Chapter Text
Summertime was almost over. By no means was the Garden any colder, but the nights grew longer by every passing of the Night Sun overhead, and grains became precious. Food would only become more scarce in the coming weeks.
That was why Dean had to do something about it. If this thieving mouse went on the way it did, sneaking grains and berries out of his store every night, Dean would be hungry come Wintertime. Dean already had one mouse to feed back home; he didn’t have space for another pet.
Under the cover of dewy green grass, Dean set down his trap. The plan was simple: he’d put a berry in the middle of a net, cover the net with earth, then he’d hide, with the ends of the net all twisted into a string in his hands. When he felt a tug, he’d leap away and the force would pull the net up high, and his thief would be captured once and for all.
With the berry and net in place, Dean went and crouched behind the nearest grass stalks. He had a good grip on his vine; he dared not let go, even if it took hours for the mouse to arrive.
It shouldn’t take hours, though. The Sun had already made its descent, and the sky had become a thick, inky violet, like darkest of bluebell flowers. At this time of night, Dean always heard a rattling and a rustling outside his nest. Whenever he left his nest and went to see what was going on, his store had already been looted and his breakfast for the next day was gone. It was awful. It pained him just to think about it.
Dean heard a crackle.
Holding his breath, Dean’s heart beat hard, sure he was seconds away from victory. He stayed as quiet as he could, waiting... waiting...
The string in his hands twitched. Dean gasped and leapt up and forward, running until his feet skidded on crusty earth, held back by the weight in the net. His legs shook with the effort of holding the pendulum steady: this was no mouse. Mice were never this heavy.
Dean broke into a sweat as he lashed the string to the stalk of a nearby rose. The string juddered even after Dean was certain it was secure. The monster in the trap was furious – its screeching was incessant, and cut into Dean’s mind like a knife on glass. Trepidation filled him from his bare toes to the messy hair on his head. Thank Heavens he had his flower armour on; he always felt braver with his armour.
He picked up a twig to use as a weapon, and with his heart in his throat, he crept forward, edging towards the grass that hid the monster from his sight.
He inhaled sharply when he saw what was in his trap, hung upside-down.
It was another fairy. But not just any fairy. This one had angry black wings with claws; its face was pale-skinned and creased with an unsightly frown, and it hissed and screeched like something was causing it great pain.
...Maybe something was.
“Are— Are you okay?” Dean asked, both hands gripping his twig.
“Hsssssshhhh!” replied the other fairy. It flapped its mad black wings and clawed at the netting around it, tangling itself further. “Hsssssss!” It then let out a terrible, shrill screech, calling for its tribe.
Dean swung his twig around and looked up at the darkening sky, expecting to be divebombed by bat sprites. But nothing came. An owl hooted in the distance, and another owl hooted back.
Dean turned on the other fairy, not sure what to do now.
It took him a moment of squinting in the dim light before he could be sure, but yes... the fairy had red around its mouth. It had eaten the berry.
“You!” Dean puffed, highly unimpressed. “It was you stealing my food.”
“Hss.” The fairy flapped its wings and glared with ferocious blue eyes.
Dean clenched his teeth and made up his mind: he was taking this creature prisoner, and he’d ask his brother Sam what to do with it once the Sun rose. With that plan in mind, he went and untied the net’s anchor from the rose stalk. He heard the thump as the fairy hit the ground, and he went back to check it hadn’t escaped.
The bat-winged fairy was too tangled to go anywhere. Now it was sitting upright, Dean saw its face properly. It was not so ugly this way up. In fact, Dean was surprised to see it looked a lot like him. Wide shoulders, short tufty hair on its head. Perhaps, in the right light, it might even look handsome.
The wings and the scowling kept it unappealing, however.
“Hsss! Let me go,” the fairy said, head down threateningly as it raised one clawed wing over its hunched back. “I do not belong to you!”
“Never said you did, buddy,” Dean said derisively. “Where’d you come from, anyway? What’s your name?”
