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“All I lov’d‒I lov’d alone”
-Edgar Allan Poe
***
The cough was harsh, spasming, as Dean bent over, his hands cupping his mouth as sprouts of dandelions came bursting out in a blossom of bloody tendrils. His fragile wings fluttering as his body shook with the painful twist of vines squeezing his lungs.
“Dean, are you okay?” came the concerned voice of his secret beloved beside him. Cas’s hand, warm and sure, caressing his back as Dean took out the ever-present handkerchief from his pocket, hiding the evidence of his affections from that sharp blue gaze.
“’m okay, Cas,” he managed to get out as he scrunched up and folded the flowers in the white cloth his mother had made for him when his disease had started to worsen, the news of it spreading throughout the entire meadow of fae who lived on the edges of the kingdom.
It had always been his parents’ worst fear for him, what with his magic being especially drawn to matters of love. Dean having been gifted with an innate ability to see and cajole those whose hearts he knew were intertwined, meant to be. And often, when he couldn’t help himself, too impatient to let the fates do their work, he would use his personal brand of persuasion to move things along for lovers who were too stubborn or pig-headed to see what was in front of them.
And even though that particular magic eventually wore off when true love sparked, his mother always had a few words to say to him when he would come back home, head down and feet dragging against the forest ground, his wings held tight to his back, as his big green eyes looked upon her with an apology already at hand.
But for all that he loved love, the unrequited kind was never a pleasant one to witness. His magic’s greatest weakness, for to love alone was an unparalleled pain, and one he could not cure or fix.
And for a fae like Dean, for such a fate to be inflicted upon him; to find his own true love to be an ill-fated match, a one-sided love affair, going unloved as his feelings remained unreciprocated, was the worst fate imaginable.
And yet, this was the story written in stone for him as he felt those growing vines squeezing even more as Castiel kept close, worry blossoming in his eyes since this wretched sickness had come upon him when his heart had started beating a new rhythm.
Their friendship had always been a strange one, an unlikely pair, people would often whisper. Castiel being an enforcer for the kingdom, a soldier meant to fight for the king and his people. The demon blood coursing through his veins calling for the spoils of war, though the land was at peace since the last failed attempt at a takeover from a neighbouring realm whose king had been hungry for power. And although Cas and his fellow demon brothers were far from the enemies of those living in the kingdom, their violent, soulless natures caused them to be a feared bunch. Said to be unfeeling and unmoving when it came to taking lovers of their own. Even as it was mere gossip, it was still solidified their images in the minds of those they had sworn to protect.
And Dean, his incandescent wings a dead giveaway for the forest creature he was, always roaming in the meadows of their home, sometimes causing mischief, but mostly wandering off to find anyone he could use his magics on, lovers who could easily provide him some much-needed entertainment, though he had more than a few beings come upon him for his match-making abilities.
But their meeting had been inevitable, Dean muses, thinking back to that fateful day when he had stumbled in his haste to get home all those years ago. An uprooted tree branch having caught fast on his ankle, remembering the sickening crunch of the bone and the bloody scrape to his head when he had fallen too close to a nearby rock.
He had been disorientated, his vision having gone blurry as a much younger version of the man standing next to Dean now had swam before him.
Castiel had been quick and sure in his haste to set his ankle, his blue eyes boring into Dean’s teary green ones from the unexpected pain of the fall. Slitting his skin open to use his own demon blood to heal the open gash wound on Dean’s head, an unusual thing to have done he would hear from healers later on, for a demon to commit such an intimate act for a stranger.
“It’ll heal on its own soon enough,” Castiel had said back then as Dean stared at the blood flowing from his palm with concern.
“It doesn’t hurt at all?” Dean had questioned, the hesitation in the demon’s response all he had needed as he rolled his eyes at the unwarranted show of strength, tearing a strip from his green shirt, something which his mother would probably scold him for later as he wrapped it around the aching wound of his saviour.
“Silly, what’s so bad about saying it hurts, huh?” Dean had muttered, not bothering to note the look of surprise from the demon kneeling before him, his hand still held fast in Dean’s grip as he made sure to secure the rough bandage.
“What’s your name by the way?”
“Cas‒Castiel,” the young demon had stuttered out, his cheeks flushing lightly at realizing how close he was to the fae before him, his blue eyes tracing the shape of the opaque wings fluttering behind the younger creature, the sunlight catching on them, bouncing and refracting shards of rainbow dust in the forest air.
“Well, Cas, it’s nice to meet you,” Dean had said, his head cocked at the strange look on the demon’s face, his nose scrunching instead at how unafraid he was of him, a feeling most people had when they encountered the protectors of their home.
It had been the beginning of their story.
