fear, but to be on the safe side, he unbuckled his sword and let it fall to the ground before he advanced. He kept his hands up to show he was unarmed. The dragon's eyes flicked between his sword and his empty hands. Dean could see the intelligence in them.
"Hey, buddy," Dean said as he got close, keeping his voice low and soothing. The dragon's ears twitched. "You just keep eating, don't mind me."
The dragon didn't eat, just watched him. Dean decided that was fair. The last time they'd been this close, Dean had almost killed it.
"You can eat, it's okay," Dean repeated. He pointed at the sheep, then tapped his throat and exaggerated a swallowing motion. The dragon looked down at the sheep. Damn, it was smart. It lowered its head and started to eat cautiously. Dean took another step closer. He was almost there.
"Alright, buddy, this will hurt but only for a sec, okay?" The dragon paused at the sound of his voice, but after a second it kept eating. Dean took a deep breath and lunged forward, grabbing the knife and yanking it out of the dragon's shoulder. He had a moment of victory, and then the dragon backhanded him and he soared through the air. It was on him almost immediately, a foot on his chest and growling in his face as Dean tried to regain his breath.
It stopped suddenly, looking down at Dean's leg and backing up. Dean looked down as well, and saw that he'd slashed his leg open.
"Shit," Dean said. "Guess this is what I get for trying to help a dragon, huh?"
The dragon twitched. It almost looked guilty. Dean was starting to think that this was all a really bizarre dream. Maybe he'd been hit on the head and was hallucinating everything while he drooled in a bed somewhere.
"It's okay," Dean reassured it. That was another indication that this was the result of blunt force trauma: he was reassuring a dragon. "I brought some supplies. I thought they'd be for you, but whatever." He was extremely grateful that he'd brought extra supplies. He did not like the idea of being stuck with a dragon as its only source of protein, no matter how strange the dragon was.
It watched him as he sewed himself together. Luckily, it wasn't a deep gash. Dean shouldn't have much trouble climbing the rock wall, though it was sure to hurt.
When he was done, the dragon came closer. Dean froze as it inspected his leg. Then, it sat on its haunches and looked at its shoulder. It looked back at Dean and cocked its head.
"Um, yeah," Dean nodded. "That was my plan." He dug out the fishing line and held it up with the needle. "May I?"
The dragon regarded him for a moment, and then lowered itself to the ground. It held its foreleg out so that Dean could easily see the wound.
"Okay then," Dean said, moving closer and laying a tentative hand next to the wound. "Don't knock me around this time."
The dragon hissed with every pull of the needle, but it didn't shake Dean off. When it was done, he patted it and said. "Great job, buddy. Now for the wings." He reached up and touched the base of the wing.
Instantly, the dragon went berserk. It spun out of Dean's reach and growled, low and terrifying.
"Whoa," Dean shouted. "Don't freak out, I just want to check it out." He reached for the wing again, and this time the dragon shot fire. It missed Dean's hand by only a few inches, the closest it had ever been. "Whoa," Dean yelled again, jumping back. "Okay! No wings, fine. Next time, huh?"
The next time went no better. Neither did the time after that. It was bizarre, because the dragon grew more and more comfortable with Dean's presence but more distrustful at the same time. It wouldn't even flinch when he inspected its shoulder, but the moment Dean reached back it went nuts. It even started started to recognize the word, "wing," and every time Dean said it, it backed away and shot fire.
Eventually, Dean lost it. "What do you want me to do about it?" he shouted. "I can't keep bringing you sheep everyday, buddy. Sooner or later someone will catch me. Do you want to be stuck in here forever?" Dean gestured to the walls of the hollow.
The dragon looked up, and Dean took the opportunity to get closer. The dragon whipped its head toward him and growled.
"Come on," Dean yelled, frustrated. "You can't climb out of here. I've seen you try. And I sure as hell can't haul you out. You eat too much food." He pointed to the growing pile of sheep bones in the corner and made a 'too much' gesture. "I can't keep stealing them, buddy," Dean added quietly.
The dragon narrowed its eyes and took a few steps back. A sudden light emanated from it, the pure white of its fire, and Dean blinked at the intensity.
When his eyes cleared, the dragon was gone, and in its place there was a man. A man with dark hair and blue eyes and an aggressive stance.
"Holy shit," Dean breathed.
The man cocked his head and narrowed his eyes.
"Holy shit," Dean repeated, the wings temporarily forgotten. "Um, hi," he said, waving.