“HSSS! No! Let me go!” The creature flapped about in a flurry of limbs and wings, only serving to truss itself up in a knot.
“Hey, hey— Whoa, slow down,” Dean said. He lowered his twig and went towards the fairy, hands out to calm it. “You’re only going to hurt yourself like this. Stay still for a minute and I’ll free you.”
The fairy settled, but it was still shaking with rage, its livid eyes trained on Dean as he cut through the netting, freeing it up bit-by-bit.
When the net fell away, the fairy didn’t get up. It hissed quietly and angled its face away, and quickly became occupied with something, as though tending to a wound.
“Did I hurt you?” Dean asked, concerned. He trod closer, but backed up when met with gnashing fangs and a wrinkled snout. “Okay, okay! I won’t touch you. Just let me see.”
The fairy thought about that, huffing its breaths. But, to Dean’s intrigue, it slowly unfurled its protective black wing and it raised its jaw defiantly, revealing an injury at its back.
Dean immediately realised two important things. Firstly, he himself was not the one who caused such an injury. Secondly – no wonder this fairy had taken to stealing Dean’s food.
“You got knocked outta the sky, didn’t you?” Dean said in wonder, turning his head to see the injury better. “Attacked by a bird, I’m guessing.” The fairy’s entire right wing had been shredded to pieces, left with nothing but baggy, black velvet skin and scabs.
The creature was trembling, still hunched up, ready to strike Dean if he came any closer.
“I won’t hurt you,” Dean assured it. “I’m Dean. What’s your name?”
“Ssss.” The fairy considered Dean for some time, then licked at his snout with a forked tongue. Dean saw its expression change from angry and fearful to just plain fearful. “Casssstiel,” it said.
“Castiel,” Dean repeated. “I’ve never heard a name like that.”
“I am a son of darknessss,” Castiel replied, eyes narrowing to a squint. “You, Dean – you’re nothing but daylight, dewdropsss and dirt, you are nothing to me. You can’t fly like my tribe can.”
Dean scoffed. “Yeah? Well, right now, you don’t look like you’ll be doing any flying either, buster. Save it for the... y’know.” He frowned. “Whatever. Just save it.”
Castiel snorted in Dean’s direction.
Dean stared for a bit longer, wondering if Castiel had any plans to move from where he sat. “So, uh...” Dean glanced up, but there was still no bat tribe in sight. “Where is your tribe, anyway?”
Castiel lowered his eyes – the first non-defensive gesture he’d made. He seemed sad instead, but Dean wasn’t convinced that was any better.
“They,” Castiel started, licking his fangs again. “They left.”
“To go where?”
“To the caves.” Castiel looked up, a sorry shine in his eyes. “They go every Wintertime, where it’sss nice and dark. Wintertime is the bessssst time of the year.”
Dean raised his eyebrows. “But all the food is here in Summertime.”
“That’ssss why we leave the caves at all, you pathetic insssect! All the food isss here! And now—” He gaped in fury, but the fury melted to despair, and he hung his head. His voice was quiet and small as he said, “Now I have nothing to eat, and I... I don’t know how...”
Dean pitied the poor guy. “You don’t know how to scavenge ground-food.”
Castiel didn’t look up this time. His mouth was all sad; the only fangs that showed now were the two at the corners of his mouth, little white downward points. It they weren’t terrifying, Dean might’ve found them cute.
“Look,” Dean said, “When’s your tribe coming back? They must not have noticed when you got hit and fell. Once they notice they’ll come back.”
Castiel was quiet.
“Hey...” Dean moved closer, so his feet stepped into Castiel’s line of sight. Slowly, he knelt down on the shreds of the net, and Castiel looked him in the eye with a morosity that unsettled Dean.
“They won’t be back until next Springtime,” Castiel said. “We have a rule: we sssstop for nothing, we sssslow down for nothing. We are darkness, we are...” He looked away. “We are all-consuming and we... we demand your fear.” He snapped in Dean’s face, snarling, teeth bared, but Dean didn’t even flinch.
