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Dean clings onto Cas’ back with numb fingers while his legs lock around his friend's scaled body, trying not to shiver as the wind assaults them as they climb down the mountain. Cas’ wings are tight against his sides, soft leathery folds blanketing Dean’s legs but offering little warmth for the rest of his body. The cloak tucked securely around him, enchanted with every protection spell Sam could manage (which, given his brother’s vast accomplishments in witchery, is quite a few), keeps him dry despite the rain and provides some defence against the raging hurricane, but the bitter wind still chills Dean down to his bones and the cold raindrops feel like tiny projectiles even through his clothing and armour.
As difficult as it is just to hang on, he can only imagine how hard actually climbing is, especially with Dean’s extra weight. Holding on with one hand, he pats Cas firmly on his flank with the other.
“Doing great, buddy,” he says, raising his voice above the howling storm, counting on Cas’ enhanced senses to pick up his words before the wind steals them away. He thinks he hears Cas grunt in answer, but it’s hard to tell through the storm.
The battle against the rogue dragon at the top of the mountain had gone well, but getting back down has proven a challenge ever since the storm set in. If Dean had been alone, he would have stood no chance. Yet another reason to thank any deities that may be watching over him for Cas.
Dean keeps his head ducked as he carefully looks ahead, trying to see past Cas’ horns to get his bearings without being immediately blinded by the wind and rain. He can just about make out the rocky face of the mountain below them before he’s forced to look away again, his eyes watering. He presses his head against Cas’ back, feeling the hard ridge of the dragon’s spine against his cheek as he tries to catch his breath.
With his face covered, it's easier to concentrate on things that aren’t the elements doing their best to send both him and Cas tumbling to their deaths (well, Dean’s death, Cas is pretty hardy, he might well survive) like the feel of Cas’ sinewy muscles moving powerfully under Dean as he pulls them steadily downwards, back towards the ground. Cas isn’t much bigger than Dean and his body is certainly leaner but, in spite of that, he’s infinitely stronger, able to lift anvils and crash through stone walls.
Flying down the mountain would be faster, but the storm would make that a dangerous and almost certainly fatal misadventure. Besides, Dean has never been keen on flight, much to the endless amusement of Cas, who likes nothing better than swooping through the air hundreds of feet above the ground. Dean will fly with Cas if he has to, but if it's his choice, he’ll pick basically any other mode of transport. He knows that Cas would often prefer to use his wings to get places, but, while he does tease Dean every now and again about his aversion, he never complains about Dean tethering him to the ground.
Suddenly, Cas freezes, his muscles tensing up under Dean. He’s about to ask what’s wrong when he feels it; he thought the storm was bad before, but he can physically feel it picking up, trying to prise them off the side of the mountain like a limpet from a rock. Cas’ wings go from loosely draped around Dean’s legs to locked up tight, almost cutting off his circulation. All the same, Dean’s grateful—the slightly painful clench is far better than being swept up in a hurricane and ending up either falling to his death or being dashed against the mountain face.
Dean’s suspected from the start that this storm might not be wholly natural, but now he’s sure. There’s a feeling around them, an extra spark that can’t just be attributed to natural energy. He’s sure Cas can feel it, taste it in the air. He once tried to explain to Dean about the power a dragon can have over their home, about how their magic infuses with the land around them, making them capable of feats that human witches can only dream of. And, now that the dragon master over this mountain is dead, its magic is taking its revenge on its murderers as it dissipates.
Dean’s follow-up to Cas’ (overly complicated, in his opinion) explanation of a dragon’s connection to their home, had been to ask Cas why he doesn’t settle back down somewhere, put down metaphorical and magical roots, and make a life for himself that doesn’t involve near-death hunts and annoying humans. In answer, Cas had given him that tiny enigmatic smile, blue eyes gleaming like a pair of the gems so beloved by his kind as he looked at Dean.
“Maybe I’m just different.” He had shrugged, and then his smile had slipped as he added, speaking like he was quoting someone, “A ‘freak’.” His clawed fingers rose, curving around the words for emphasis.