The man mirrored him, waving his own hand.
"Uh," Dean was at a loss. "Can you speak? You know, words?" He tried to mime talking.
The man frowned and opened his mouth. "Dragons," he said, and holy shit he sounded like one. His voice was deep and harsh. It sounded like at any moment he might break into a roar. "Fire," he continued. "Kill them."
Dean had certainly shouted those words often during dragon raids. It made sense that he'd picked them up.
The man - dragon - who knew - tilted his head. "Wing." Then, less sure: "Buddy."
Dean smiled encouragingly. "Buddy, yeah, that's you. Well, not really, do you have a name?" The dragon blinked at him. "You know, I'm Dean." This was hard. "Dean," he said, tapping himself twice on the chest. He leaned down and tapped twice on a rock. "Rock." He did the same for the grass, and pointed at the dragon. Man. Whatever.
He frowned. Dean repeated the motions, and halfway through comprehension dawned in the dragon's eyes. The dragon stepped forward. He tapped Dean twice on the chest. "Dean." He tapped on the rocks and repeated, "rock." He knelt on the ground and said, "grass." He tapped himself twice on the chest and closed his eyes. It looked like he was thinking, so Dean waited patiently. Finally, the man opened his mouth. Castiel." He opened his eyes and repeated it. "Castiel." He smiled.
*
Castiel still wouldn't let Dean touch his wings.
Well, Dean wasn't sure what they were now. They lay flat against his back in miniature versions of themselves. Castiel never let Dean get close, but from what Dean could see they were built into the skin. They were the same color, the same as Castiel's hair, but Dean didn't think Castiel could move them.
Dean's head hurt. He didn't know if all dragons were like this or if it was just Castiel, and he lacked the common language to find out.
Castiel wouldn't let Dean anywhere near his back, but he accepted all the food Dean brought. Eventually, he even let Dean cajole him into some pants. After the amount of effort that took (days of wearing him down with bribes of pie) Dean was pretty sure convincing Castiel wasn't an option.
Dean eventually resorted to trickery. In addition to his unfortunate wing situation, Castiel's shoulder also needed attention. Stitches sewn into a dragon didn't hold when Castiel was a man. Dean approached with pie. He hoped it would be the last time he had to, because pie was much harder to steal and a lot more expensive than the bread and meat Dean could sneak off with now that Castiel didn't eat so much.
Castiel eyed him warily and shook his head as Dean came toward him.
"No wings," Dean said, placing the pie on a rock. Castiel looked at the pie longingly, but he still didn't look convinced. Dean tapped his shoulder twice. "Shoulder."
Castiel looked down and threaded one of his fingers through the loose stitches, tugging on them gently. It was disgusting. Dean was positive he was going to have to clean it out. Hopefully it wasn't too badly infected. "Shoulder," Castiel said thoughtfully. He nodded to Dean and took a few steps closer to sit on a rock.
Dean cheered internally as Cas let him look at the stitches. It was infected, but it didn't look so bad as to be spreading into the bloodstream. Dean set some water to boil as he pulled out the stitches. Once that was finished, he dipped his knife into the boiling water. "This is gonna hurt, Castiel," he said. "I'm sorry."
Castiel blinked at him, the same way he always did when Dean used new words. That's when Dean began cutting away at the infected flesh. Castiel growled and clenched his hands into Dean's shirt, but he made no move to push Dean away. He whimpered when Dean cut in deeper.
Dean shushed him. "I know it hurts. It'll be okay."
"Hurts," said Castiel. Then louder and more sure, he repeated it. "Hurts."
"Yeah that's right," Dean said, because at least Castiel learned a new word. "It hurts."
He worked as quickly as he could, stopping often to clean and resterilize the knife. When he finished, he dipped the needle and thread into the boiling water too, to be on the safe side. He really did not want to have to go back in there.
"Okay, Castiel," he said tying off the final stitch. "All done."
"All done," Castiel repeated, tapping his fingers along the line of stitches.
"Yeah," Dean agreed and yanked Cas forward off the rock. Castiel fell with a stunned cry, but before he could get up, Dean pinned his arms to the ground with his knees. "This'll only take a second, okay?"
"No," Castiel gasped into the ground.
Dean ignored him. This had to happen or the wing would never heal properly. He only hoped it wasn't too late.
As Dean had thought, the skin of the wings were flush with the skin of Castiel's back, with only the color to show where one ended and the other began. Like this, the bones looked like scar tissue or thick cartilage, and Dean could see one of the bones had been snapped and pulled out of place. He could probably push it back though, and position it so that it healed straight. He was about to do it when Castiel shuddered beneath him and whispered "No, Dean, please."