And now, knowing how the absence of terror had only made him more curious about the demon who had all but recued him, Dean supposed there had been no other option than falling and falling and falling even more deeply in love with his best friend.
It’s always these kinds of thoughts that sends the flowers blooming deep inside him as he coughs again, his hands filled with the petals of bleeding pink camellias.
Longing.
His eyes watering at the beautifully macabre bundle of them held in the palm of his hand, making sure Cas never saw them as he got his handkerchief once more.
“Let’s get you home,” Castiel says, his blue eyes so concerned, so scared for Dean that his heart aches more at the sight of the ever-present worry in those blue depths, their long walks in the evenings reduced only to mere minutes now that his sickness had taken root, spreading to his heart, the healers had said.
And Castiel doesn’t know what it is exactly that was affecting his friend like this, Dean having forced his fellow fae to keep it a secret from the demon and anybody else Cas might know.
Because faking being in love with Dean wouldn’t help any, and the last thing Dean would want was for his best friend, his heart, to feel responsible for not loving him back.
And Castiel had made it more than clear that loving somebody was the last thing he would want to do.
They had spoken about it when it had finally hit Dean, the true extent of the feelings he had begun to harbour for the brooding demon. The way he had started mooning, his match-making unparalleled during that blissful period when he realized that it was finally his turn, that fate had blessed him with a deep, all consuming love, a mate to be found in his best friend. What better fortune could he have asked for?
He had been positively giddy, and before thoughts of hiding the revelation could spring forth, he had wanted nothing more than to run to Cas and pour his heart out. Tell him how he made it race. How breathless he became at the mere sight of his wild, windswept tousle of his dark hair, the sweat gleaming in the summer sun when Dean spied their training. How he thought Castiel was the most handsome creature he had ever laid his eyes upon.
The affections that had grown at the simplest of acts, only getting that much stronger when Dean would catch Castiel grumbling and moping about when the fae would venture too far out along the land’s borders, the protectiveness spilling over and showing clearly for everyone to see how valued Dean was to the demon.
The way his magic sung whenever he was around, making Dean feel invincible, weightless, happier than ever.
And he would have said it all, the words blazing on the tip of his tongue when he invited Cas out for a similar stroll in the foothills. His heart pitter-pattering as he fished for something, anything, that would provide him with an opening to spill his heart out.
And it would come he had thought, his chance, it had to. After all, it was what he was made for. To love, and be loved, the greatest sources of life for his magic, for his existence.
But it had slipped through his fingers with five simple words uttered by his love.
“No offence Dean, but I don’t believe in love,” Castiel had said, the words like a knife to Dean’s heart as he stopped in his tracks, his brows furrowed as he gazed upon his beloved in the early moonlight.
“What do you mean? You wouldn’t want‒you don’t want to find love? It’s one of the purest kinds of magic there is, Cas. It’s‒it’s,” and Dean didn’t know what to say as his words stumbled, his entire reason for existing having never been questioned, challenged, so forth-right before.
His mate didn’t believe in love? Everyone wanted to find love…didn’t they?
And even in his dismay, he could see the regret on Cas’s face as the words must have tumbled out unknowingly. Castiel seeing the hurt and stricken look on Dean’s face. It almost made the demon believe in the tales of old, when it was said that faeries, as fragile as their new existences were back then, could be brought to their deaths with a simple proclamation of disbelief.
It’s what he had done with his insensitive words, wasn’t it? Attacking Dean’s very essence, his magic, his reason for living. Love. What strange a word and concept that had been to Castiel when Dean had first gushed about it when their friendship was a new, budding thing. The excitement and joy and pleasure his little fae had gotten from the simple act of seeing others in love.
And now, to see him like this because of his words, his hunched shoulders, his wings tucked in tight as he gazed sadly at the demon, and all Castiel wanted to do in that moment was go to him, to enfold him in his embrace, to say he was sorry, to soothe the hurt away.
Strange feelings for a demon. But then again, there was a lot of things he did where Dean was concerned that he didn’t quite understand.
“Dean, it’s not‒” he tried, inwardly cursing as he saw the tell-tale signs of tears swimming in Dean’s eyes‒the last thing he wanted to see after the exuberance and excited state he had been in that day when he came to Cas at his guard post, “demons, love wasn’t made for us, that’s all I’m saying. We fight, we conquer, we kill, it’s the only purpose for our existence.”
And the words tasted bitter on his tongue, the truth of them stinging down his throat, sitting heavy and uncomfortable where they had never seemed to bother him before. But they had started to hurt, especially when Dean was close, with his big, golden green eyes and freckled skin. His dimpled cheeks and wide, toothy smile having endured him to Castiel a long time ago.
