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Dean’s first thought was that the forest looked like something out of one of Charlie’s LARPing games. It was weirdly vibrant, with a bright sun shining down over a green forest floor and birds chirping endlessly. Leaves crunched under Dean’s feet as he followed the dirt path downhill, looking around for any sign of people. 

It wasn’t Purgatory. It was much too bright for that. But if this was Earth, where was Sam? And who the hell had replaced his outfit with whatever leather getup he was wearing now? He tried to wrack his brain to see if he and Sam had been chasing some sort of LARP god before this, but even trying to remember things sent a sharp spike of pain in his temple.

He winced, rubbing his forehead. He didn’t like this at all. But at least he had a sword, even if that wouldn’t do shit against any ghosts or angels. 

“Dean!”

“Sammy?” Dean whirled around at the sound of the voice, hand reaching for his sword. But the forest landscape was as empty as ever. 

“Dean, up here!”

Dean scanned the lines of branches hanging above him, searching for any glimpse of blue plaid or brown hair. He didn’t see anyone.

“Sammy?” he called out again, not even caring if the yell attracted any monsters. Something flew in front of his view– a bird, probably. He reached up to shoo it away, but it stayed, hovering in his view. 

“Dean!”

Dean’s eyes widened. Sam’s voice was coming from right in front of him– from the bird in front of him. 

“Sammy?” Dean asked hoarsely. The bird in front of him was too cartoonish to be real, its feathers a vivid baby blue. Now that Dean was actually looking, he could see that the bird seemed to be wearing a plaid shirt, in the same blue-green pattern of the shirt he’d been wearing earlier. The bird’s eyes were hazel like Sam’s and human-shaped. “Are you… in the bird?”

“Yeah, it’s me.” When Sam spoke, the orange beak of the bird moved, too. It was definitely Sam’s voice, although it was slightly nasally, the same way it sounded when he was sick. “What the hell happened?”

Dean took another look around, as if there would suddenly be a large sign declaring “Answers: This Way!”. “I have no friggin clue, but I don’t like the look of this at all.”

“So what do we do? Keep heading downhill and hope we run into something eventually?”

Dean shrugged, unsheathing his sword. It gleamed in the sunlight, sparkling like he’d withdrawn Excalibur from a rock. He continued down the path, cringing at the way every footstep sent more leaves crackling. So much for the element of surprise. 

It wasn’t long before the hill bottomed out, giving way to a clearing. As he moved out of the trees, he could see a spiraling wooden tower, poised in the middle of the clearing. He glanced at Sam, whose endlessly flapping wings were hanging just in the corners of his peripheral. 

“Well, that’s certainly something,” Dean remarked. “Think we should go inside?”

“It could be a trap,” Sam said. “Maybe I should fly in first, scope it out.”

“No way, Sammy. I’m the one who’s armed, remember?”

Sam’s little bird face pinched in annoyance. “We go in together, then.”

Dean grimaced, approaching the tower. It looked to be a couple stories tall, and it was old, judging by the amount of leafy vines that seemed to span every inch of the tower. There were no signs of the wood rotting, which Dean supposed was a good thing. The door hinges looked a little rusty, but once Dean cut away the clinging vines, it opened easily. 

The door creaked open. Dean and Sam exchanged glances, looking inside the dark tower room. Enough sunlight was streaming through the open door that Dean could see that the floor was made of mud, with no signs of any pressure plates. 

Sam flew in first, and soon enough, the room was filled with yellow-tinted light, thanks to the single lightbulb dangling from the very center of the ceiling. It looked like a room that was intended to be used, but no one had in a very long time. A single table and two chairs sat in the middle of the room, one knocked over and the other covered in cobwebs. On the far wall, a wooden ladder extended upwards, leaning against a mural of some sorts. 

Dean ran his fingers along the cracked colored stones. The scene they showed seemed vaguely familiar– he could spy the figure of some scary black character, surrounded by three plump circles– a blue one, a green one, and a pink one. In the very middle of the mural was a young baby in a carriage, with dark hair and blue eyes. The baby was surrounded by ugly green smoke, coming from the 

“Should we try upstairs?” Sam suggested. “Maybe we can find at least some evidence of a person.”

Dean pulled his hand away from the mural, unable to shake the feeling that it was trying to tell him something. That baby…something about it looked familiar, but what?

“You’re probably right,” Dean said finally. He gave the ladder a shake, testing the steadiness of it. Sheathing his sword again, he started climbing as Sam flew up past him.

The second floor wasn’t much more impressive than the first. No people, no odd murals, just more cobwebs and dust, along with an old spinning wheel in the far corner. The ladder extended up to the third floor, but the trapdoor looked bolted shut. Dean hefted his sword, whacking at the padlock with it. The padlock tumbled to the ground, and Dean used his sword to prop up the trapdoor, climbing the ladder.

The third floor was actually well-lit, which only made Dean more suspicious. Windows ringed the room, lighting up every inch of the dusty floor. And in the perfect center of the room sat what looked almost like a casket. The casket itself was white and cream-colored, with a glass case. 

Dean moved closer to the casket, an iron grip on his sword, heartbeat pounding in his ears. He didn’t like the idea of seeing some rotting bastard, but–

“Cas! What the hell?”

It was Castiel laying in the casket. Dean slammed the glass case, trying to wake him up. He looked oddly peaceful– features relaxed, black hair smoothed down, hands folded neatly over his chest and holding a single rose.

He didn’t even open his eyes. Dean swallowed back tears. When he found out who did this–

“Oh my god,” Sam breathed out. He sounded almost excited. “Don’t you realize what this is?”

“No clue, but if Cas doesn’t–”

“Dean, it’s Sleeping Beauty!”

Dean froze, shooting Sam a look of disbelief. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“The mural from downstairs,” Sam said. “The casket, the second floor with the spinning wheel. It’s all from Sleeping Beauty. You know, that fairytale turned Disney movie.” He landed on top of Castiel’s glass casket. “For some reason, someone wants us to reenact Sleeping Beauty. With Castiel as Sleeping Beauty.”

