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"This makes no sense!" Castiel’s tail whipped through the air, his body coiling and uncoiling as he strode back and forth. A low growl had started to vibrated in the deeper part of his throat at some point during his restless pacing, and the protrusions at the back of his head were vibrating with agitation, while his claws sank into hard rock like it was soft moss.
It had been four days since they rescued Sam.
It had been four days since it was brought to his attention that other dragons were trying to put their paws on his mate.
It had been four days since he lost his temper and hurt Dean, flying away in shame once realized his mistake.
He wasn't coping with it well.
"He is hoard, but he won't act like hoard!" he growled again, flapping his wings with frustration, before the blade-like tip of his tail cut through the air and sank into the nearby stone wall.
After three days of trying his best to understand on his own why Dean had been so angry with him and completely failing at recognizing what was going on inside the prince's head, he decided to ask for Gryblilkalmyel's greater expertise when it came to dealing with humans.
The two of them met in one of the canyons – a leftover of ancient dried rivers – that ran through the other's territory, and Castiel was currently busy clawing his way up and down the hard rocky ground in an unconscious attempt at soothing his own stress at being separated from a piece of his hoard for so long.
"Hum…" came the absent noise from somewhere at his right and he turned to regard the other dragon with a glare. Gryblilkalmyel was watching him from a jutting out part of the canyon's wall, several feet above him; he was laying with his wings relaxed against his back, his spiked tail dangling from one side of his perch, and his triangular head lowered to peer at the Mirror Dragon with distracted interest.
He was broader than Castiel, built more for power and climbing than speed and maneuverability in flight. His wings were wider – attached to his back from just below his shoulder blades all the way down to his hipbones – and the outer surface looked coarser, rougher, giving him the appearance of a rumpled cat. Under the morning sun the scales covering his body shone of coppery yellows and reds rather than silver, and his spine was covered in sharp spikes that started between his amber eyes and ended at the tip of his shorter and thicker tail.
"You're not making any sense, Little Kestrel," he rumbled, his nostrils twitching when Castiel fully turned to face him.
"I'm talking about Dean!" the Mirror Dragon replied with a renewed growl, his tail whipping behind him in frustration.
"He says he is hoard, but he refuses to let me keep him safe and undamaged!"
Gryblilkalmyel's eyes narrowed, regarding the smaller dragon with studious attention for a few silent moments before tilting his head on one side. The Copper Dragon knew the human that became Castiel's mate – the guy was loud and easy to rile up, funny to tease, and his heart was in the right place – but this was the first time that his bartering partner called him that.
"Humans are not hoard," he slowly replied watching as the smaller dragon gave him a head tilt of his own. "They can be mate, but they can't be hoard."
A frown grew on Castiel's face at those words, confusion filling his blue eyes while he stopped his restless pacing to fully focus his attention on Gryblilkalmyel: why would the Copper Dragon claim such a thing? Surely the way the last few months ran – filled with contentment and satisfaction for the both Dean and him – was solid proof that wasn't the case at all.
"Dean is hoard," Castiel reiterated, shaking his head, "he said so himself."
"Did he now?" the Copper Dragon didn't look convinced, his ridged eyebrows raising in disbelief while his tail twisted behind him in a sign of slight annoyance. "Did he know what he got himself into when he said that?"
The Mirror Dragon couldn't help a huff at those words, the flat protrusions on his shoulders raising and falling back against his body with irritation: of course he knew, otherwise he would have asked! Dean wasn't one to stay quiet if something didn't sit right with him!
"He was pleased to be called hoard!" he answered with more bite than he normally would when addressing the other.
He could clearly remember the way the prince's eyes gleamed the first time he claimed him as such – the way his cheeks were filled with a delightful flush that made his freckles stand out even more against his skin – as clearly as he could conjure back to his mind the gleeful swirling of green flakes inside the other's silvery soul.
There was always a bashful little smile on the Dean's face whenever the Mirror Dragon would speak in his defenses, and a soft reddening of his face when he stepped in front of him in gesture of protectiveness and unwillingness to let him being damaged.