It wasn't the words that stopped him - Castiel had learned no, please, and more on practically the first day - it was the way Castiel said them, desperately and resigned at the same time. He was shaking and drawing in little hitching breaths. Castiel seemed truly scared, in a way he hadn't been even when Dean was about to kill him.
This was more than fearing a few seconds of pain. Dean backed away.
He had expected Castiel to bolt, but he didn't. He just drew himself into a ball and rolled onto his side so that Dean couldn't see the wings anymore. He kept breathing in a shallow, panicked way.
"Cas," Dean whispered, at a loss. He reached out and Castiel flinched away. "I'm sorry," Dean said, though he wasn't sure what he'd done. "Here, let me explain." He picked up a stick and etched a rough outline of wings in the dirt. Castiel uncurled himself slightly to watch, and his breathing calmed down. "That's what it should look like, but yours-" Dean snapped the stick and tried to approximate the position of the broken bone. "Yours is like that."
Castiel reached out and touched the broken stick. "Hurts."
"Yeah, that's why it hurts. All I want to do is..." Dean pushed the broken stick back into place. "That's all, I just want to fix it. I'm not gonna do anything else."
"No," Castiel said, curling himself back into a ball and shaking his head vehemently. "No. Please, Dean."
Dean sighed. "We've got to fix it. Otherwise it won't get better."
Castiel just shook his head.
Dean leaned back and tried to think. If push came to shove, he could overpower Castiel and just do it, but Dean really did not want to. They'd built up a tentative system of trust, and Dean didn't want to ruin it anymore than he already had. "Okay," he said slowly. "What if you do it?" Castiel blinked at him. "You know," Dean reached behind with his hand and touched his own back to demonstrate.
Castiel bit his lip and nodded. He reached back slowly. "Wait," Dean said, and even though he didn't think Castiel knew the word, he paused. "Can I see? I won't touch, I promise."
Castiel rolled onto his stomach so that Dean could see again. Even he seemed hesitant to touch, and it clicked suddenly. Dean was an idiot for not understanding it sooner.
From day one of dragon training, warriors were taught that the wings were the most vulnerable part of a dragon's body, and arguably the most important. Dean pushing bones around would be like having an enemy rearrange the bones in his throat.
It wasn't working. Castiel couldn't see the bones, and he was too hesitant to find them by groping. Dean slid a hand under Castiel's shoulder and placed the other one right below the elbow. Castiel tensed, but relaxed after a few seconds and let Dean guide his hand to the proper spot.
Castiel shook and moaned as he pushed and prodded the bone into place, but to Dean's relief, it moved readily and they didn't have to rebreak it. He made Castiel pinch the two halves together at the break, and once it looked okay he let go of Castiel's arm and gave him some space. "All done?" Castiel asked, voice shaking.
"All done," Dean affirmed, and he kissed the top of Castiel's trembling head.
Castiel gave him a shaky smile and asked, "More pie?"
Dean laughed.
*
Dean was growing unreasonably fond of Castiel. He brought him new kinds of food every day, and sometimes he brought him other stuff, small things he could easily carry with him as he snuck out of town. It was ridiculous, because Castiel was a dragon, and it wasn't like the other dragons had stopped attacking them. If anything, the attacks had grown more frequent.
Sam had noticed Dean leaving every day, and Dean was pretty sure the only reason he hadn't asked Dean where he was going was because he was busy, working on his net thrower and who knows what else. Bobby noticed too, and shot him strange looks whenever Dean bumped into him, but Dean got good at avoiding him. Dean knew what he was doing - sheltering a dragon - was wrong, but leaving Castiel to fend for himself, trapped in the hollow with no source of food, was unthinkable.
So, Dean spent his nights fighting dragons and his days teaching a dragon words like bread and cheese and eyeglasses.
Castiel loved everything, but the thing he loved the most was the small book Dean brought one day. Castiel couldn't read, and Dean didn't bother trying to teach him, but he flicked through the pages reverently.
The next day, Dean searched through their storage space until he found a box of Sam's old children's books. He brought the entire box with him to visit Castiel, taking extra care not to be seen.
Castiel's eyes lit up the moment he saw what was in the box. "Books," he said happily, and started turning the pages of the first one he picked up. He made a noise of surprise when he saw that it was illustrated. "What is this?" He asked Dean, tapping the picture.