“Hate to break it to ya, pal, but I ain’t any more scared of you than I am of Squishbeans.”
“Sq... Squishbeanss?”
“My pet mouse,” Dean smiled. He got to his feet, brushing down his knees. “Come on,” he said, lifting what remained of the net off Castiel’s intact wing. “I’ve got space in my nest. One more mouth to feed shouldn’t make too much of a difference, given you’ve been pinching my breakfasts for the last week. Then, once you’re healed up, I can teach you to hunt like I do. Nuts and berries and sweet dewy flowers.”
“Eugh,” Castiel said, flicking out his forked tongue in distaste. “Why don’t you eat bugssss like a normal fairy? I’m ssssick of berries.”
“You eat bugs? Ew.” Dean screwed up his face. Then he shook his head. “I eat berries. If you have any will to survive at all, you’re gonna have to put up with it.” With a kick to the vine, he freed Castiel from the net fully, and he held out his hands so Castiel could get to his feet.
Castiel’s didn’t.
Dean sighed. “Fine,” he said. “Stay here. But don’t think I won’t be waiting by my food stores with a sand shooter. And I’m warning you now, those shards sting like a bee when they hit skin.”
Shoulders squared, Dean turned and marched his way back home. He didn’t slow down at all, but he smiled in satisfaction when he heard a rustle, then the quick pad of feet as Castiel trotted after him.
Dean led the way to his nest, following the golden light that shone through the windows of his tree stump home. He opened the door, and he left it open as he went straight for the cupboard to get some ointment for Castiel’s injured wing. He took his red petal chestplate off as he went, leaving it hung over the back of a dining chair.
When Dean turned around, Castiel stood on the carved step outside, his night-pale face illuminated with reflections from Dean’s lanterns inside. His eyes looked from place to place around Dean’s nest, from the dining table on the round green rug in the middle to the fireplace on the left. Then he peered at the pile of pillows on the right, then the ladder that led up to a shadowy hole in the corner of the ceiling.
“What?” Dean asked, striding up to Castiel, wrapping a bandage back and forth around his hands. “You never been inside a nest before?”
“No,” Castiel said. He blinked twice, then swallowed. “It’s just, I expected...”
A grin lifted to Dean’s face. “You thought I’d live in a flower? Is that what your batty old grandfolks used to tell you as a baby? Us ground fairies haven’t lived like that in years.” Still smiling, Dean turned away and put the bandages on the table. “Come in if you’re coming. But decide quickly, you’re letting in a draft.”
He went to the cupboard and got out a blueberry pie he’d made yesterday. It was about time he got the chance to share his baking.
Dean didn’t turn to look, but he smiled when he heard Castiel step gingerly inside – then the clump as he closed the door behind him.
“Here,” Dean said, serving some pie on a wooden plate. He cut a second slice, then carried both over to Castiel. Castiel was investigating the lit lantern on the table, sniffing the plant resin that burned gently inside. With a smile, Dean slid him one plate.
“What’ssss thisss?” Castiel said, squinting at the foreign food.
“The best thing you’ll ever eat,” Dean said, stabbing Castiel’s slice with a spork. “Nutritious, filling, and delicious.” He sat at a chair and crammed a bite of his own slice into his mouth, beaming. “It’s pie! Can’t go wong wiv pie.”
Castiel stood with his wings tucked in, staring at Dean in disgust as he ate his slice. Dean paid him little attention, but when he was done with his slice, he rubbed his belly and looked eagerly at Castiel’s uneaten meal. “Are you gonna eat that?”
Castiel’s tongue lashed out, then hid back behind his teeth.
Dean raised his eyebrows. “That a no?” He reached across the table and hooked the plate closer with a fingertip. The plate made a hushing noise as Dean dragged it closer—
Castiel snatched the plate and held it, hissing at Dean.