Gryblilkalmyel simply didn't know the human as well as Castiel did.
"It makes him happy whenever I call him mine," he continued, claws absently digging in the ground while he squinted in frustration, "and yet he won't allow me to treat him as hoard. He refuses to let me protect him and keep him safe, to make sure that he is undamaged and guarded at all times!"
"That's because humans aren't made to be hoard," the Copper Dragon retorted with a sound of frustration, as if he were dealing with a particularly stubborn hatchling instead of the adult dragon that Castiel was, "you can call him that as much as you want, but that simply isn't how it works with them."
A loud growl of denial left the Mirror Dragon at that point, a vicious and instinctive sound that rolled out of his throat before he fully realized what he was doing. His wings spread until the tips pointed straight up towards the sky, and his tail lashed once again to send a nearby boulder flying across the canyon.
"It works like that with Dean!" he snapped, fangs bared, "He is hoard, and he is mine to treat as I see fit!"
Dean was his to keep safe and to protect, he was his to hide in his nest and hoard for his only pleasure and no-one else's. His sole wish was to be sure that nothing happened to the prince and that he would live a long, long life so that his shiny – breathtaking – soul would remain in this world for as long as it was possible for that tiny and frail man-shaped husk that contained it.
He might have lost his temper the last time, hurting him without really wanting to – it was so difficult to remember how fragile humans were when compared to his own kin! – but he wouldn't make the same mistake twice!
Nothing mattered to him more than for Dean to be his own.
"Kestrlinglemiol!"
The loud roar made him freeze, eyes widening with fear when Gryblilkalmyel rose to his feet and regarded him with a hard stare. He pulled his wings tight against his body, his head lowering to make himself look smaller and a cooing warble leaving his snout in a reflexive attempt at soothing the other's anger.
The Copper Dragon was very old, Castiel had come to understand through their acquaintance – so old that he had been already roaming the skies for centuries while the Mirror was still in his egg – and, as Gryblilkalmyel stared back at the younger dragon now cowering in his presence, his power rolled out of him in oppressive thick waves: if it came down to a fight, there was no way for Castiel to win on his own.
When the other's wings widened and he gracefully glided down from his perch, the Mirror Dragon flattened even more against the ground, his nostrils twitching madly to gauge the extent of Gryblilkalmyel's contempt towards his rude behavior.
"You stupid hatchling," the Copper Dragon sighed, lowering himself until he was laying with his neck across the back of Castiel's own. It was a gesture that the latter recognized as something his parents used to do with him whenever they scolded him for being fussy about eating his food.
"I understand how important this man is to you," Gryblilkalmyel continued, while one of his paws came to rest between the younger dragon's shoulder in a silent request to be quiet for now, "but if you value his presence at your side so much, you need to stop being a blind idiot about it."
Castiel paused, tilting his head to regard the other with one blue eye: there was something in his tone – some kind of concealed melancholy he realized – that made all his remaining restlessness subside.
"You speak from experience," he murmured, voice filled with marvel as he studied the other's expression. The Copper Dragon's snout was betraying nothing of what was passing through his mind, but Castiel was not fooled: he knew him well enough to be aware of the fact that what he thought and what he showed on the outside almost never matched.
"Listen," the older dragon huffed in the end, "humans are impossible to own, it is against their nature to be owned. You can claim them as hoard and they might submit to your wishes for a time, but they won't allow you to keep them safe in your nest for the rest of their tiny lives. Their bodies might be weak and easy to break, but their souls crave freedom to a degree that not even the Fae folks can compare."
Another sigh left him, a slow and deep sound that spoke of centuries of life the Mirror Dragon knew nothing about.
"When you try to take their freedom from them, humans tend to run away from you."
Castiel's wings twitched, the one closest to the other's body extending a few inches, as if wanting to blanket him in an instinctive attempt at quieting his distress, before drawing back once more. A soft coo left his throat and he nudged the side of Gryblilkalmyel's snout with the beak-like tip of his own.