"A picture. This is a picture book."
"A picture book," Castiel repeated, nodding. He turned the page and frowned. "What is this?" Dean kept quiet. He wanted to see if Castiel could figure it out on his own. Castiel flipped between the two pages and frowned deeper. Then, his expression cleared. "Also a picture?"
Dean nodded and knelt beside him. "They're of different things. So this is a picture of a castle," he explained, pointing to the first page. "And that's a picture of a lake."
Castiel was still frowning, so Dean flipped through until he found an image Castiel might have a better chance of understanding. "Here," he said, when he came across a picture of a sword. "Picture of a sword," he said, tapping it. He drew his own sword and held it out. "Sword."
"Ah," Castiel said, eyes lighting up. Dean grinned. He loved it when Castiel got something. He flipped the page. "Water," Castiel said. "Tree." He flipped over the next page and looked at Dean curiously. "What is this picture?"
"What is this a picture of?" Dean corrected. "It's a bear."
Castiel nodded and leaned closer to Dean as he flipped through the pages. He knew some of the words, and whenever he came across a picture he didn't know he looked at Dean questioningly.
When he flipped a page toward the end of the story, Castiel shook his head and frowned. Dean laughed when he saw the picture. "That's kissing, Cas."
"Kissing?" Castiel said skeptically, frowning at the picture.
"That's a kiss. It's when you touch someone else with your lips."
"Why?" Castiel asked. He brought his hand up to his own lips and let his fingers linger there.
"They love each other," Dean explained.
"Love?"
"Yeah," Dean said. "Love is... well, you feel it here." He placed a hand over his heart. Castiel frowned and placed his hand over Dean's. "No, man," Dean said, laughing. He moved Castiel's hand to his chest. "If you love someone, when you see them, you feel happy there. Warm," he added, because he wasn't sure if Castiel really understood emotions yet. Castiel was still frowning in confusion, so Dean went on. "Um, you're sad when they're sad or hurt. You're happy when they're happy."
"Ah," Castiel said, flattening his hand and nodding. "Love." He tilted his head. "You love me?"
"What?" Dean sputtered. "No!"
"You kissed me."
Dean shook his head. "That was a different type of kiss. When both people touch lips, it means love. When you kiss someone on the head it usually means, 'Don't worry.' Or, 'It'll be okay.' You don't have to love someone to do it. I mean, you have to like them, but you can just be friends."
"We are friends?" Castiel asked.
Dean smiled. "Yeah, Cas. We are."
*
That night, Dean had a surprise waiting for him at home.
"Dean," Sam said, for once greeting Dean with a frown instead of a smile. "Dad's home."
"Oh," Dean said. Dad had been hunting for the dragons' nest since before Sam hit Castiel. Dean doubted Sam would have had the courage to try out his contraption if Dad had been there. "Did he say anything?"
Sam shook his head and made a face. "Just said he wanted to talk to you."
Dean swallowed hard and his heart began to race. Could he have found out? He nodded to Sam to disguise his nerves and went further into the house to find his father.
Dean found him silhouetted impressively against the fireplace. Even in the privacy of his own home, John Winchester carried himself like a leader.
"Hello, Dean," his father said.
"Hi Dad," Dean replied. "Did you find the nest?"
"No," his father said. "Damn things are impossible to track." He raised his eyes to meet Dean's. "I know you let Sam out during an attack."
Dean had done no such thing. Sam had sneaked out by himself. It would do no good to argue, so he said simply, "He was convinced he could hit the alpha, Dad."
"He tells me he did."
"Maybe," Dean offered. "He definitely hit a dragon. I found burned ropes, but nothing else."
"You shouldn't have let Sam outside," John repeated.
Dean hung his head. "Sorry, sir."
There was a pause, where Dean could hear his heart pounding so loudly he was terrified that his father would hear it somehow. Then John broke the silence. "Bobby tells me you've been disappearing."
Dean winced. "I've been looking for the alpha," he said finally.
"I thought you said it got away."
"Well, yeah, but it hasn't been since that night, so I figured maybe it's injured or something."
"Why have you been going by yourself?" John demanded.
Dean thought quickly. "Well, it was a long shot anyway, and since the dragons have been attacking more often, I didn't want anyone else to be tired at the end of the day."
John surveyed him. Dean tried not to blink. He'd never lied to his father before. Finally, John nodded curtly. "As long as you're not wasting anyone else's time." He clapped Dean on the shoulder as he went out, no doubt to talk to Bobby and the rest of the council.