Dean had scoffed, ignoring the uncomfortable way his insides seemed to squirm as Cas trained his rich blue eyes on Dean again. “Don’t talk like that. Besides, even if you are a freak,” he knocked his shoulder against Cas’, “you’re my freak.”
Eventually, the storm begins to lose power again—the magic must be losing either power or focus without something to conduct it. Cas starts crawling across the mountain again, his pace slower and his head swishing from side to side as he surveys what's ahead. All Dean can do is hold on—he’s pretty much useless at the moment, just dead weight on Cas’ back. They can’t even really communicate right now, so Dean has to trust Cas to make the right decisions. He does, of course; after what he and Cas have been through together, he trusts him with his life.
When Cas begins moving sideways rather than downwards, Dean just holds on tighter, his legs squeezing around Cas’ body and his arms wrapping around Cas’ neck, careful to keep his grip loose enough to avoid choking Cas—in his experience, don’t strangle the designated flyer is a good rule to live by.
He doesn’t see the gap in the rocky cliff until it almost takes his head off as Cas crawls inside. He ducks down and waits until he feels Cas stop moving before raising his head again cautiously.
Cas’ scales glow softly, illuminating the small space. The sound of the wind outside is muted, and, when he looks back the way they came, Dean can just make out the narrow slit in the stone walls of the cave. It’s probably nearly invisible from the outside, he’s surprised and impressed that Cas managed to find it.
The wings clamped around his leg ease and Dean takes it as a signal that it’s safe to dismount. He slides off Cas’ back and onto the ground, his boots hitting rock with a dull thud. Cas tucks his wings back around himself once Dean’s out of the way and plonks himself down on the ground like a giant cat (although if he ever made that comparison out loud he’s pretty sure Cas would drop him off a cliff), all four of his legs folded primly under him and his tail swishing across the ground slowly.
He looks up once he’s situated and Dean is suddenly caught in his hypnotising gaze. The outside world fades away as Dean stares back at Cas, unable to look away from his beautiful blue eyes, which are just as bewitching in either of his forms.
“I guess it was getting pretty dangerous out there, huh?” Dean says. “Probably best if we wait out the storm for a bit.”
Cas nods and then thumps his tail against the ground at his side. Dean grins.
“Yeah, okay,” he says. He undoes his sword belt and lets it drop to the ground as he moves to sit down against Cas, his back pressed against Cas’ torso.
Cas’ tail flops across Dean’s legs, heavy and warm like a thick blanket. Dean can feel the heat of Cas’ body through his armour and thick cloak as well, warming him up again after so long outside in the storm. He grins and pulls one of his gloves off, setting it on the ground next to him before he begins stroking Cas’ tail, the scales smooth and tough against his calloused palm. Cas sighs and rests his head on the ground next to Dean, his eyes closing slowly. A low purr fills the cave and Dean feels a swell of affection in his chest as he looks down at his best friend in the whole world.
“Thanks, Cas,” he says quietly.
A scaly eyelid flicks open. If he was in his human form, Dean thinks Cas would be quirking an eyebrow at him, a wry smile on his lips.
“I’m serious, buddy. Thank you. For everything.” There’s something about being enclosed in the tight confines of the cave that makes it very easy to spill his guts.
There’s always been a lot unspoken between the two of them—Dean sometimes forgets that Cas isn’t human and therefore does not always understand human actions. Their kinds both express a lot of things very differently, and some things about humanity are completely alien to dragons. Dean’s ways of expressing affection have always been more focused on actions rather than words, and it's taken him a long time to figure out that Cas doesn’t always interpret the things Dean does in the ways he means them.
They’ve gotten better—Cas has figured out more about humans and Dean in particular, while Dean makes more of an effort to tell and not just show, but it’s still difficult for both of them. Still, Dean knows that Cas is worth it, and he hopes Cas feels the same about him.
“How long do we wait?” Dean asks, more to fill the silence than because he wants to know the answer. Cas’ other eye cracks open and he gives Dean a look dripping in irritated sarcasm—Well, I would tell you, but currently I don’t have the ability to speak any language you’d recognise. Dean laughs and gives the tail in his lap a pat. “Sorry, sorry. I know, I’m an idiot. You’ve saddled yourself with a moron.”