"Shush, Little Kestrel, it's a thing of the past," the Copper Dragon said, returning the nudge before pulling himself back on his paws. Castiel watched as the other stretched his limbs while he kept himself still flat against the ground: he didn't feel like he needed to show his compliance to the older dragon anymore, but he still needed to think about what he was told.
It was true that his experience with humans and their behavior was far less extensive, but he honestly thought he read Dean right, that his mate was pleased of being called hoard and treated like he was the thing Castiel cared for the most.
Did he misinterpret it? Was the prince actually upset and never spoke of his distress?
(Was Dean faking his happiness in order to appease him?
No, that was ridiculous: it didn't sound like him at all.
The prince was happy with being considered in his highest regards – of this Castiel was sure – but at the same time he didn't want to be hoard.
How did that even work?)
"I don't know what to do," Castiel admitted in the end, blue eyes staring at the older dragon in a silent plea for advice.
"Oh, that's easy," Gryblilkalmyel replied, his tone becoming amused as he flexed his wings in preparation for flight, "this guy is important to you – as much as your hoard is – but he can't be hoard because he's a human, right?" he prompted, waiting for the younger dragon to give a slow confused nod of confirmation, before continuing.
"Soooo you do as follows: you go up north, you bring with you the shiniest and purest crystals you've in your nest, and you trade them to Anenilymellial for those books about knights and princesses she totally doesn't keep hidden in her cave."
"Then you get back to your own cave," he continued while he pawed his way around the Mirror Dragon, forcing him to sit on his hind legs and twist his long neck around, "and you get yourself acquaintance with humans' love for the dramatics."
With a frown still marking his face, Castiel watched as the other spread his wings. He wasn't sure what reading those books had anything to do his current situation – he was certain enough they would not deal with any realistic interaction between humans and dragons, if anything else because the authors rarely met one of his kin – and he couldn't see why Gryblilkalmyel would suggest such a course of action to begin with.
"See you next time, Little Kestrel!" the Copper Dragon called behind his back, and then he gave a few strong flaps until he was flying away and leaving Castiel alone with his thoughts.
******
Dean wasn't happy.
He wasn't happy when he first woke up after Sam's kidnapping one week before – his bruised ribs screaming in pain and Cas nowhere to be found – and he certainly wasn't happy now.
After he was deemed healthy enough and was allowed to get back on his feet, most of his time was spent training with his sword, ignoring anyone who tried to approach him, until his muscles burned with the strain of it, and he was so tired that once back in his room he would simply pass out on his bed.
There were several attempts to raise his mood, but none of them had the desired effect – if possible they made him even more disagreeable to deal with. Jo was the first to try, undeterred by the aura of grumpiness he was exuding, but her cheerfulness fell flat in the face of his irritation; then Sam tried to find him some kind of distraction, only to be met with a wall of anger; and then even Victor seemed about to intervene, but in the end he decided it was none of his business if their crown prince had chosen to sulk instead of get over his funk: he wasn't a nanny after all.
This was, essentially, why Dean was currently busy in mauling his umpteen training dummy since he started with his new daily routine, the previous ones having fallen one after another under his need to keep himself busy in order to avoid giving up on his instinct to find that idiot dragon of his and smack his snout with the flat of his sword.
(Only the flat, never the blade. He wanted to rough the other up a bit, yes, but he didn't want him dead.)
The straw padding of his target had long since lost his battle against Dean's frustration and, swinging his sword harder, he managed to chip a piece of the wooden skeleton off. Sweat was dripping down the back of his neck, soaking his shirt, but he ignored it in favor of renewing his efforts.
"You're still here?"
The prince watched his brother's tall figure enter his field of vision, lingering at its corner. He didn't need to turn and question him of his intentions – he knew Sam enough that he had no doubt the other wanted to make another attempt at forcing him to talk about his feelings and things like that – so his only reply was a grunt of acknowledgment, before focusing all his attention back on the piece of training equipment he was so set on making prematurely retire.
"Dude, you already went through eight dummies," the younger prince commented with a sigh, frustration skirting the edge of his voice, "you going to leave us any to use or what?"