Dean scoffed. “You know who this sounds like? Gabriel screwing with us, again .”

Sam shrugged his neon blue wings. “If it is Gabriel, you know what we have to do to survive. We have to play our parts.”

“Well, I think you make a wonderful bird, Sam, but what does that mean for Cas? He has to wait for some– some prince to come along and plant one on him?”

The idea of some stranger kissing Cas made Dean’s stomach twist, filling with sickly disgust. Cas deserved better than some stranger who probably had magical mouth herpes, or something equally as bad. 

Sam was staring at Dean pointedly. “Dean,” he said slowly. “ You’re the prince. You have to kiss Cas.”

If anything, that was almost worse than it being some stranger. Dean faltered, feeling his face heat up and his throat go dry. Kissing Cas? He couldn’t pretend he’d never thought about it. Not that those times were ever his fault. Cas always stood so close to him, his voice gravelly and deep, his lips inches from Dean’s…

Dean swallowed, looking down at Cas. His hand lingered on the cool glass casing, as if he was stroking Cas’s face. In the sunlight, Cas’s pink lips seemed to be almost glowing. Dean could imagine it all so perfectly– leaning down, one hand coming up to cup the rough stubble of Cas’s cheek. Cas’s lips would feel warm and slightly chapped against Dean’s, and neither of them would be able to keep from smiling into the kiss as Dean’s hand would curl around the lapels of Cas’s trench coat, pulling Cas impossibly closer…

Dean cleared his throat, trying to clear out the image. “No,” he said. More firmly, he added, “ No, I’m not kissing him.”

“Even if it’s the only way to save him?” Sam asked, a pointed look on his face, a pointed look that could see right through him. 

Something bright and fierce flared up inside Dean’s chest, a confession crawling up his throat, but he swallowed it down, swallowed it down, back into the dark cave it had come from. He closed his eyes, squeezing them shut, only to be swarmed by bits of memories of John’s angry words and breath reeking of alcohol.

He opened his eyes, refusing to look at the glass casket where his best friend lay. 

“I don’t see you lining up to smooch him,” Dean muttered.

“I’m a bird, Dean.” Dean didn’t realize it was possible for a bird to roll its eyes. “And you’re the one dressed up like the fairytale prince.”

Dean looked down at his outfit. Hadn’t he thought the same thing, when he first saw it? But clothes didn’t mean anything.

“Isn’t there also a true love component to these kinds of things?” Dean asked, desperately. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, Cas is my best friend. He’s family. But he isn’t…I’m not in love with him, or anything like that.”

The cold touch of the glass against his skin suddenly felt searing, and he let his hand fall away. He’d let Cas down so many times, and he wanted Cas safe, but he couldn’t…he couldn’t. Not that, not now, not ever. 

“Aren’t you?” Sam asked, and Dean could feel his heart drop into the heavy pit in his stomach. “Cas is my friend, too, but I wasn’t the one hauling his trench coat around everywhere after he died.”

“Shut up, Sammy.” He gestured helplessly towards the glass casket. “Isn’t there another way?”

Sam shrugged helplessly, a gesture that almost looked silly on his cartoonish body. “If we had full access to the Bunker, then maybe we could find something else. But this isn’t real, Dean. This is some dreamworld Gabriel cooked up to teach us–you– a lesson. And if there’s one thing we’ve learned from Gabriel, it’s that he doesn’t mind killing someone to teach us a lesson.”

“What are you saying? Kiss him or die?”

He risked glancing down at Castiel’s sleeping form. He’d done worse things to save Sam than kiss a guy. Surely not even John could fault him for doing whatever it took to bring Cas back, especially when it would be so easy. A feather light kiss to the lips. Cas wouldn’t even have to know what happened.

“We should at least get this casket open,” Dean said. Sam flew off the glass case as Dean searched the sides for some sort of latch. A single lock sat on the back of the casket, and Dean got rid of it with a sharp hit with the butt of his sword. He opened the casket, exposing Cas’s body. He almost expected– hoped– Castiel to wake up right then and there, but the only movement was the steady rise and fall of Cas’s chest.

At least he was still breathing, right? That gave them time, didn’t it?

“Cas?” he tried, tapping Cas’s shoulder, then jerking it. Cas’s hands lost their tentative grip on the rose, sending it to the ground, but he still didn’t move.

“Dean, you know what you have to do,” Sam said, gently, in Dean’s ear.

Dean swallowed. “There’s gotta be another way. We’ll get him out of this creepy building, find some place to hunker down. I mean, we haven’t even tried smelling salts–”

Somewhere in the distance, a large boom sounded, practically shaking the fragile wooden tower. Sam flew straight for the window, and in the distance, Dean could see that the trees had been set ablaze, bold streaks of red and orange lighting up the air like a city skyline. And above them–

“Don’t tell me that’s a dragon,” Dean groaned, looking at the large black and purple mass in the air. 

“It’s a dragon,” Sam said. “Because that’s what happens at the end of Sleeping Beauty.”

“It’s coming closer,” Dean said. He moved back towards Cas, pulling him out of the casket and draping his limp body over his shoulder. “We should get out.”

“Not sure we have time,” Sam said. “It’s now or never, Dean. Kiss him.”

“I can’t do that, Sammy,” Dean said. He refused to believe that he was getting teary-eyed over this. It should’ve been so simple. If he really didn’t want to kiss, if he really didn’t feel this way, it would be so easy. And Sam knew it, and he knew that Dean knew it.

So much for pretending that John had beat and insulted the gay out of him. But that still didn’t mean he could let himself act on any of those selfish desires.

Another boom sounded. The tower shook, harder, sending Dean sprawling to the ground and a still unconscious Cas with him. He could feel it getting hotter, and brighter, red and orange sparks beginning to consume the ceiling and walls. 