Cas’ tail slaps against his legs and his eyes turn reproachful—he doesn’t like Dean putting himself down for his intelligence, which he always insists is greater than Dean gives himself credit for.
“Sorry,” Dean says again, slightly more serious this time. Cas huffs in response before closing his eyes again. Dean leans back against Cas’ body and shuts his eyes as well, focusing on the sound of Cas’ breathing and the rise and fall of his chest against his back.
The two of them have shared vigils like this before, guarding over high-profile prisoners or precious treasures, or keeping watch, waiting for an opportunity to strike or simply noting down comings and goings as they plan an attack on a castle or fortress. Sometimes Cas will be human-shaped, capable of answering back verbally to Dean’s quips (or, more often than not, simply choosing not to dignify Dean’s stupid jokes with responses) and other times it’s like this, with Dean jabbering on without really needing anything to be said back. He knows Cas well enough by now to know what he’d probably say or figure out the meaning behind his non-verbal answers.
Dean absentmindedly strokes his hand across Cas’ tail as he reclines against him, waiting for Cas to tell him when it's safe to leave. All he can really judge is the strength of the storm, but Cas can feel the magic behind it and will be able to tell when it starts to wane. Dean’s command of magic has never been particularly good, unlike Sam, who is heralded as one of the strongest and most skilled witches of the age.
It’s pretty unbelievable that, of all the humans, Cas chose to attach himself to one like Dean. Knights are revered in their own way, but usually, when a magical creature chooses a human to work with, they partner with witches or rulers or academics. Dragons pairing with humans is almost unheard of, except in myths and fairytales. Most dragons now stick to guarding their own realms, avoiding most other creatures except the ones they can use for food. Every now and again, one will cause some trouble, but, for the most part, they keep out of the way and to themselves.
Dean met Cas when he stumbled into the valley that he later discovered was Cas’ territory, injured from fighting a horde of demons. He was pretty out of it, but he remembers collapsing onto the ground, looking up one last time to see a long scaly face regarding him curiously, and then the next thing he knew, he was waking up in a cave. A soft red blanket covered in intricate embroidery that looked like it was worth more gold than Dean had ever seen was tucked with some care around him, keeping him cocooned in warmth. His armour, weapons and most of his clothes had been stripped away, leaving him in only his breeches, and his wounds were bandaged and slathered with some kind of salve.
Cas had appeared shortly after that in his human form, wearing nothing but a loose pair of pants which, in turn, left most of his inhuman features prominently displayed. Dean’s first thought had been, “Fuck, that dude is hot,” and then his second was, “Oh, hell, what the fuck is that thing and where’s my sword?” Fortunately (or so he’d thought at the time), the small knife he kept hidden inside his clothes was still there. He’d tried to stab Cas when he’d gotten close but the blade had bounced right off Cas’ scaled chest. Cas had just stared him down calmly before telling him to hold still while he looked over his injuries.
Despite their somewhat rocky start and Dean’s continued wariness, they had quickly warmed up to each other. Dean had been sad to leave when his wounds had finally healed. When he passed by the valley a few months later while on the search for a chimera, he’d decided to visit. Cas had been happy to see him again and, when Dean had mentioned the hunt he was on, had offered to accompany him. It was just supposed to be one hunt, but they kept finding excuses to stay together until they finally made their partnership official.
Their feelings for each other, however, have remained in the limbo of the unsaid. The thing is, Dean knows that Cas is amazing—he’s crazy smart, often unintentionally hilarious, and is beautiful in both his forms. Dean, however, is nothing special, just another nomadic knight wandering around looking for creatures to fight and people to save. He doesn’t deserve Cas and, one day, he’s afraid that Cas will work that out.