"What did he say?" Sam asked from the doorway.
"Just wanted to know where I've been going," Dean answered.
"Where have you been going?"
Dean shrugged. "Looking for your dragon."
Sam straightened. "You never told me that."
"Didn't want to get your hopes up," Dean said.
*
He'd bought himself some time, but Dean knew it was only a matter of time before Dad insisted he stop going out into the forest.
"How are your wings?" Dean asked Castiel the next day. It was later than usual, since he'd been so paranoid about someone following him. "Can you fly?"
Castiel shook his head. Dean took him at his word, and examined his shoulder. It, at least, was almost healed. A few more days and they would be able to take out the stitches.
"Dean?" Castiel asked. "What's wrong?"
Usually, when Castiel used contractions or personal pronouns, Dean was ridiculously happy. Today, though, he just sighed. "People have been asking questions. About where I go when I come here."
Castiel's eyes immediately became guarded. Dean hated it when that happened.
"I'm not going to tell," Dean reassured him. "But there might come a time when I have to stop coming here. And then, how will you get food? Or-"
"Dean." Castiel cut him off firmly. He leaned forward and kissed Dean on the forehead. Dean's jaw dropped open. "Don't worry," Castiel said, and smiled.
Dean should explain that people don't actually kiss on the forehead in place of words, but Castiel looked so pleased with himself that Dean let it go. "How come you're so different from the other dragons?" Dean asked instead. "Can they change like you?"
Castiel frowned. "I am not a dragon."
"Um, what?" Dean asked.
"I am not a dragon," Castiel repeated.
"What?" Dean asked again, stupidly. Castiel rolled his eyes and opened his mouth, no doubt to say the exact same thing, so Dean interrupted. "What are you then?"
"I am... I tell the dragons when to fight."
"You make them attack us?" Dean asked angrily.
Castiel looked pained. "No. I do not tell them to fight you. They go for food. I watch, when they go. To..." He broke off and made a frustrated sound.
"To keep them safe," Dean guessed. Castiel nodded. "But what do you tell them to fight?"
Castiel closed his eyes. It reminded Dean of when Castiel gave him his name, so he waited and let Castiel think. "Leviathans," Castiel said finally.
"What are they?" Dean asked.
"They are bad. Very bad. They come, and eat everything. Dragons, human, sheeps."
"Sheep," Dean corrected automatically.
"Sheeps," Castiel insisted. Dean let it go, because he realized that whatever Castiel was saying was probably more important than gramar. "They are black. They eat until there is nothing left. No bones, no skins." Dean gasped, remembering.
"Dean? What's wrong?"
"I think one of those killed my mom." Dean had to force the words through numb lips. Dad had always been convinced that a dragon did it, but there hadn't been any signs or fire or other dragons. They'd simply woken up in the morning and Mary was gone.
"Dean, I'm sorry," Castiel said. A contraction and a personal pronoun. Dean would be cheering if he weren't panicking. "They are hard to fight. They do not like fire, but they are fast."
"Ah," Dean said intelligently. He sat down heavily in the grass. He felt he was entitled to it, after having his world view shot to hell.
"Dean." Castiel bent down and kissed Dean on the forehead again. "It will be okay. I will watch over you." Surprisingly, the kiss was comforting, and Dean found himself leaning into it.
"So," Dean said, once he'd regained control over his brain. "If you're the dragons' commander or whatever, do you know why they've been attacking us all the time?"
"They attack you all the time?"
"Yeah, basically every night. Sometimes they don't even take food, they just fly around and light stuff on fire."
"They look for me," Castiel said, looking concerned. "They do not know where I am." He went to the walls and started trying to climb them.
"Hold up, Cas, wait," Dean said. "What are you doing?"
"I must go to them. Then they will stop."
Of course. Dean knew that eventually, Castiel would leave, but he'd assumed that because of his injuries they'd have a little more time before that day came. "Cas, calm down, you'll pull out your stitches," he protested, pulling Castiel firmly to the ground. "Is it far? Will it take long to get there?"
"I do not know. I can't fly." Castiel looked at his back in exasperation.
"Alright, it's probably a decent way off, or we would have found it by now," Dean reasoned. "So, how about I come back early in the morning with a horse and some longer rope or a ladder. Then you can go and it'll be quicker."
Castiel subsided. "Yes. That will work." He rolled his shoulder and huffed when it jerked stiffly.