“So, you wouldn’t want to love anyone, even if‒even if they loved you back?” Dean had asked, doing everything to keep the tears from falling as his heart slowly sunk deeper and deeper at the resigned look on Cas’s face, telling him all he needed to know.
“No.”
And Castiel didn’t want to tell him otherwise, didn’t want Dean to start his matchmaking on him as he’d seen him do for others a thousand times over, didn’t want him to see how unwanted and unlovable demons could be, even with his gifts, his magic of persuasion. That he didn’t want any of that, not unless…
Still, it was too late for Dean as Castiel’s thoughts went unsaid, that one simple word shattering him, enough to convince him that this was his fate; to die of an unrequited love, the first vines forming, tightening as they constricted him just as surely as his one-sided love was. A physical embodiment of the pain he would go through until he became consumed by the heartache.
And after, when he was forced to see their healers, his mother and father and Sammy accompanying him, their outrage when he refused their interventions, the repulsion he felt in his very soul at the ideas of having his magic removed from him to at least preserve his body, his life, to no longer be able to feel love in exchange for curing the disease.
And he had told Sammy as much when his little brother beseeched him to reconsider.
“To love will be the greatest treasure and adventure of my life. But to forget him, to never love at all, ever again, that would be a fate far worse than this, little brother. My soul would surely perish, living such a half, empty life."
The stricken look on Cas’s face when he had alluded to his impending death had almost swayed him the most of all, to see his heart breaking before his eyes as the cold demon had taken him into his arms, wrapping him up close as if he could prevent it all with a simple hug. When, in fact, the loving embrace had only sent his heart pattering, a bushel of crimson roses pushing forth from his throat as the thorns tore at his skin as Dean’s thoughts strayed to ideas of what-ifs whenever he was around Cas.
He's at his final stages when he bashfully makes a request from Cas, his face red as he looks at the demon from under his long lashes, his one foot scraping behind the other against the forest floor as he tries to summon up the courage as he asks, “Will you give me a kiss? I’ve‒I’ve never kissed anyone before. I want to know how it feels, if only once.”
For all he had been a purveyor and voyeur of lovers, even sending tendrils and sparks of love-laced lust to push those fate had intended for each other, he had never engaged in any acts of the flesh himself. Knowing that his soul would only want to share such intimate embraces with his own true love.
And he doesn’t want to know whether Cas has had other lovers before. It’s the one rule he made for himself when he had befriended the demon, to never interfere with his life, especially when his own feelings had started to bloom, the selfishness hidden in the request not lost on him, but he knew his time was short. And he had always been curious, even before he had figured out his own heart’s desires, he had had secret musing about how Cas’s lips, as perpetually chapped as they were, would feel scraping against his own. Whether Cas would be a gentle or demanding lover, perhaps both.
If only he knew how easy of a request this was for Castiel to fulfil as the demon’s gaze lowers, his eyes hooded as he stares at the soft look of Dean’s mouth, how hot and depraved his own desires had spiraled for the beautiful fae creature before him. How he had envisioned far less innocent acts as a simple kiss being shared with his friend. The hot rod of lustful images of his tanned, freckled skin, and golden locks spread below him, rutting in the dirt, the demon inside him howling at the possessiveness of claiming Dean for his own. Digging himself so deep that Dean couldn’t hope to forget about him.
Dean tries to backtrack as a long stretch of silence descends, Cas staring at him in a strange, intense way he had only glimpsed before, “Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked, you don’t have t‒”
But before he can finish, his beloved’s lips are upon his own, stealing his breath in the best possible way as Cas cups his face, his lips moving over Dean’s own over and over. The soft sound of pleasure escaping as Dean parts his lips, melting further into Cas’s body, the strength of him as he holds him close enough to have his insides going molten hot.
And Castiel plunders and takes in his violent lust, spurred on by Dean’s response as his tongue delves deep, exploring the fresh, sweet taste of the young fae as he moves his lips. His teeth nipping along the way, not being able to help himself as they scrape along the full, sensitive skin of Dean’s mouth.
They don’t break apart for some time, going breathless, only to come together once more, exploring with lips and teeth and tongue.
But it proves too much for Dean in the end, the rush and overflow of emotion, both exhilarating and gut wrenching as the thought, it could have always been like this, please love me back, Cas, passes through his mind.
It’s unexpected, Cas ripping away from him, Dean being left cold and strangely empty as his love stumbles backwards even further from him. And he knows, by the shocked look on Cas’s face that those words had stumbled out. That he had finally declared his love in the worst possible way.
Some fae of love I am, not even making his confessions as romantic as Cas deserved it to have been.