The dragon had found them. He searched for Sammy’s blue form amidst the flames, trying to haul Cas’s body along as he scrambled for the ladder. The heat was bearing down on him, suffocating him, closing in on him. His hands were slick with sweat, and he could hardly keep hold of Cas’s body, much less spy Sam’s tiny body in the smoke. He shut his eyes tightly, feeling the heat coming down, then–

He gasped for air. The heat was gone, replaced by freezing, drenched clothes. His clothes– they weren’t his clothes, nor were they the prince’s outfit. This was different, his shirt purple and pink and slightly puffy. Dean was just glad it wasn’t a dress. 

He sat up, feeling nothing but soft grass underneath his hands. It was dark outside, and they were in a forest clearing, but it looked different, somehow. He stood up, taking in his new surroundings. The ground was dotted with large rocks, and on one of them sat Cas.

“Cas!” Dean lunged forward, not even caring about the burning in his lungs as he enveloped Cas into a tight hug.

Cas hugged back, awkwardly. He was soaking wet, too, his black hair plastered to his forehead and his trench coat sitting heavily on his shoulders. His eyes were narrowed in confusion.

“Dean, where are we?” Dean had never been happier to hear Cas’s voice. “What happened?”

Dean clapped Cas on the back. “Man, am I glad to see you awake. Where’s Sam? I mean, have you seen a bird fluttering around?”

There was a squeak somewhere from another rock. Dean turned around to see what looked like some type of green lizard perched there, staring Dean down with an unimpressed look. He didn’t need to see the familiar green-blue plaid shirt to know that it was Sam.

“Gang’s all here, then,” Dean said. He took a seat on a rock by Cas, scanning the sky. No dragons in sight, which hopefully meant they were safe, for a little while.

“Where is ‘here’?” Cas asked, looking around. “I don’t remember anything after…I was in the Bunker, I think. You made burgers for me.”

Dean nodded. “Yeah, that’s my last memory, too. Sort of. Before this, Sam and I were in some sort of weird forest, and you had fallen under some sort of sleep spell.” Sam prodded at his side. Dean refused to acknowledge it. Cas didn’t need to know about any of that. “Our working theory is that Gabriel is involved somehow. Making us play our parts, or whatever.”

“What part am I supposed to play?” Cas asked. He looked so serious it was almost ado– no, no, not that. 

“Not sure,” Dean said. He looked around. The scene almost looked familiar, but he hadn’t watched very many fairytale movies, if that’s what these were all going to be. Except…he glanced at the satchel Cas was wearing. That wasn’t Cas’s, so it must be a clue. “What’s in your bag?”

Cas looked down at the bag as if he had never seen it before. He pulled it off slowly, reaching inside to dig out a glittering tiara. “Does this look familiar to you or Sam?”

Dean glanced at Sam, who shook his green little head. He picked up the tiara out of Cas’s grasp, staring at his own reflection in the large middle crystal. It did seem…oddly familiar, now that he had a close look at it. Like it meant something to him. 

Like it meant something to him, or to whatever princess he was supposed to be playing the part of?

“My grace isn’t working,” Cas said.

Dean looked up, placing the tiara back into the satchel. Cas was standing up, inspecting what seemed to be a red gash on the palm of his hand. 

“When’d you get that?” He certainly wasn’t bleeding in the glass casket. Would he have cut it while the tower was burning down? Dean didn’t think so, but what else could it be?

Dean took Cas’s gently. Cas winced as he lightly trailed his fingers around the spot of the cut. Ridiculously, he had the urge to sing.

Wait, singing? That sounded familiar…

“Cas, I know this is going to sound weird, but do you see a frying pan anywhere?” Dean asked, checking behind some of the rocks.

Cas held up the silver object, and Dean grinned at it. Pointing towards it, he said, “You know what this means, right? We are in the movie with the glowing hair chick. Which means I can do this .”

He took Cas’s hand, planting it firmly on top of his head, pouring all of his concentration into loudly humming the first song he could think of– “The Devil Went Down to Georgia”, a 1970s classic. 

Even with his eyes closed, he could see the glow start to radiate out, and he heard Cas let out a tiny gasp. After a few seconds, he pulled Cas’s hand away, watching as the cheery yellow glow from his hair subsided. The gash had turned into a small cut, looking more like a line drawn in red pen than an actual wound. 

“Thank you, Dean.”

Dean fought the urge to smile. He guided Cas back over to the rocks, still holding onto Cas’s hand gingerly. “Don’t mention it. We should probably keep this bandaged up, just in case.”

He wasn’t sure how, probably weird archangel magic, but he pulled a roll of pristine white bandages out of Cas’s satchel. He slowly wrapped Cas’s hand, trying to keep it as tight as possible, trying to ignore the way he could feel Cas’s breath coming out in light puffs that ghosted across his skin.

He tried not to think about how close they were, Cas’s knees brushing against Dean’s, Cas’s hand hovering over Dean’s leg as Dean’s hands cradled it. Dean made the mistake of looking up, only to see Cas’s blue eyes staring intently back into his, a few inches away.

Dean felt like he was suffocating again, staring into Cas’s eyes as he held his hand. Cas’s hand was warm, the contact sending little sparks up Dean’s arms. Nice sparks, of course, that filled his stomach with tingling little butterflies. 

He wanted to kiss Cas. He could kiss Cas right now. Just lean in a few inches and bring their lips together.

It would be selfish to do that, though. Cas didn’t want Dean to kiss him. Dean pulled away, giving Cas his hand back as he stood up, brushing invisible dirt off his pants.

“There you go,” Dean said, trying not to sound stiff. Cas smiled gratefully up at him, and Dean found his own fake smile fading. “All healed up.”

He didn’t remember enough of this movie to know if he was supposed to kiss Cas now or not. He almost wished he could remember, just to have an excuse. But imagining it, keeping the image of them kissing locked up tight in some dark corner of his brain– right next to the box for his self-hatred and self-neglect, he thought wryly– was much safer than acting on it. If he never acted on it, if Cas never knew, then Cas couldn’t leave him for it.

Not that Cas seemed to need a reason to leave Dean, nowadays. 

“Thank you, Dean.”