*
It was painfully obvious that Castiel had never been on a horse before. He had to be helped into the saddle, and when the horse started walking, he pitched forward and grasped it around the neck. The horse didn't seem to like it because it shook its head and whinnied. It was enough to send Castiel tumbling off of its back.
"Sorry man," Dean said, laughing a little because he'd never claimed to be a saint. "Looks like you'll have to walk after all." Castiel wrinkled his nose and Dean hesitated. He was sure Castiel wouldn't like it, but he felt like he had to offer. "Or I could go with you, if that's okay. It would be easier for you with someone else on the horse."
"You won't tell the other humans?"
"No," Dean said firmly. It surprised him, how easily he came to that conclusion. "No, I won't."
"Okay," Castiel said. "How should we go?"
"Well, there's not a lot of choice, is there? If you were trying to learn it would be better to have you up front but that won't work with your wings. You'll just have to hold on." Dean mounted and hauled Castiel up behind him. Castiel wrapped his arms tightly around Dean's middle and settled his head on Dean's shoulder.
"Alright," Dean said, trying to ignore the way Castiel's breath sounded loud in his ear. "I have no idea where I'm going, so you'll have to direct me." He taught Castiel the words for left, right, and straight, and then kicked the horse into a walk.
It was extremely pleasant, actually. Castiel gave him directions occasionally, but for the most part he just asked questions about their surroundings. Some things he'd only seen as a dragon or in pictures and wasn't a hundred percent sure of - children's books didn't always have realistic illustrations - and some things Dean had just forgotten. The word for wind, for instance.
In the early afternoon, they came to a lake against a sheer mountain face. Castiel made him take the horse out into the water, hugging close to the rocks the whole time. Once they'd traversed a large part of the lake, they came to a gap in the rock that led to a small footpath. "Wouldn't have thought dragons needed a walking route," Dean remarked, though he supposed he should be grateful.
"For the little dragons to get their water," Castiel explained.
They broke into the light, and Dean gasped. They were in a huge circular valley, and crawling over every inch of it were dragons. Dragons in every color that he'd ever seen, though none were the same color as Castiel. There were some as small as cats and more colorful - they looked like they couldn't fly yet - and some were larger than Castiel had been. The largest ones were so pale that they almost looked white. The number of dragons who attacked the town was not even a fraction of the dragons here.
Castiel slid off the horse not at all gracefully, looking very pleased to be on his own feet again. Dean followed, mostly because he wanted to look as unthreatening as possible.
"They will not hurt you," Castiel said, and leaned up to kiss Dean's forehead. Dean really needed to explain that better, but before he could say anything - not that now was the time - Castiel walked into the center of the clearing. It was weird to watch. All the large dragons ignored him and went about their business, but the young ones pranced around him, even as they parted to form a path in front of him. As far as Dean could tell, they never got close enough to touch.
Castiel hummed, and even though he was far away, Dean could feel it in his bones. Then, the most enormous dragon Dean had ever seen landed in front of Castiel and bowed its head. Its head was larger than Castiel, definitely large enough to swallow a man whole. Castiel reached up and touched the dragon on the back of its skull, and for a long time, they just stood there, neither of them moving. When Castiel finally took his hand away, the dragon bellowed. All the dragons paused, and then the large dragon took off.
Castiel turned and beckoned to him. "Come, Dean," he called.
"I'll pass," Dean yelled back.
"Come," Castiel called again. Dean scowled but started moving forward anyway. He trusted Castiel, but not enough that he was comfortable walking into a field full of dragons.
"Bring meat," Castiel added.
Dean had no idea what that meant, but he dug out some jerky he'd packed for the ride. Castiel hummed again, and by the time Dean made his way to stand next to him, another dragon had landed. It was not nearly as large as the previous one, but it was still larger than a horse, and more than large enough to make Dean sweat.
"I will show you how to say hello," Castiel said. "You must give the dragon a gift. Hold it in your hands like this," he directed, curling Dean's fingers around the jerky so that it was hidden. "Hold your hands out. When the dragon touches you with his nose, show him your gift. If he likes it, he will like you."
"What if he doesn't like it?" Dean asked, holding his hands out regardless. Castiel didn't answer, but Dean had a few guesses.
The dragon bumped his hands with his nose, and Dean was so startled that he dropped the jerky.
*
"You said they wouldn't hurt me," Dean accused later, after Castiel had hummed and sent the dragon away. He cradled his burnt hand to his chest.
"You did not give him a gift," Castiel said gently. "Let me see."