Dean chuckled, standing up. “Wise choice, my friend. Wise choice.”
“I’m not your friend,” Castiel muttered darkly, taking the spork and examining it before spooning up a glob of pie. He ate the pie defiantly, glaring at Dean. Then his eyes widened and his nostrils flared, and he squeaked.
Dean paused while tipping some ointment onto the bandages. “Don’t like it?”
Castiel swallowed, still staring.
Dean couldn’t tell if that glare was murderous or not. “Look, I’m not trying to poison you, I’m trying to feed you. Quit looking at me like that.”
Castiel slowly – very slowly – took the spork and took out another lump of pie. Slowly – very slowly indeed – he put it in his mouth.
He blinked at Dean, and he chewed. Then he swallowed. Then he picked up the spork again.
Dean smirked.
Taking a deep breath, Dean edged around the bat sprite and put himself at his back. Castiel looked over his shoulder suspiciously, but was too distracted by the pie to do much more than twitch when Dean lifted his injured wing.
“Does it hurt?” Dean asked, thumbing at crusty, frayed edges. He saw a bone or two poking through, but it didn’t seem to be infected.
Castiel swallowed another big bite of pie. “We are trained to block the pain,” he said, matter-of-factly. “If itsss not going to kill me, it’sss not a problem.”
“Not a problem? Dude, you’re missing half your body and you’ve resorted to ransacking strangers’ food stores to stay alive. How is that not a problem?”
Castiel turned further around and looked Dean in the eye. “I am sssstill alive. That your food is gone iss not my problem.”
“Right,” Dean said flatly. “They teach you some fine, shiny morals in that batcave school of yours, don’t they.”
“Only the bessst.”
Rolling his eyes, Dean reached for the bottle of ointment and the bandages. “Brace yourself, batman – this might smart a bit.”
Dean began dabbing ointment on the wounds, and Castiel was fine for the first few seconds. Then he flung himself around and hissed as though Dean had tried to pull his wings off completely.
“Chill! Chill!” Dean yelled, taking Castiel’s pie off him and putting it down before it got dropped. “I’m trying to help you!”
Squishbeans heard the racket from outside, which was rather unfortunate, as this was a bad time for a mouse half Castiel’s size to nose its way through the flap in the front door. Dean stood in her path, gently instructing her to “Leave,” but she always liked new people and her little pink nose was quivering in interest, whiskers tickling at Dean’s thighs.
Castiel, unsurprisingly, was now hissing and screeching intermittently, holding a chair between himself and Squishbeans. Squishbeans took that as an invitation to play, and she barrelled past Dean and stood on her hind legs, ducking and bouncing as she got close to Castiel.
Castiel panicked, and Dean watched helplessly as the bat sprite climbed up on the dining table, knocking over the lit lantern, where it smashed and sent fiery oil spreading across the wood. Dean ran to get a cup of water from the kitchen pump, muttering damnations to himself, too aware that behind him, his mouse was nipping at Castiel’s sleek black shoes and causing great distress.
Dean ran back and put out the fire in one splash, then turned to Squishbeans. He whistled, drawing her attention. Squishbeans looked his way, her big black eyes curious and shiny. “Out!” Dean barked, pointing towards the door. “Bad mouse!”
Squishbeans squibbled unhappily, but Dean was having none of it. “OUT!”
Squishbeans scuttled off sadly, pausing at the door, looking back, only to see Dean glaring at her. With her long tail down to the floor, she went back outside, probably off to dig another hole in Dean’s overgrown lawn in retaliation.
Dean sighed, turning his eyes up to his petrified guest, who hadn’t moved from the tabletop. Castiel was shaking all over, his knees turned together, his body lowered into a half-crouch. Dean couldn’t help but notice the patch of black goo trailing down the inner thigh of Castiel’s lizard-skin armour – a fear response, Dean remembered learning about it in school once – but Dean said nothing about it, in case Castiel got defensive again.