“What are friends for, right?” Dean looked up, only to see a dark shape sprinting through the trees. He tensed, thinking of dragons and fires and choking heat. 

“What’s wrong, Dean?” Cas stood up, joining him in peering through the dense foliage that surrounded them.

“Just stay here with Sam, okay?” With one hand, Dean gently pushed Cas back onto the rock. Cas heading to a forest was just a recipe for him to get hurt again. Keeping his eyes locked on the trees, Dean picked up the pan, hoping it was at least made of iron, in case whatever was moving out there was a monster. 

Glancing back to make sure Cas was staying put, Dean moved towards the tree line, pan raised and ready to strike. Nothing stirred, save for the fluttering of leaves in the chilly night time breeze. As he moved deeper into the forest, he was beginning to wonder if he’d imagined the movement. And then–

“I thought I told you to stay in the tower.”

The cold, familiar voice sent shivers down Dean’s spine, freezing him in place. He almost dropped his pan, watching as John Winchester, his dad, emerged from the misty, shadowy forest. He was wearing a deep purple cloak, but that was the only indication this was Gabriel’s John and not the real one. 

Dean couldn’t tell if he really smelled alcohol on his dad’s breath, or if he was imagining it. Either way, fear crawled up his spine and shame buried itself in his gut. 

“I know, Dad,” Dean said. The words spilled out of his mouth, and he wasn’t even entirely sure if they made sense for whatever the plot of this movie was. “But I wanted to see–”

“Screw what you wanted to see!” John snapped, all but breathing down Dean’s neck. “It isn’t safe out here, not with the monsters.”

Dean found himself bowing his head, the same chastened little soldier he’d always been.

“You taught me how to fight them,” Dean said. “I can handle myself.”

“And what about Sammy? You’re really going to put him in danger so you can frolic around to see lights with your boyfriend?”

Dean’s fingers twitched at his side, strengthening his grip on his pan. Sam was a lizard, no point in watching over a lizard. Which meant that this wasn’t just a character acting out the script of whatever movie they were in.

John turned his back on Dean, asking in a dangerous tone, “He isn’t your boyfriend, is he, Dean?”

Dean didn’t bother answering. Instead, he took a stake and drove it straight through John’s back, pushing the body to the ground. It twitched, moaning in pain as blood steadily poured, until it shimmered away. Another illusion by the Trickster.

“Nice try, Gabriel,” Dean said, turning around to see the familiar smirk plastered onto the archangel’s stupid face. “But you can’t get me that easily.”

Gabriel’s smirk only grew. “Dean-o, I already did.”

Dean’s breath hitched, thinking of Cas and Sammy back at camp. He left them alone, defenseless– how far did he let John lead him into the forest? He pushed past Gabriel in favor of sprinting back towards the clearing, pan raised.

But it was already too late. Cas was being dragged away by burly guards, mouth gagged as he tried to scream out to Dean. Dean lunged for them, bashing one of them over the head. The one guard crumpled, leaving the other to pull Cas away from Dean, a malicious smile on his face as he pressed his blade against Cas’s neck.

Dean froze, panting hard, staring down the silver blade as it dug into Cas’s neck. 

“Wait,” Dean panted out, raising up the pan in surrender. “We can talk about this. I’ll give you whatever you want, just let him go.”

A tiny line of red appeared on the side of Cas’s neck. God, Dean was going to kill this man as soon as he let Cas go.

“Sorry,” the guard said. His pointed teeth showed nothing but a gleeful smirk. Cas was struggling against his grasp, but every movement only brought that knife closer to his neck. “But revenge is the only thing I want from either of you.”

The knife dragged across Cas’s throat, and his body collapsed to the ground. Dean hadn’t even realized he’d screamed, tears blurring his vision as he collapsed by Cas’s side, pleading with a hoarse, cracking voice as he squeezed tightly onto Cas’s hand. 

“Please, Cas, don’t leave me.”

“Dean,” Cas choked out, the front of his shirt stained deep red. “Dean, it wasn’t your fault.”

“Yeah, it was,” Dean said. If he’d just played his part, like Sam had said, like Gabriel always wanted. “I’m sorry Cas.”

Cas shook his head. His death grip on Dean’s hand was loosening. “Goodbye, Dean.”

“No, no, don’t say that, don’t you dare–” He held up Cas’s hand to his hair, trying to keep humming despite the quiver in his voice, snot and tears clogging up his throat. “Please, Cas, you have to live. I–”

I love you. The words died in his throat. Maybe if you just say them, you can save him. Save him.

“I–”

Cas’s eyes were turning glassy, his breathing getting shallower. No, no, no, not again, not like this–

“I need you Cas,” Dean managed finally.

A coward’s confession. Cas’s fingers went completely loose in his grip. There was no trace of glow in Dean’s hair, nor was there any light left in Cas’s eyes. Dean felt something poking his side– Sammy, still okay. 

Dean let out a sob that could’ve passed as a chuckle. “I should’ve just kissed him. I should’ve just–” He stopped, staring down at Cas’s body. “This is all my fault.”

Sam put one of his scaly little hands on Dean’s leg. Dean assumed it was supposed to be a comforting touch, but the only thing that could comfort would be Cas back, alive and safe and sound.

God, Dean didn’t even get a chance to tell him how he really felt. He closed his eyes, a silent prayer in case someone– any angel, any god out there– was listening. 

And then he sneezed.

When he opened his eyes, he sneezed again. Seriously, where the hell was he? He stood up, almost banging his head on the low-hanging rafters, a movement that would’ve sent a shower of dust down on him, just so he could sneeze again. 

He was in an attic, with boarded-up windows and creaky floors. The only light came from tiny cracks in the wood panels and a row of candles that was precariously perched on a thin shelf. There seemed to be stuff crammed in every inch of the space, from tables to chairs, but the space right in front of what looked like a chimney was empty, save for a blue sleeping bag.

There was no sight of bird-Sam or lizard-Sam, for that matter, but Dean was sure he would turn up. There was no sign of Cas, either, which hopefully meant he was still alive.