"I would have picked it up." Dean grumbled as Castiel bent over his hand. "There was no need for him to get angry."
Castiel was doing something weird. It felt like he was breathing on him deliberately or something, but in the grand scheme of things, Dean wasn't going to worry about it. He was more worried about how he was going to explain a fresh burn once he got home.
Castiel sat up, a satisfied expression on his face. "All done," he said, patting Dean's hand.
Dean blinked. His hand felt fine. It felt great, actually, and when he looked down at it, the burn was gone. "Oh my god," he blurted out. "You can just fix me like that?"
Castiel nodded. "If it is caused by dragon fire or claws."
"That is awesome," Dean grinned. "Thanks, Cas."
"You're welcome," Castiel said. He was learning manners. Dean managed not to puff up in pride, but it was a close thing.
Later, once they were underway and Dean was less overwhelmed by the fact that Castiel had healed him so easily, he asked, "But seriously, Cas. Didn't he see that I dropped it? Why'd he go all crazy?"
"He saw only that you did not give you a gift. Dragons are not quick in the head."
"Smart," Dean said. "Dragons are not smart."
"Smart," Castiel agreed.
"So what did you tell that big one?" Dean asked.
"I told him I was safe. To watch for Leviathans and not me. To not take sheeps, but maybe they won't listen to that one for long."
"Sheep," Dean corrected. After that their conversation turned to a heated discussion about why sheep aren't called sheeps, and from there they switched to all the other strange plurals. Each exception caused Castiel's face to screw up in distate and grip Dean tighter in frustration. By the time they got to mouse and mice, Castiel was nothing less than epically frustrated and angry. Dean was laughing at the comically huge frown furrowing Castiel's forehead when he realized he wanted to kiss him.
Dean wasn't blind. He'd seen that very first day that Castiel was stupidly attractive, but he'd drawn the line at dragon. He wasn't human, but he wasn't a dragon either, and the line was a lot harder for Dean to see when Castiel's arms were wrapped around him and he could feel Castiel's breath on his cheek. His breath and his body felt warmer than a human's, and Dean wondered if his mouth would feel warmer too: if Castiel would taste like fire.
It was a stupid, pointless line of thought, and Dean squashed it down. Castiel would be better soon, and then he would fly away. Thinking about the way Castiel's lips felt against his forehead would only make things worse.
When they got back, Castiel slid off the horse and walked to the edge. He picked up the rope and looked at Dean expectantly.
"Cas, I'm not going to make you go back down there. You can go home, if you want." He ignored the way the words stuck in his throat. This was the right thing to do.
"I cannot," Castiel said. "It is very high."
"Well okay, but you still don't have to stay down there," Dean said.
Castiel frowned and peered over the edge. "The picture books."
"We can bring them up, if you want," Dean offered.
"I like being up," Castiel said, looking around the forest. "It's small down there. But tonight I will go down, and tomorrow you can bring me up with the picture book box."
Dean tried not to let his relief show. He felt like a terrible person, happy that Castiel was stuck and dependent on him. He should offer to pull Castiel back up tonight, but he let this one small indulgence slide.
He pulled him up the next day, when Castiel signaled that he was ready. He also took out Castiel's stitches. There was nothing keeping Castiel there now, and Dean left feeling anxious. He let out a huge sigh of relief the next morning when he saw that Castiel was still where he'd left him.
"So how are your wings?"
"They will be healed soon, I think," Castiel said. "I might try to fly tonight." Dean tried to look happy as he fiddled with the mirror in his hands. He'd brought it with him so Castiel could see his reflection, and Castiel had spent almost an hour running his hands over his face and making faces into the mirror.
"Dean," Castiel said hesitantly. Dean looked up and saw that Castiel didn't look happy either. "Thank you. For everything. I will not forget."
"Sure thing, Cas," Dean answered. "I'll, uh, miss you."
Castiel blinked and tilted his head. "Miss?"
"It means, when you are gone, I'll be sad and want to see you again." When he said it like that, it sounded ridiculous and pathetic, not to mention dangerously close to the way he'd explained love. Dean very pointedly did not think about that.
Castiel nodded gravely. "I understand. I will miss you always."
Dean laughed a little. "That's not what you say. You say, I will miss you too."
"No," Castiel said. "I will miss you always."
Dean swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat. "Yeah, me too."