"No," Dean replied, voice flat, while he chipped off another chunk of wood from his target. He really didn't want to talk about what was going through his head, and he would much rather continue venting his anger with physical blows than thinking again about how much of a dick his dragon was.
"Now get out."
"You know what?" Sam shot back, evidently not in the mood to indulge Dean's grumpiness anymore, after days of being subjected to it, "Fine! I give up! I tried to be patient and give you space to deal with it on your own, but you would obviously rather stay here and sulk!"
"I'll tell Mom I tried," Sam continued, eyes narrowed, "then she can come and try reason with you."
The older prince winced, stopping battering the dummy to send his younger brother a glance. The other's face was for the most part twisted in a frustrated and unhappy scowl, but there was also some worry ghosting underneath all of that, and Dean squirmed internally at the sight of it. It hadn't been in his intentions to make Sammy feel that way: he was just so angry all the time, and he really thought it would be much better for him to get rid of that before allowing anyone to approach him.
"Wait," he called when he saw Sam begin to turn with the intention of leaving him to his brooding.
The younger prince paused, peering at him in studious silence for a few moments before sighing aloud, "Can we talk about it now?"
"Yeah, all right..." Dean quietly replied, all anger vanished, and he scratched the back of his neck in embarrassment, before moving to put the sword in his hand back to the rack where all training weapons were kept.
"That was a low blow by the way," the older prince added, stepping closer to his brother.
"Calling Mom on me? She would have pried my skull open in no time!" he shuddered, remembering the almost inhuman ability that Mary possessed in guessing with just a glance what was passing through people's heads.
"You've been a dick to anyone who even as much as greeted you in the past five days," Sam shrugged in return.
"Quite frankly, I don't care."
The two of them moved, deciding that they needed to find a more private location for that discussion than the training grounds – where anyone could pass by – and ended up on the castle's walls, on the walk between two of the watchtowers. They weren't at risk of being unexpectedly interrupted there, as the only ones needing to going through that way were the sentinels, and from where they were standing they would be easy to spot before they came too close.
"So..." Sam started, watching Dean turn away from him to stare at the outside land in the distance. "Wanna explain what happened?"
The older prince groaned, renewed anger briefly shadowing his expression before his mouth set into a hard line.
"Cas is a dick, that's what happened."
No, that wasn't entirely correct. The taller man was sure there was more to it, otherwise his brother wouldn't be so reluctant to talk about what caused the dragon's sudden outburst, but he couldn't quite put his fingers on what exactly was causing all that hesitation in the other.
Drawing the event of his rescue back to his mind, Sam realized that Castiel had been acting uncharacteristically for him from the very beginning: he had noticed his silence and the way he was wound up with internal distress – he pointed it out to Dean as well – but his worries were put on hold by the arrival of Jo and the other Knights.
Then he was moved in order for his wounds to be looked at, too far away from the two of them to hear what they were saying to each other, but close enough to see them argue about something.
When Castiel finally lost his composure and went back to his dragon self, paws pressing on his brother's chest to keep him still and long silvery body coiled around him in a clear threat to anyone who dared to step closer, Sam felt his heart stop, convinced for an instant that he finally lost Dean to his stupid recklessness. The Mirror Dragon didn't need to make good of his unspoken promise of death and pain, as the aura of terror exuding from him was enough to freeze everyone from attempting any further move.
"I don't think Castiel was feeling very well," Sam carefully offered, peering at his brother and taking note of the quick, hesitant glance he was given in return. "He was acting weird – I noticed when you two got to me – even more than he usually does. He was silent and tense, like he expected to be attacked at any given time."
He watched the way his brother's face contorted into a grimace at his words, and the way he seemed to be internally squirming at Sam's attentive scrutiny.
Was that guilt in Dean's eyes?
Why would he feel guilty if he was the victim here?
Yes, the dragon might have not been his usual self, but that didn't justify venting his frustration on the older prince at all.
"Dean?" he narrowed his eyes, watching the other rub the back of his neck in distress, "What aren't you telling me?"
His brother seemed to flounder at his query, mouth opening and closing several times before he let out a groan of frustration and bit his lower lip.