Dean turned, only to do a double-take when his eyes landed on a black pant leg.

"Crowley? What the hell are you doing here?"

In the far corner of the cramped attic, barely visible in the dim lighting, was the King of Hell himself, sitting on one table as if it physically pained him to step on the slightly ashy floor with his shiny black shoes. 

"Hello, Squirrel," Crowley said. "I'm your fairy godmother."

Dean groaned. He was never going to watch another friggin Disney movie after this. "What does that make this? Cinderella?"

Crowley nodded. "Now, let's get you to the ball, shall we? You have a prince to meet." He raised his hand to snap his fingers, but Dean cut him off.

"No, I'm not playing this freaking game any longer!" Dean snapped. He pulled the attic door open, storming downstairs and outside the tiny house. Pacing the tiny field outside, he yelled, “You hear me, Gabriel? I’m not going to play your game anymore!”

With a tiny woosh, Gabriel appeared behind him, leaning up against the side of the house. “Dean, how many times are we going to have to go down this path? You don’t have a choice. There’s no holy fire for you to trap me in, no Cas coming to save you.”

“So what?” Dean asked. “I don’t kiss Castiel, you kill him, you plop me into some new fairytale where I have to kiss him again?”

“You’re right, Dean. This has gone on too long. You need something to really motivate you.”

Dean’s stomach sank as the grin on Gabriel’s face slowly widened.

“The ball tonight. Cas will be there, playing the part of the prince. And you get to be the mysterious princess who leaves behind a single shoe. Here’s the catch– I won’t be bringing Cas after this. So if you don’t seduce him…” Gabriel shrugged, feigning sympathy. “I’m afraid he’ll go to bed with April. And you do remember what happened last time he slept with April, don’t you?”

How could Dean forget? Cas, pale and fragile and human, the deep stab wounds in his chest, slumped up against the chair. 

“You bastard,” Dean snarled. “Next time I get my hand on an angel blade, I’m going to kill you for this.”

“You can still save him, Dean. If he dies, it won’t be my fault.”

With another soft woosh, Gabriel disappeared, leaving Dean on his own in the field. 

“Dean!” Dean turned at the sound of the voice, only to see his father, surly as ever, standing in the doorway that led into the house. “What are you doing out there? Get back in here and finish your chores. I want this place looking spotless before me and your brothers leave for the ball tonight.”

Sammy? Dean thought, heart leaping in his throat. But it wasn’t Sam that appeared in the doorway, it was Adam.

“Yeah, Dean,” Adam taunted, eyes glinting with malice. “And you need to fix my suit. I need to look my best for Prince Castiel.”

Dean did his best to hide his scowl as he dutifully headed inside. Friggin’ Cinderella. When he reached the dusty old attic again, Sam was waiting for him– as a little mouse, dressed in a blue-green plaid shirt. 

“Sam!”

“Dean, I’m a mouse,” Sam said miserably. At least he could talk again. 

Dean rolled his eyes, resisting the urge to stuff Sam into his pocket. He turned to Crowley, who was still sitting in the far corner of the room, looking impatient as ever. 

“Let’s just get this over with,” Dean said. He spread his arms. “Well, fairy godmother? You gonna give me a suit or not?”

“You’re lucky it isn’t a dress,” Crowley drawled. He snapped his fingers, and Dean felt an odd warmth spreading over him, from his shoulders to his feet. When he looked down, his old clothes had been replaced by an elegant powder blue suit that seemed tailored to fit him perfectly. 

He turned towards the slightly soot-covered mirror, spinning around slowly. He looked good in this, but that didn’t mean seducing Cas would be easy. Just because Dean lo– had feelings for Cas didn’t mean Castiel liked him back, nor did it mean Dean would be able to seduce him in a night.

Dean swallowed. A kiss would’ve been easy. Well, easier. But “seducing”? Making Cas fall in love with him ? If he knew how to do that…

“What’s wrong, Dean?”

He would’ve found Sam’s slightly high-pitched voice funny if he didn’t feel like he was staring down the barrel of a loaded shotgun.

“Gabriel said this was the last loop,” Dean said. “So either I “seduce” Cas or he dies, permanently.”

“That should be easy, then.”

“What the hell are you talking about, Sammy? He’s my best friend. He’s not in love with me.”

“Dean.” Dean could hear the eye roll in his voice. “It takes two people to make a profound bond, or whatever it is you two call yourselves. He always comes when you call, haven’t you noticed? Even the other angels have picked up on it by now!”

“Even if he does, ” Dean snapped. “So what? We just…stop hunting, get a house with a fence and a dog?”

“What happens next is you two just be happy,” Sam replied. “Or, happier, I guess.”

“And what if I can’t?” The words slipped out without his permission, vulnerable and needy. He couldn’t meet his own eyes in the mirror, nor could he meet Sam’s beady little mouse eyes. “Make him happy, I mean.”

“Then at least he’ll be alive for you to apologize.”

Dean gave himself one last once-over in the mirror, smoothing down the impeccable front of his suit. “You’re right, Sammy.”

Even if Cas hated him afterwards, even if Cas rejected him and never came back, at least Castiel would still be alive. 

The ball was every bit as fantastical as Dean would’ve imagined. Stepping out of the still-orange carriage Crowley had made him, with Sam’s little mousy form tucked safely in his pocket, he gazed up at the soaring stone spires of the castle. A stone pathway looped through rows and rows of old statues and carefully trimmed hedges, lit by torches in ornate holders. Dean was trapped in a crowd of poshly dressed nobles, their chatter filling the night air. Dean could hear snatches of conversation, mostly people fawning over Prince Castiel, but thankfully, he didn’t hear the familiar voices of Adam or John. 

The interior of the castle was just as extravagant as the exterior. Dean was going to need a shower or two to clean all this rich person stink off of him, he thought. The walls themselves were white, with gold trim and windows that were taller than Dean. The evenly spaced columns running the sides of the ballroom were draped in gold and blue fabric, which Dean supposed was the family colors for whatever Castiel’s last name here was.