“Squishbeans is gentle as anything once you get to know her, I promise,” Dean said, but his words were too little, too late. “Come on,” he sighed. “If you come down, I’ll fill you a bath and get you some clean clothes.”
Even though Castiel didn’t move, Dean went and got what he’d promised. Though he’d planned on using the hot water for tea, he pulled the metal bucket out of the fireplace and mixed its contents with cooler water. He checked the pail was comfortably warm before he dragged the round wooden washtub out from under the kitchen sink.
Castiel was down off the table now, maintaining what Dean supposed was an uncharacteristic silence. Dean watched him begin to undress, but in an attempt to preserve Castiel’s modesty, Dean turned away to get clothes.
Dean kept his eyes averted when he returned from the bedroom upstairs. He set down a towel and a folded cotton tunic on a three-legged stool pulled from the kitchen, and he cleared his throat. “You okay?”
Castiel didn’t answer.
Dean looked up and saw Castiel was hunched over, arms wrapped around his bare knees, waist-deep in the bathwater. His face was hidden, turned away. There was no way Dean could keep from feeling bad for him right now.
“You want me to pour the bucket over you?” Dean asked.
Castiel sniffed.
Dean breathed out, and sat on top of the clean clothes to grab the bucket. “Close your eyes,” he said, and gently tipped some warm water over Castiel’s hair. Castiel spluttered and shook his head, but allowed Dean to pour another slosh over him. Dean hesitated, but then went to get soap. He lathered some up on his hands and scrunched it into Castiel’s hair. At first Castiel stiffened, but then he relaxed.
Dean smiled. “Used to do this for my little brother,” he said, seeing dirt slide down Castiel’s back within rivulets of bubbles. “He used to get as dirty as this, rootin’ around the Garden, looking for bugs.” Dean’s smile dimmed, and he began thoughtful. “Maybe I could dig you up a few grubs. Sam used to say they were nutritious. I just figured he was being pretentious, following diets meant for other kinds of fairies, but...” Dean paused to rinse Castiel’s hair, then his wings while he was at it. “If you need bugs, you should have bugs.”
Castiel slowly lifted his head, and he tilted it to the side to let Dean pour water down his front.
They spent a few quiet minutes together, Castiel soaping himself up while Dean washed him down. Soon the tub was filled with bubbles and cold water, and Castiel sparkled like a fresh gem.
“Jeez,” Dean muttered, scrubbing at Castiel’s hair with his towel. “When was the last time you had a bath, anyway?”
“We bathe in the sacred watersss of darkness,” Castiel said.
Dean grimaced. “Here’s guessing those waters aren’t clear blue pools of springwater.”
“They are the same watersss our ancesstors bathed in,” Castiel said proudly. “Except for rain, not one drop of freshwater has touched our lakes since the First Age of Fairykind.”
Dean couldn’t wipe the grimace away. “Wow. Unsanitary, much?”
“We are darkness,” Castiel said, as if that explained everything.
Shaking his head, Dean stood up and straightened the towel. “Stand up, would you? Two more minutes in there and you’ll go wrinkly.”
Castiel got to his feet, wings dripping wet. Dean dried them gently, first the intact one, then the injured one. He heard Castiel hiss in pain once or twice, but Dean was surprised when he didn’t get snarled at. Under all the bitey, hissy responses, Castiel was really quite trusting. Once he got settled, perhaps he wouldn’t be such a strain on the home dynamics around here.
That thought came and went through Dean’s mind, and only then did he recognise that he’d decided to let Castiel stay. The situation had led this way without his noticing, but it bothered him far less than it ought to. Post-rationalising assured him it was fine. For a dangerous-looking stranger to be scared of Squishbeans was somewhat telling, after all. Castiel wouldn’t have inked himself unless he’d really been scared. And nobody was scared of Squishbeans unless they’d never seen a mouse before in their life.