"I knew he was upset, all right?" he finally admitted, guilt flashing once again in his eyes, before he rained it back in, "He was against me coming to rescue you, and he kind of became more and more grumpy the closer we got to the outpost, and he just...he snapped, Sammy!"
The younger prince didn't comment, knowing that if he were to interrupt Dean at this point, the other might come back to his senses and realize that he really didn't want to share anything of what had been bothering him for the last few days.
"I told him I would be careful and that we would be fine – and we did! None of us was harmed!" the older man continued, waving his hands in the air to underline his words, "But as soon as we got out of there, he started saying weird shit like he wanted me to stay with him in his nest from then on – that I should be guarded by him at all times! He wanted to keep me prisoner in his nest, to 'keep me safe'! That's fucking insane!"
The only way Sam could describe the look on his brother's face when he finished with his outburst, was "lost": his eyes were wide, his breath had quickened, and his hands were now clenched in fists at his sides.
It took him just a longer glance to realize what was really going on.
"I thought you knew..." Sam couldn't help but comment, his voice coming so filled with bewilderment that it made Dean stop and stare back at him with confusion.
"What are you talking about?"
"I thought the two of you talked about it!" this time Sam sounded more affronted than surprised, as if he couldn't even fathom what he just heard. His mouth dropped ever so slightly, and the older prince had to shush away his first instinct to push it back closed in order to study his brother's expression with more attention.
"Dude, I've no idea what—" he started only to stop without finishing that thoughts, eyes narrowing once realization finally hit him.
"You aren't surprised! You knew he would say that!"
He was aware there was accusation in his voice – he felt it in the way his words vibrate like a growl against the back of his throat – but he wasn't sure he wanted to rein it in: he had been so frustrated and angry in the last week that his patience was running pretty thin at the moment.
Sam's next words really didn't help in that regards, nor it did the way he still sounded kind of offended that Dean hadn't brought that issue up sooner.
"I thought you knew he considers you his!"
What?!
"How would I know?!" the older man shouted, throwing his hands in the air and forgetting for an instant that, while away from prying eyes, they could still be easily heard from the courtyard if they raised their voices too loud.
"He calls you hoard!" the returning accusation and disbelief in Sam's voice, as if according to him Dean should have realized long ago the situation he found himself in, made him clench his teeth in anger: he wasn't as smart as his younger brother was, he was allowed not to notice this kind of small stuff!
Besides, how was he supposed to know that Cas would be so literal about it?!
"No-one would take it like that!" Dean replied, defensively.
"He's not anyone! He's a dragon!" Sam exclaimed, exasperation winning over his attempts at being quiet. It wasn't like the rest of the castle didn't already know what went down with his brother's winged stalker – not with the kind of gossip mill that seemed to live within its walls – and if Dean started shouting and seemingly decided he didn't care about who could hear them, then the younger prince would do the same.
"Have you ever heard of a dragon that doesn't take their hoard seriously?!" he continued, waving his hands in the air for emphasis. "They have been known to burn entire villages to the ground because people stumbled upon their nest by accident!"
Dean flinched, taking an instinctive step back at that image.
"Cas wouldn't do that..." he murmured, his voice lowering while he peered at his brother's hard face.
Sam didn't really think that about Cas, right?
The dragon could be a bit clueless and disinterested when it came to human matters, but he never harmed anyone unprovoked. There was the thing about almost choking Dean to death, but the prince was fairly sure it wasn't a conscious or malicious action on the other's part: he was just stressed and reacted poorly to the situation as a whole.
For several instants Sam didn't reply, his forehead creased and his lips pressed together in an expression that the older prince wasn't quite sure how to interpret. He looked a bit like he just sank his teeth in a lemon disguised as an orange.
"I know, that wasn't the point," he sighed in the end, rubbing his right temple in an attempt at soothing the headache that was starting to form inside his head.
"What I'm trying to say here is that you can't keep treating Castiel like he's human and assume he will react as such: not only it isn't fair to either of you, but it's downright dangerous! You saw yourself what happens when you do that!" he added, his raised hand now waving in the direction of Dean's bruised ribs.