Once inside the ballroom, the crowds around Dean seemed to dissipate, leaving him to search for any sign of Cas’s blue eyes and dark messy hair. He wasn’t sure what Cas would be wearing, certainly not his signature trench coat, but he’d know his best friend’s form anywhere.

“Dean,” Sam’s voice hissed from his pocket. “By the staircase!”

Dean turned, eyes trailing down the grand staircase that led up to the second floor. At the very bottom, Dean could see the familiar swoop of Castiel’s dark hair. His heart leapt in his throat– Castiel looked gorgeous.

The suit he was wearing was gold and blue, in an almost parody of his usual attire of the blue tie and beige trench coat. It fit his frame perfectly, accentuating the width of his shoulders and his waistline, drawing Dean’s eyes up and down his body. His eyes were sparkling in the light of the chandelier, his skin practically glowing. His lips were slightly parted, his hair dark and tousled like someone had just tangled their fingers in it. 

Dean took a step forward on instinct, forgetting to even breathe. It was Sam’s voice, and Sam’s voice alone, that stopped him from marching over there right then and kissing Cas like he needed it to live.

“Dean, wait! He doesn’t recognize you.”

The wave of relief broke in Dean’s chest, leaving nothing but the undertow of disappointment. Sam was right– as Castiel’s blue eyes swept the crowd, they glanced right over Dean. 

“Gabriel must’ve wiped his memory,” Dean realized. “He doesn’t know who I am. Shit.”

If Dean ever had a chance of seducing Castiel, he certainly didn’t have one now. Whatever spell or sense of duty kept Castiel tethered to the Winchesters, coming back when they needed him, it sure as hell wasn’t there now. 

“Wait, I have an idea. Stay here.”

In the blink of an eye, Sam had jumped from Dean’s pocket, his tiny gray body sprinting and weaving through pairs of shiny black shoes and glittering high heels. Dean tried not to look awkward, tried not to run a hand through his hair, lest he screw up all the styling he’d done earlier. He kept his eyes trained on Castiel, though– not obvious enough to alert him, but enough to know that Castiel was gliding through the crowd now, expertly dodging the hungry women who were practically throwing themselves at his feet.

Castiel was by the refreshment table now, and before Dean could decide that, suddenly, he was really, really thirsty, he felt tiny little claws scrabbling up his back. Sam had returned, perched on Dean’s shoulder. In his teeth, he held a glinting silver ring, which Dean carefully pried from his grasp.

“What the hell is this?” Dean asked, wiping it off with his handkerchief. 

“Castiel’s ring. I slipped it off when he wasn’t looking. Now, go give it back to him, and do that weird eye sex thing you guys always do.”

Dean spluttered, feeling his face heat up, unable to even come up with a good comeback. Sam let out a squeaky laugh before diving off Dean’s shoulder once more.

Holding Castiel’s ring in his fingers, Dean made his way through the crowd, trying to calm his frantically beating heart. Castiel was still by the refreshments table, talking to some dark-haired young woman in a gray dress, though Dean could tell by the way his eyes darted around that it wasn’t a conversation he was interested in.

Perfect. Dean could be his white knight, saving Castiel from some overly flirty girl. Returning his ring would only be the cherry on top.

Standing beside Castiel, Dean cleared his throat. “Prince Castiel?”

Cas turned, and Dean was struggling to breath. The corners of his mouth were quirked upwards in a small smile, and his eyes were even prettier up close, the exact shade of blue that people described in romance novels. Had Castiel always looked this beautiful, or was this part of Gabriel’s archangel magic? 

“Hello.” The line felt strangely foreign without his name tacked on the end. “What can I do for you?”

Dean cast a glance at the woman Cas was talking to. “Of course if you’re busy, I’d be happy to step away. But well, I have something important to tell you. In private.”

Castiel’s eyes were fixed on Dean’s– no glance downwards towards Dean’s lips, or heated gaze trailing down his body. It shouldn’t have disappointed him– Dean had plenty of people who looked at him with desire, he didn’t need another person who just wanted him for his body– but it did.

Castiel seemed to pick up on what he was really saying, because he cleared his throat. “No, I should go, this sounds important. Hael, I’m sorry, but…”

Hael did a little curtsy, her smile not even dropping for a second as she said, “Of course, Prince Castiel. I’ll come find you when you’re done.”

Castiel turned to Dean. With a smile and a familiar gravel in his voice, he asked, “Do you really have something to tell me or did you just pick up on my panic?”

Dean chuckled, not bothering to hide the way his eyes flitted down towards Cas’s lips. He’d done this hundreds of times before, why should this be any different? A slight smirk, a suggestive comment…he knew how to flirt, why should it matter how sweaty his palms were or how warm his cheeks felt. 

“Well, I do really have something for you.” Dean held out the ring. “You dropped this.”

Cas’s eyes lit up when he saw it, taking it from Dean’s hand and sliding it onto his finger. Dean couldn’t help but wonder if Cas felt the same sparks he did when their fingers brushed together. 

“Thank you, I was worried I’d lost it forever.” He looked up at Dean with a gummy smile, and Dean knew that smile of Cas’s would be seared into his brain forever. He wondered how he could draw it out again. “What can I do to repay you?”

Dean froze. He knew exactly what he’d say if this was some woman– a kiss, he’d say, voice rough and eyes trailing suggestively downward. But Cas wasn’t some woman. He could tell that if he tried something like that, going after Cas’s body like all the women here were, he’d lose him. Cas wasn’t some stranger he’d never see again, he was more than that, he meant more than that. 

Instead of a classic line, something else slipped out instead. Dean shoved his hands into his pocket, trying for nonchalance. “Come with me and get some air, maybe. I’m sweating in this thing, and I’m sure you are, too.”

The smile on Castiel’s face fell slightly. “I don’t know about that. I have…”

“Let me guess, your responsibility is to your people? No time for doing anything else?”

“Yes, unfortunately.”