“Hey, buddy?” Dean blurts out, unable for once to keep his feelings inside. One of Cas’ eyes opens and he looks up at Dean expectantly. Dean swallows, considering the merits of just shutting up before saying, “You’re happy, right? I mean, with me. Doing this. ‘Cause, if you don’t want to…” He trails off when Cas snorts suddenly, his open eye narrowing incredulously. “What?” Dean says, defensive. “I just wanted to—”
This time Dean is cut off by Cas’ tail thumping gently against his chest before settling back in his lap. The dragon stares up at him, both eyes open again and incredulous as they bore into Dean’s soul. Dean rolls his eyes in response.
“Don’t give me that look, it’s a fair question. I wouldn’t exactly call hunting down monsters and sheltering in caves fun.” Cas just stares steadily at him until Dean relents with a sigh. “Okay, buddy, I get it. Sorry I brought it up.”
Cas sniffs at him and butts his head against Dean’s thigh, eyes crinkling at the corners playfully. That’s how Dean knows they’re okay.
Once the storm lessens somewhat, the rest of the climb down goes pretty smoothly. They even manage to fly the last leg of the journey, much to Dean’s chagrin and Cas’ glee. (Cas roars in delight as the wind catches under his wings, buoying them up into the sky, while Dean hides his face against Cas’ back and tries to focus on anything but the fact that they are soaring hundreds of feet in the air.) Still, at least it means they get back on real, solid ground that much quicker.
From there, it's half a day’s walk back to the castle of their employer, Celeste, the Queen of Moondoor (who’s better known to her friends as Charlie). Cas stays in his dragon form, striding along on all fours beside Dean, answering Dean’s jabbering with grunts or narrow-eyed looks. Occasionally, out of the corner of his eye, Dean does catch Cas giving him softer, fonder glances, as he continues to talk to fill the quiet.
They don’t run into anyone until they start nearing Moondoor’s capitol. Cas gets a few looks as they enter the city, but the people of Moondoor are well used to creatures (hell, the Queen’s Consort, Gilda, is a fairy), so even a dragon doesn’t do much more than raise the occasional eyebrow.
Dean’s been to Moondoor enough that the palace guards recognise him immediately and hasten to guide him and Cas inside. An audience with Charlie and Gilda is quickly arranged (usually they would meet privately, but taking down a dragon is a big deal, and Charlie wants to celebrate that) and, before long, Dean and Cas find themselves standing in the grand hall of the palace, facing a pair of thrones set on a grand dais. Charlie looks down regally upon them, both her eyes and her gold crown gleaming. Tall pillars of white marble separate the interior from the palace gardens, which are filled with curious onlookers. More people fill the edges of the hall, although the space between the dais and Dean and Cas is left empty.
The murmurs from the audience fade as Charlie rises to her feet and gestures grandly towards Dean and Cas. Next to her, Gilda didn’t even try to hide her smile at her wife’s antics.
“Loyal subjects of Moondoor!” Charlie’s voice is magically amplified, Dean can feel the resonance of it as it booms throughout the hall. “The savage monster, the dragon Lucifer, hath been slain by our two intrepid heroes, Sir Dean Winchester of Lawrence and the dragon Castiel!” One of Gilda’s hands is pressed against her mouth as she tries to contain her laughter and Dean has to bite his lip not to snigger. Cas, meanwhile, remains silent and solemn at his side. “People of Moondoor, please join me in expressing gratitude for Sir Dean and Castiel, heroes of Moondoor!”
Cheers and applause immediately rise up from the crowd. Dean forces himself to remain impassive and tries to ignore the feeling of a blush spreading across his face at the celebration around him. He’s never been good at accepting praise, especially when he doesn’t feel he really deserves it—he’s just a guy doing a job, after all—and usually manages to escape before he gets stuck doing anything like this.
Which is probably why Charlie’s doing it—Dean’s really gonna have to think of a way to get her back.
And, of freaking course, after Charlie’s made Dean go tomato-red, she announces that they’re going to host a ball in his and Cas’ honour. The scowl Dean shoots at her from across the hall is met with an imperious wave coupled with a smirk.
“I hate you,” Dean groans an hour later as he enters the ballroom with Charlie.