The older prince opened his mouth, as if wanting to say something in his defenses, but he seemed to think better of it: his eyebrows scrunched together in a frown, his lips closed and turned downwards in pensiveness, and his gaze lowered while, for once, he mulled over his brother's assertions.
"Why are you telling me this stuff? You don't even like the guy..." he carefully asked in the end, green eyes narrowing in suspicion while they rose once again.
"Because, Dean," Sam started with another, louder sigh, "I might not like him or be worried that you apparently are in love with a dragon, but it's true that since this thing between the two of you started you've been happier than I've seen you in years."
A blush colored the prince's cheeks at those words, spreading down the sides of his neck while he squirmed under his younger brother's gaze.
"...'m not in love..." he replied, voice coming out mumbled and embarrassed.
Dean did like Cas – that was true – but love...love was a whole other thing.
It was a bit scary to think about.
"Dean..."
"Shut it, bitch," the crown prince grumbled when he felt his face redden and his skin start to heat up at that train of thought. "It's not like Cas gets it anyway."
"That's probably because no-one ever explained it to him, jerk!" was the huffed reply that he received before Sam continued more seriously, "I tried to ask him once: he was confused by the whole concept – like he had no idea how it was supposed to feel to begin with – and he commented that 'love isn't something dragons dwell on much'..."
Yeah, Dean kind of got that already. It had been hovering at the back of his mind for some time now – resurfacing whenever the dragon was around, but every time he noticed its presence – he ignored it in favor of taking advantage of Castiel's attentions.
It wasn't like his mate was rude or unkind towards him – Hell! The guy was supportive and protective to a fault! – but sometimes the prince had the impression that he was the only one initiating any form of physical affection between the two of them.
"...but that doesn't mean they can't experience it at all!" his brother added in the meantime, his voice coming more hurried, as if he suddenly realized that his words were having the opposite effect of what he had hoped for.
Dean supposed his brother might have a point, but he didn't feel he could particularly count on it being actually true.
"What do you want from me?" he carefully asked, green eyes searching Sam's face and watching as the younger man's expression became resolute once more.
"I want you two to act like adults and talk instead of guessing stuff about each other," the younger prince sighed, locking their gazes together in a silent remark of how serious he was currently being. "I don't know if you noticed, but neither of you is a seer."
The older man didn't immediately reply, letting those words sediment in his mind for a few moments before he straightened his back, hands going to his pockets while his expression changed, becoming blank and unreadable.
"Whatever you say..." he retorted with an uncaring shrug, and then he began to turn with the intention of making his way back to the lower grounds.
"Dean!" Sam tried to stop him, reaching out to grab his arm, only to end up closing his fingers around thin air when his brother quickly swirled back around to face him with a glare on his face.
"No, you listen!" the crown prince shot back, "I need to think about it, and I need to think about it on my own. So get off my back for five freaking minutes and give me some space."
It took several instants of being subjected to Sam's scrupulous scrutiny, brown eyes staring into green ones with the kind of all-seeing intensity that Dean was more used to see on their mother's face than his brother's.
"Fine," the younger prince sighed, his shoulders lowering in a defeated slump: it was true that he managed to drag out of him more than anyone else had in the last week, but he still had hoped that some kind of epiphany would strike his thick-headed brother. Instead, Dean turned once more and took off without as much as another word.
Sam watched as the other's back retreated in the distance, stepping in the closest watchtower and vanishing inside, and he sighed, shaking his head.
"Hiya, Samsquash!"
He almost tripped on himself in his hurry to turn around and face the sudden voice.
"Gabriel?!"
Sure enough, in front of him was the short merchant that his mind had come to associate first and foremost with all kind of embarrassing situations he was subjected to in the course of their acquaintance.
He had no idea how the other managed to get on the castle's walls without anyone noticing it, and he would have demanded an explanation about his presence there, except the equally chipper and terrifying grin that was being sent in his direction stopped him short.
He watched as the other licked his lips, as if already tasting what he was about to say, and his eyes gleamed with the kind of mischievousness that would make anyone in their right mind to run for dear life.
"We need to talk."