Dean swallows aggressively around what he knows are marigolds trying to sprout forth; pain, and hopelessness and despair having finally taken root.
The last of the flowers that would overflow from his being. That would grow wild and unrestrained and would eventually take his final breath any day now.
He runs.
Before the demon can try to reject his love, Dean turns away, the tears in his eyes obscuring his way.
He stumbles.
His foot catching on an upturned root for the second time in his life as Dean goes crashing down, his ankle twisting painfully.
He ends up sprawled in a miserable pile amongst the leaves on the forest floor, the pain in his ankle a gentle throb, but the ache in his heart has him doubling over as he finally spits out the marigolds, his throat burning as he coughs and coughs.
And he thinks it’ll go on forever, that this would be where the disease would end him, alone and heartbroken in the forest of his home.
But then the familiar warmth of those big, strong hands are running along his back, softly caressing his sensitive wings, making them shudder at the touch, soothing him as the cough slowly recedes.
Too late to hide them, he thinks, as the flowers lie in their bloody mess next to him for Castiel to see.
“Dean,” he says as the young fae looks at him from eyes hooded with shame, “hanahaki disease? That’s what this is? You’re‒it’s love sickness? Why didn’t you tell me?”
And all the while he’s surveying Dean’s ankle, letting out a breath that it wasn’t broken at the very least, the demon’s blue eyes piercing as he regards the younger fae.
“I didn’t want you to be obligated, Cas. Didn’t want you to blame yourself either,” Dean says quietly, his fingers digging into the brush beneath him as he musters the strength to at least look Cas in the eye after months of telling him only half truths about his illness.
“Why would I‒”
“You don’t believe in love, right? That’s what you said, when I‒when I,” Dean hiccups, his eyes scrunching as he thinks back to that day, the day his heart was shattered at the realization that Cas would never love him back.
And just like that he’s being crushed against the demon’s chest, his head cradled as Cas engulfs him, “I love you, oh god, I was so stupid Dean. I love you too. Now, then, always,” he’s saying frantically, his fingers pushed through strands of summer silk hair as he says those words that Dean had wanted, needed, to hear for so long.
Still, he’s scared that Cas is saying all this for his own sake and not because he means it. His heart rips at the thought, though, strangely, the cough of flowers never comes.
“It won’t work if you lie, Cas,” Dean whispers miserably as his mind tries to sort out how they ended up here, “it won’t work. And‒and my magic won’t affect my true love, even if I tried to persuade you just to keep me living, if that’s what you’re going to suggest.”
“Do you feel them still? The flowers, do you feel them blooming?” Castiel asks, just as softly, not letting go of Dean for a second as the revelation of his own feelings take root, the truth of them etched into his heart, feeling right as they make a home there in the shape of Dean.
And Dean’s heart skips as he closes his eyes, feeling his magic slowly start to flow freely after months of being slowly restrained, the twisting of vines and sprouting buds no longer constricting him, his chest expanding as he takes the first, deep, cleansing breath of air he had in a long time.
He can’t help but to break the embrace, needing to see those deep, trickling pools of blues he had fallen so effortlessly, so desperately for.
“Truly? You love me, Cas?”
It’s the brush of Cas’s fingers along the apples of his cheeks, the warmth in his gaze when Dean realizes they had been there for a while now, that look in Cas’s eye. That spark he had seen a thousand times over. Finally understanding the blindness of love and the people he had to gently guide even as obvious as their love was to him.
“Since the moment we met, I’ve been in love with you Dean. I’m sorry I didn’t say anything back then, I was…scared. Demons, we’re born for violence, war. Love, I’ve never felt anything like it before I met you. I never had the words to tell you how I felt, to tell you what I felt for you.”
“We can learn to love each other together then. I’ll help you and you’ll help me, okay? The words, they’ll come too,” Dean moves closer, the pain in his ankle making itself known, but nothing can keep him from laying his hands on Cas, running them oh-so reverently across Cas’s shoulder’s, wrapping his arms around them and breathing in his scent of steel and musk and, strangely enough, sunflowers.
He always did brighten my mood, even with his brooding ways, Dean thinks with a giggle.
“I love you, Cas,” the smile stretches his cheeks as he snuggles closer to his best friend, his beloved. Closing his eyes as those hands stroke down his back, one travelling to softly glide along a wing, Dean pushing up into the touch as it reassures him that this wasn’t a dream. That the disease hadn’t finally taken him to this place of utter paradise, right here, held in Cas’s arms.
“I love you too, Dean.”
It’s those words that has the young fae truly believing this was all real, that rough, deep voice whispering those words the best thing he would ever hear.
Words that were never meant for lost, unrequited loves.