She’s changed into a long green dress with leaf and vine patterns stitched across it and that, combined with her crown and the powerful magic aura around her that even Dean can feel, makes her bewitching. Dean, on the other hand, has nothing to wear but his usual clothes and armour (although Charlie has used a bit of magic to make both more presentable) so he’s sure he must still look as rough as he usually does, nothing like other attendants, all dressed to the nines in their fanciest clothes and most expensive jewellery.
Charlie guides him through the crowd, expertly dodging a couple of people and joining in conversations and introducing Dean to others—Lady Baum (who insists on being called Dorothy) shares a couple of tales from her travels which turn out to be really interesting in exchange for some stories about Dean’s adventures, and a young witch, Kevin, accompanied by his mother, the great mage Linda Tran, turns out to be a friend of Sam’s. Dean realises after a particularly animated conversation with Dorothy and a couple of her associates from the Men of Letters (Lord Ketch and Lady Bevell are imperious and dull, but Sir Mick turns out to be rather interesting) that he is actually having fun.
He’s in the middle of a debate with Lord Frank Deveraux—who believes in some seriously wacky stuff that even Dean, who’s fought three-headed monsters and has a dragon for a best friend and a witch for a brother, seriously doubts is true—when Charlie appears at his elbow and grabs his arm.
“Excuse me!” she says brightly, giving Lord Deveraux a grin as she tugs Dean away. “Just need to borrow Sir Winchester for a second!”
Dean doesn’t have time to even say a quick see you later to Frank before he’s propelled away by Charlie (she’s incredibly strong for being so small).
“Hey, where’s the fire, Red?” he asks.
Charlie ignores him, still intent on dragging Dean through the crowd. Finally, she comes to a stop and turns to him with a triumphant grin that Dean doesn’t see, because all he can focus on is Cas, all dressed up in a perfectly tailored suit that makes his eyes even more captivating than usual. The material is a deep blue colour, making his eyes look even more vibrant and drawing even more attention to the blue scales creeping up his neck and spreading lightly across his cheeks and the short blue horns jutting out of his waves of slightly curly dark hair. He looks beautiful and otherworldly and Dean can hear his heartbeat thumping in his ears.
He jumps when Charlie gives him a light shove. She just winks in response to the look he gives her.
“Go get ‘im, tiger,” she tells him before giving him another push towards Cas.
Dean stumbles forward awkwardly. Cas, who had been hovering beside a table laden with food, looks over and smiles when their eyes meet. Dean grins back before taking a few more steps in Cas’ direction. Cas meets him halfway. Dean can see his tail trailing behind him, swishing across the floor.
“Hey,” Dean says.
“Hello, Dean,” Cas replies.
“You, er, you look very nice,” Dean said. Up close, silvery embroidery glitters on his cuffs and around his collar.
“Oh, thank you,” Cas says, cute and earnest enough to make Dean’s heart flutter. “You do as well.”
Dean feels himself blushing as Cas stares at him unblinkingly, his lips curled upwards in the most adorable little smile.
“Okay, everyone!” Charlie’s voice, magically magnified through the ballroom, makes Dean jump again. “Find yourself a partner, it’s time for some dancing!”
The low hum of polite chatter is immediately drowned out as the music rises in volume. Dean and Cas stand off in their corner and both watch as people begin to move to the sides of the room, leaving the floor free as pairs begin to migrate towards the middle to dance. Charlie sends Dean another wink as she pulls Gilda towards the centre of the dancing couples.
Dean glances over at Cas and blushes when he finds him looking back, his head tilted slightly and a contemplative look in his beautiful eyes.
“Cas—”
“Dean—”
Both of them speak at once and then cut off with a chuckle. Cas smiles and gestures for Dean to continue.
Dean licks his dry lips and forces himself to maintain eye contact with Cas as he asks, “So, er, Cas, you wanna dance, maybe?”
“Of course, Dean,” Cas says graciously, like Dean didn’t just stutter through asking him for a dance like a nervous teenage girl.