Dean let Castiel dry his lower half himself, and he left him alone for a bit, heading upstairs via the ladder.
Dean’s bedroom was much like a storage attic, as Sam liked to tease – wooden rafters and pillars kept the hollowed-out tree trunk from sagging in bad weather, and in the far corner, a small round lantern glowed from beside the bed. Dean pulled back the blankets and fluffed up the pillow, thinking Castiel deserved to be comfortable for his first night in a real nest.
Castiel poked his head through the trap door soon after. Dean spotted his squinty eyes watching him from the trap door, and he grinned. “Come on up,” Dean said invitingly. “It’s warmer up here, but I think you’ll like it.”
Castiel crept up the last few rungs of the ladder, padding across the attic floor. He looked very different in a cotton tunic: as a whole, he was no longer streamlined and dark, but lumpy at the back and coloured like the earth. He seemed ruffled and rumpled and tousled, and Dean found it to be a good look on him. He seemed far more approachable like this.
“There is no room for my wings in this garment,” Castiel stated. His wings pushed on the fabric and went nowhere, proving his point.
Dean fetched scissors from his tool kit, and made quick work of the back of the tunic. Now Castiel could stretch out his one-and-a-bit wings, flaring them wide and casting a fearsome shadow over the flowery tapestries on the back wall.
“I made up my bed for you,” Dean said, gesturing to the crumpled bedcovers and the three stacked pillows. “Cosiest place in the whole wide world.”
“I don’t ssssleep at – hmmauuhhhh!... at night,” Castiel said, while yawning. “I’m nocturnal.” He blinked his bleary eyes, squinting at Dean.
“Suit yourself,” Dean smiled. “I’m gonna do some baking so we have something for breakfast. I’ll sleep on the couch tonight. You just... go to sleep when you’re ready.”
Dean left Castiel alone, and he washed up before he started in the kitchen. Squishbeans came inside after a few minutes, looking hopeful.
Dean grinned, and he fed her Castiel’s leftover pie before he got her real dinner. He crouched and rubbed her big, soft ears, smiling when she nosed at his face. “Sorry, girl,” he said gently. “Castiel isn’t used to nosy mice like you getting all up in his face. Take it easy on him next time, all right?”
Squishbeans twitched her whiskers and nibbled heartily at her food.
Dean put together the mixture for a quick-bake quiche, ready for the morning. The whole time, he felt like someone was watching him, but when he peered up at the trap door, he saw nothing, only shadows. When he was done in the kitchen, he went up to check on Castiel.
Dean lifted his lantern, and was surprised to see Castiel not in bed, but hanging upside down from the rafters. He opened one blue eye when he sensed Dean’s presence.
“What?” Castiel asked.
Dean slowly closed his mouth. “Nothing,” he said, turning his eyes away. Clearly a tunic wasn’t the right thing for Castiel to wear if he was going to hang upside down. It was all bunched around his chest, and the rest of him was naked as a baby. He must’ve been staring at Dean this whole time, since he had a clear line of sight to the kitchen from there.
“Um,” Dean said. “I’m... gonna get to bed.”
“Okay,” Castiel said. He closed his eyes.
Dean stared for a bit longer, baffled by this weird creature. He walked past and got a mint leaf from his special box, and he chewed it, carrying another one over to Castiel.
“Wan’h some mint?” Dean asked offering him a leaf. “It’ll make your mouff taste okay in the morning.”
Castiel said nothing, just opened his mouth. Dean poked in a leaf, and watched while Castiel chewed it.
Dean smiled as he went to his bed. Having Castiel in his room was strange, but not so strange that it was unsettling. The bat sprite had found his place in this room, and Dean had a feeling he’d be quick to find a place everywhere else, too.
The truth was, Castiel was going to be a bigger part of Dean’s life than Dean ever imagined. But for tonight, Dean got into bed satisfied that his guest would stay out of the way.
Ahh. So naive.
Well, he’ll find out soon enough.