Dean shrugged. “Well, I live in the kingdom. Doesn’t that make me part of your people? And I say that you, Cas, need to take a break for a little bit. Get away from the woman throwing themselves at you, huh?”

Cas squinted up at him, tilting his head to the side. The familiarity of the gesture squeezed at Dean’s heart. This was his Cas. 

“Cas?”

He hadn’t realized the nickname had even slipped out. “Castiel is a bit of a mouthful, don’t you think? But if it really bothers you, I can always go with Your Royal Highness, Prince Castiel of–”

Cas cut him off with a laugh, a sound that echoed deep in the cavern of Dean’s chest. How did he not realize he was in love with Cas after he first heard that sound? “Cas is fine, thank you. I’ve never had a nickname before. And what should I call you?”

“Dean.” 

There was no flash of recognition in Cas’s eyes. “Dean,” he repeated, as if tasting the word. “Follow me.”

Dean couldn’t have picked a better romantic spot than the balcony Cas led him to. They were on the second floor, gazing down at the landscape below them. There weren’t many people around, with most having long since gone inside for the ball. Stars glowed overhead, and Dean found himself by Cas’s side, leaning against the balcony railing, which had been wrapped in a floral garland. Golden light flooded the balcony from inside, and the sounds of faint chatter and classical music drifted past them as if being carried by the cool evening breeze. 

“Your family really goes all out for the decorations, huh?” Dean asked. 

“They have to,” Castiel replied simply, hands fidgeting as he stared down at the hedges below them. “They’ve always cared about appearance.”

“Is that why they’re marrying you off to the first pretty girl you meet?”

Cas’s voice was tired, his words sounding like someone else’s. “It's for the best. I’m the crown prince. I need a partner.”

“Is that what your family tells you?”

“I didn’t come out here so you could insult my family,” Cas replied shortly. He looked up to glare at Dean, who raised his hands defensively. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to imply anything. I just wanted to say that I…get it, you know. Having to follow your family’s expectations for you when you don’t want to.”

The glare faded into curiosity, which Dean counted as a win. Though he supposed it wouldn’t really be Dean-and-Cas without Dean screwing something up and Cas forgiving him for it, anyway. 

“You do?”

Dean nodded. He could talk about all the responsibilities he’d had thrust on his shoulders from now until midnight, starting with being the friggin’ Michael Sword. But Cas wasn’t looking to be impressed that God singled him out for some chosen mission. 

“Growing up, my dad was always pretty strict with us. Our mom died when we were young, and he kind of…lost it. Started traveling all the time, all over the country.” It probably didn’t track with whatever backstory Cinderella was supposed to have, but it was the truth, and wasn’t this whole stupid fairytale thing about Dean finally admitting the truth?  “My dad always said it was my responsibility to watch out for my younger brother. If anything at all happened to Sammy, it was my fault, and my dad would be pissed. And don’t get me wrong, I love Sammy. The kid’s stupid smart. But…well, like I said. I get it.”

“My aunt Naomi told me I had a crack in my chassis,” Cas said, smiling wryly. “I don’t follow orders like the rest of my siblings. I’m supposed to, I just…can’t.”

Dean shrugged. “You’re doing what you think is right, though. Aren’t you?”

Cas nodded, but he still looked ashamed. Dean’s heart twinged in his chest; maybe this wasn’t his Cas, but they still held the same fears, the same demons that haunted them at night. “Sometimes I wonder if life would be better if I stopped trying to do the right thing. It never seems to go well.”

“I’d rather have a king who tries to do the right thing than one who does nothing at all.”

“Maybe I’m not fit for a king at all,” Cas replied. He was staring out at the castle grounds, but Dean could tell his mind was somewhere else entirely. “I think about that, sometimes, too. Running away and living as a farmer instead of a prince. I think less people would get hurt that way.”

Cas’s hand was resting on top of the balcony. Gently, Dean set his on top of Cas’s, in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. He must’ve succeeded, because Cas didn’t recoil. 

Don’t leave me again, Dean wanted to say. Don’t leave again without taking me with you. “Don’t say that. It can’t be all bad, right?”

“It isn’t,” Cas said finally, a fond smile pulling at his lips. “I like the dancing.”

“Dancing? Well, you should tell Hael, I’m sure she’d be happy to come up here and waltz with you until her feet fall off.”

Cas sighed, rolling his eyes. He pushed off the balcony, turning to face Dean. “It’s only fun with the right person.”

“And who’s the right person?” Cas paused, and Dean’s grin widened. “Let me guess, your stunningly charming knight in shining armor?”

Cas rolled his eyes. “Well, he’s humble, for one.” He extended his hand. “May I have this dance, Dean?”

Dean took Cas’s hand, warm and rough and slightly calloused. Sparks and fireworks exploded across Dean’s skin as he nodded, letting Cas pull him back into the castle and down towards the balcony. 

It might’ve been Dean’s imagination, because he was sure his brain was too overloaded on Cas, Cas, Cas to be trusted on anything, but it looked like people were moving out of their way, opening a circle in the center of the ballroom.

Their fingers were still tightly entwined as Cas’s hand drifted down to rest on Dean’s hip and Dean’s hand settled on Cas’s shoulder. He’d never learned to dance like this, not really, but with Cas, it all became so easy. Cas guided him until the dance felt more less like a series of steps and more like one fluid, graceful motion.

The sounds of the ballroom faded away until all Dean could focus on was Cas’s smile, bright and beautiful. Cas was the happiest Dean had seen him all night, and Dean– 

Dean was being nudged by something. He looked down, trying not to break the rhythm of the dance. Sam was pushing against Dean’s shoe with all his little mousy might, trying to get Dean’s attention. And a second later, Dean found out why.

Dong.

Dean froze in place, the sound of the clock chiming reverberating inside his head. The large grandfather clock on the far wall of the ballroom confirmed his fears– it was midnight.

They’d stopped dancing. Dean was suddenly hyper aware of the crowd watching, all the snobbish people and their piercing, staring eyes. He wondered if his father was here, watching him, judging him.