Cas’ hand is warm when he takes Dean’s, the scales on his palm hard and smooth. His grip is firm, reminding Dean of his immense strength, but Cas is gentle as he pulls Dean towards the dancefloor. They stick to the edges rather than heading to the centre (probably for the best—they’re both coordinated enough that they’re not bumping into anyone or stepping on any feet, but it’s probably pretty obvious they have no idea what they’re doing).
After some awkward shuffling and covert looking around to see what other people are doing, Dean takes one of Cas’ hands before guiding the other to his shoulder. Cas follows along placidly, trusting Dean to guide him as they begin to move in a vague circle. The music picks up a bit, but Dean and Cas stay at the same pace. Cas’ smile lights up his entire face, filling up Dean’s world in the best possible way.
“This, uh…” Dean coughs awkwardly. “This is kind of fun, right? You having a good time, Cas?”
Cas tilts his head as he seriously considers the question and melts Dean’s heart in the process. “Yes, Dean, I think I am.” He leans forward, his forehead brushing against Dean’s. “You know how I appreciate our time together.”
Dean rolls his eyes, ruining the effect with a warm, affectionate chuckle and his hand squeezing Cas’. “That’s so fucking cheesy, Cas.”
“That doesn’t make it any less true,” Cas says.
Dean loves him. It’s not some big revelation (hell, it’s not even a new revelation, he’s known for ages) but the way it hits him, just then, as they move together in sync, Cas beautiful and warm and happy, quickly overwhelms him, a wave crashing over him and knocking him to the ground.
Some of what Dean’s feeling must show on his face—well, that, or Cas has been lying whenever Dean accused him of being psychic in the past—because Cas squints at him, brow furrowing in concern.
“Is everything alright, Dean?” he asks. “If you’re uncomfortable—”
“God, no, it’s not that,” Dean says. “I’m… Oh, fuck it.”
He’s often imagined what it would be like to kiss Cas. Thousands of scenarios have gone through his mind on long, lonely nights or during boring vigils or lengthy journeys. Sometimes it would be gentle, a sleepy good morning kiss or an affectionate goodbye, other times he imagined something a bit more fiery, maybe after nearly being killed by some monster with the adrenaline still pumping or a sudden make-out session when their feelings finally bubble over.
In reality, it’s something in between—Dean brings their lips together abruptly, leaving no room for him to back out, but it mellows out considerably after that. After a second of confusion, Cas responds with enthusiasm, quickly taking control. His hand leaves Dean’s waist to cup his jaw and Dean lets himself relax into Cas’ sure hold.
When he pulls away, Cas’ eyes stay closed for a few seconds before fluttering open slowly, crystalline blue looking up at Dean again before his lips part, moist and inviting. There is nothing Dean wants more in that moment than to dive back in, but, now that Cas isn’t kissing him anymore, his brain is working double-time, piling thought after thought on him.
“So,” he says awkwardly, resisting the urge to make a run for it. His palms feel stupidly sweaty and he struggles to keep himself from stuttering. “Um… Yeah. Was that okay?”
Cas cracks a smile, the corners of his eyes wrinkling as it spreads across his face. He tugs Dean closer, wrapping his arms around his shoulders. His wings rise around them, hiding them from the prying eyes of the other ball attendants. He kisses Dean again, just a light peck on his mouth, chaste but with the promise of more to come. When he pulls back, his hand stays on Dean’s face, his thumb stroking lightly across his cheekbone.
“Yes, Dean,” he says, soft and solemn, with only the spark in his eyes betraying anything other than composure. “That was ‘okay’.”
The surprise air quotes crack Dean up (which, judging by Cas’ smile, was probably his intention). He bows his head, laughing a bit more than he normally would as the tension he was carrying releases. He hears Cas’ rumbling chuckle as well and the wings cocooned around the two of them brush lightly against his back.
“You’re such a dork,” he says once he’s composed himself.
Cas’ smile has to be one of the most beautiful things Dean has ever seen (and no, he’s not admitting to any bias). “You love it,” Cas teases.
Dean’s grin softens into a smile as he wraps his arms around Cas and pulls him close. “Yeah,” he murmurs against Cas’ mouth. “I really do.”