*
As he walked back to the village, Dean thought about how unfair his life was, and berated himself for thinking it was unfair. He'd dug this hole himself, no question. He had no right to be miserable about it. At least when Castiel left, he wouldn't have to lie to his father and Sam anymore. Dad wasn't around much to be lied to, but Sam greeted him every day with a hopeful smile that Dean hated crushing.
Castiel was still going to be there the next day, though. He'd told Dean as much before he'd left, and Dean was pretty sure he wouldn't lie. Castiel probably didn't even know what a lie was.
Suddenly, the hair on the back of Dean's neck stood up. He'd entered the town already, and it usually filled him with a feeling of safety, but something felt off. He looked behind him. The streets were full of shadows and he couldn't see anything. He picked up a nearby torch and raised it.
He still couldn't see anything, so he shrugged and dismissed it as a draft of wind. He turned around.
The light from his torch illuminated a huge, dark mass. It was dripping and pulsating and it made Dean's stomach heave. He waved the torch at it in reflex and it pulled back slightly.
This must be a Leviathan, Dean thought. He started jabbing at it with the torch, and to his relief, it drew back. He lunged forward, determined to bring it down. The swirling black mass parted in the middle to let the flames pass through it, and then it closed around the handle and yanked the torch out of Dean's hands.
Dean swore and stumbled back. He knew there was another torch in the street, but he couldn't bear the thought of taking his eyes off the Leviathan to find it.
Suddenly, there was a roar and a whooshing sound. Dean hadn't heard it for a long time, but he recognized it and ducked. He wasn't quite fast enough, and the back of his shirt caught fire. His instincts kicked in, and he fell to the ground to smother the flames. When he looked up, the Leviathan was burning, the fire consuming it steadily. He looked behind, certain of what he would see. Sure enough, Castiel was there in dragon form. He heard someone scream.
"Cas," he gasped through the pain from his back. "You gotta go."
Castiel shook his head and came forward. Dean tried to push him away, but Castiel flipped him over and pinned him to the ground.
"Cas please," Dean said. "Don't worry about me, just go." He heard footsteps coming towards them, but Castiel ignored him.
Dean couldn't help but groan in relief when Castiel breathed on him and healed him. He had only a second to relax before Castiel's weight was pulled off him. When Dean scrambled to his feet, he saw that some of the villagers had already fastened shackles around Castiel's feet. "Go!" Dean yelled.
There was a blinding white light. Dean, who knew what it was, shut his eyes. When the light through his eyelids faded to manageable levels, Dean opened them. Castiel was standing on human feet again. Dean tossed him his sword and by some miracle Castiel snatched it out of the air.
It was going to work. The shackles had fallen to the ground, useless, and most of the people had fallen back in shock. Castiel ran toward an exit that was guarded by only one person: Sam, who was gaping openmouthed, sword held loosely in his hand. Castiel's was raised high.
The rational part of Dean's brain knew that Castiel wouldn't hurt Sam, would probably brush right by him and at worst knock into him, but all Dean could see was a sword bearing down on his little brother.
"Cas, NO!" Dean screamed.
Castiel stuttered to a halt and dropped the sword. He looked back at Dean, confusion in his eyes. Sam shook himself and struck Castiel on the back of the head with his sword. Dean was running before Castiel finished crumpling to the ground.
"Don't hurt him," Dean shouted. He closed about half the distance before strong arms pulled him back. Dean fought them until he realized that they belonged to his father. John dragged him into the town hall and slammed the door shut, a thunderous expression on his face.
Dean gulped. "Dad, I... I can explain."
"Oh really?" John asked, voice low and dangerous. "Because it looked to me like you knew that dragon. Is it your pet?"
"Cas is different, he-"
"You named it? The alpha? He is the alpha, isn't he?"
Dean swallowed hard and tried to think. "Dragons are different from what we thought," he forced out. "They aren't the enemy, Dad."
John scoffed and turned away. "Dragons steal our food. They burn our houses. They killed your mother, Dean."
"No. That was a Leviathan. They're the enemy. The dragons fight them, not us."
"And I suppose the dragon told you that?"
"He's not even a dragon," Dean said, frustrated. "He's their commander or something, he-" Dean realized what he was saying and snapped his mouth shut, but the damage was already done.
His father's eyes glinted. "He's their commander?"
"No-" John was already walking toward the door. Dean grabbed him and pulled him back. "I won't let you hurt him."
John just shot him a disgusted look and pushed past him to sweep out the door. Dean followed, but was immediately grabbed by two men outside the door. "Throw him in the dungeons," John said shortly, and walked away."