Dong.

“Is everything okay, Dean?” Cas asked. His hand was on Dean’s face, as if trying to divert Dean’s attention away from all the people and onto him.

“It’s midnight.” It was seconds before Cas would die, unless Dean kissed him. 

Dong.

It was now or never.

“Cas, I’m sorry,” Dean breathed out.

Dong. 

“Dean?” Cas looked confused, and concerned, eyebrows pinched together. “What’s going on?”

“I’m sorry,” Dean repeated. 

His hands cupped Cas’s face, and in front of everyone, with his heart thundering in his ears and the persistent dong of the clock echoing in his chest, he leaned in, bringing their lips together. 

Dong. 

The sound of the clock still ringing in his ears, Dean jolted out of his best, panting hard. It took him a few seconds to completely place himself, heartbeat slowing as he realized he was in his bed, in the bunker.

He kissed Cas, he’d made it out. Right?

Unable to quell the panic and fear rising in his throat, he left his bedroom, only to be met with Sam standing in the hallway. Sam . Not a bird, not a lizard, not a mouse, just his brother, wearing that stupid blue-green plaid shirt of his. 

God, Dean wanted to burn that stupid shirt. But first, he pulled Sammy into a bear hug.

“It’s nice to see you human again,” Dean said as he pulled away. 

Sam groaned. “So I’m guessing that wasn’t just a really weird dream?”

“When have we ever been that lucky.” Dean gazed around the Bunker hallway. “Have you seen Cas?”

Sam’s frown split into a shit-eating grin. “So you kissed him, huh?”

Dean felt his face growing warm. He’d been hoping Sam wouldn’t remember that part; still, the teasing felt natural, comfortable. At the very least, it was a much better alternative to what John would’ve done. “Shuddup, Sammy. I just need to talk to him.”

“Talking, huh? Is that what the kids are calling it these days?” Seeing Dean’s glare only made Sam laugh harder. Finally, he added, “No, I haven’t seen him. But I’m sure he’ll show up if you pray or something.”

“Right,” Dean said, the relief in him fading away. Just because he kissed Cas in the fairytale world didn’t mean Cas wouldn’t reject him now. He just hoped that Cas would stick around after. 

If Cas would only show up with a prayer, well then, Dean would just put off praying, for a little while. 

When he entered the main room of the Bunker, Castiel was already there, holding a single shoe. 

“I was told to give this to you,” Cas said, handing over the shoe.

The chuckle died in Dean’s throat as he took the shoe, realizing it was an old one of his that he’d long since outgrown. “Yeah, I bet you were.” Cas was still staring at him as he set the shoe down on the table. Forcing himself to meet Cas’s eyes, he cleared his throat. “Look, Cas, we need to talk. About what happened in fairytale land. How much do you remember?”

Cas didn’t look like he wanted to have this conversation any more than Dean did. “Only pieces. Sam was a lizard. Then I was a…prince. And you…” Cas trailed off. “You kissed me.”

“Yeah, I did,” Dean said. Cas’s face was impassive, which certainly didn’t help Dean’s nerves in the slightest. “Look, buddy, I’m sorry.”

“Dean, it wasn’t your fault, it was–”

Dean cut him off. He had to get this off his chest, even if it meant Cas rejecting him. This wasn’t the kind of secret he wanted to keep buried, not when Cas meant so much to him. Cas deserved to know how much he meant to Dean. 

“No, it was my fault. I’ve had…feelings for you for a long time now, Cas. And I do mean romantic, chick-flick, kissing in the rain feelings. I’ve never been able to say it outloud before, I’ve never been able to even admit it to myself, but I love you. I mean you… you make me happy. I like having you around. I like hearing you talk about honeybees and flowers and how food tastes like molecules. You’re one of the greatest people I know and you make me want to be a better person and I…I don’t want to let you down. I don’t want you to think that I don’t care about you.” Dean sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. “Look, if you don’t like me back, I get that. And if you don’t want to stay, I get that, too. But after everything Gabriel put you through just to force me into confessing my feelings, you deserve to hear it. I love you, and I’m sorry that I’ve been shit at expressing it all these years.”

Cas’s warm hands were on Dean’s again, intertwining their fingers. When Dean forced himself to look at Cas’s face, his eyes were bright and his smile was wide.

“Dean,” Cas said. “Before you interrupted me, I was going to say that it was my feelings Gabriel picked up on.”

The words sat in Dean’s head, unprocessed. How could Cas, a friggin’ angel, feel that way about him? He was just Dean, the screw-up, the little soldier following Daddy’s orders. 

“What?”

“The fairytale movies. Cinderella. I watched them while I was human, and I wished I could have that kind of fairytale romance. I believe that’s what Gabriel picked up on.”

Castiel was standing so close now that Dean could practically hear him breathing, even and steady. Dean’s eyes tracked Cas’s lips on instinct, and a soft desire began to burn in his chest. He didn’t get to experience kissing Cas in the fairytale world. But now…he could. Just a few inches more, and he could. 

“I think I’ve been in love with you since I first laid eyes on you in Hell,” Castiel said softly. One of his hands reached up to cup Dean’s face, his thumb tracing the line of Dean’s cheek. “Your soul was so beautiful, even there."

“That long, huh?” Dean could hardly breath, and Cas was oxygen. “Guess we have lost time to catch up on. Can I kiss you?”

Dean couldn’t tell if Cas was nodding or leaning in, but either way, they were kissing, and Dean was fairly certain his brain was going to melt from the sensation of it all. Cas’s lips were warm and pliant against his, his rough hands roaming Dean’s body. Dean’s fingers found their way into Cas’s hair, which was every bit as soft as he’d imagined. 

When he finally pulled away, Dean wanted to say something flirty and charming, something that would make Cas roll his eyes but lean in again anyway. 

Instead, he said, “Remind me to send Gabriel a fruit basket.”

And Cas huffed, and rolled his eyes, and leaned in to kiss Dean again. And again. And again. Dean had never been happier.