Archive of Our Own

Castiel sits in the sun, his legs in the cool water up to his knees, surrounded by the familiar sounds of the farm. He revels in the warmth of the last summer days, knowing all too well that the approaching seasons will not give him many moments as pleasant as this. With his eyes hooded and his body relaxed, he watches the animals bustling about the yard.

He named all of them when he was younger; his father was against it, at first, but finally gave up and let Castiel do whatever he wanted. Right now, he can see Gadreel the horse nibbling at the short grass just beyond the fence; Rachel the cow is swaying her long tail while her youngest calf, Samandriel, milks her with his eyes closed. Just beside Castiel stands Hannah, his favourite duck. She slurps at the water he’s currently keeping his legs in, her long elegant neck bent over the trough he’s sitting on.

Castiel stands up, puts his shoes on, and then walks over to the edge of the trough to look down at the small yellow ducklings trotting around Hannah’s feet. He frowns when he doesn’t notice Hael anywhere.

“Hannah, where’s Hael?” he asks.

Hannah doesn’t answer, too busy drinking, just flaps her wings in what Castiel recognises as a shrug. He uses her to slide down to the ground, catching one of the ducklings–Inias, probably–to stay upright. The ducklings still can’t speak but they quack at him happily, trying to get his attention, but he shoos them off good-naturedly and goes to look for his favourite.

Hael is almost as small as he is–only a little bit taller since she has grown recently–and she’s been following Castiel since the day she was born. He’s surprised to find her alone in the corner of the barn, hidden beneath the pile of hay.

“Hael,” he coos at her and gets inside her tiny nest. He pats her soft yellow down feathers and notices she’s trembling. “What’s wrong?”

Hael squeaks quietly. Castiel gets out of the hay and immediately spots a big orange cat sitting on one of the wooden beams above their heads.

Castiel sighs and puts his hands on his hips while the cat stares at him with its hazel eyes.

“Gabriel,” he scolds. “You have to stop chasing the ducklings. One day you’ll scare them to death!”

The cat yawns lazily and closes his eyes, his long fluffy tail swaying behind him. Castiel rolls his eyes and turns to Hael, who is now peeking at him from under her hay.

“You can come out now,” Castiel assures and then helps the duckling go outside to her mother and siblings, all the while shooting meaningful glances at Gabriel.

The other days on the farm don’t differ much from this one. He helps as much as he can, considering his size (he still prides himself on the fact that he used to be smaller when his father found him in the newly blossomed flower a few years ago–now he’s almost exactly the size of a human thumb). He tends to the smaller animals, cleans all the places his father can’t reach, reads out the recipes from his father’s cookbook when they cook together. He tries to teach Gabriel to talk (he still doesn’t know why he’s able to understand every animal on the farm except for the cat; maybe Gabriel is just too lazy to speak?) He learns to knit, trying to use a normal-sized needle at first and then looking for whatever smaller substitutes he can think of: pine needles, wooden splinters, thumbtacks. He listens to his father’s stories and reads a lot, especially in the evenings.

The last evening of summer finds him in his small bed made out of the nutshell, his head hanging outside of it to look at the pages of the book lying on the table just beside the shell. He has stopped reading some time ago and is now gazing at the colourful picture drawn in the middle of the text. It shows a couple of smiling people, a man and a woman, both with gold crowns on their heads, wearing clothes decorated with shiny little rocks.

A small sigh escapes Castiel’s mouth as he reaches out to turn the page. Gabriel, sprawled in his usual spot by the wall, opens one of his eyes to look at him.“It’s nothing,” Castiel says. “Just… look at them.” He points to the couple on the next page, this one with a tiny child sitting in the woman’s arms. “They look really happy.”

Gabriel purrs instead of answering.

“Yes, I know. We’ve talked about it before,” Castiel sighs. “They’re human. They’re normal. I’m not.”

Gabriel turns around to face the wall. Castiel rests his cheek on his hands, eyes still glued to the picture.

He shouldn’t be thinking about this, but he can’t help it. He feels small and insignificant and it doesn’t matter that his father doesn’t think about him that way–it still doesn’t change the fact that Castiel is lonely. Of course, he has his family and he would die for them–any of them, even for Gabriel–in an instant, but… they’re not like him.

Sometimes Castiel wonders if he’s the only little person in the whole world.

Some time later, his father comes to his room to blow out the candle and wish him a good night. He closes Castiel’s book and places it on the pile in the corner. Then he touches the top of Castiel’s head with a pad of his finger.

“Remember what I always tell you, Castiel,” he says gently.

Castiel closes his eyes and burrows deeper into his bed. “I know, I know,” he mutters.

His father repeats it, anyway, even though Castiel knows it by heart already. “Don’t ever wish to be anything but what you are.”

Castiel falls asleep and dreams of small people.

❧❧❧

Dean can’t believe they gave him a white butterfly.

“Can you believe it?” he asks his brother because, seriously, what were his parents even thinking?

“You’re overreacting,” Sam says without taking his eyes off his book.

Dean throws his hands in the air. “I’m overreacting? They want me to ride a white butterfly, Sam! I’m a prince, not some princess!”

“See?” Sam glances at him, eyebrows raised. “That’s what I call overreacting. So what if it’s a butterfly? It won’t kill you to ride something else once in awhile.”

“Are you saying Baby’s not good enough?” Dean glowers at his younger brother. “You know dad used to have a bee just like Baby, right? I’ve never heard of him riding a freaking butterfly!”

“Just admit you’re afraid it’ll hurt your manly feelings and get over it.”

Dean can feel himself blushing but he tries to hide it by putting a helmet on his head. “That’s bullshit. I don’t care about… about… My feelings are okay, thank you very much.”

“You just said you’re a prince, not a princess,” Sam remarks calmly. “As if being a princess was something worse.”

Dean shakes his head. “You just don’t get it.”

“Oh, I get it. I just hope you will, too, one day.”

Dean huffs and doesn’t answer, just reaches for his sword and straps it to his belt.

“Where are you going?” Sam asks after a moment, finally putting his book down.

“Out,” Dean retorts.

“The Golding starts in an hour,” Sam says, surprised.

“You can go and replace me if you love butterflies so much,” Dean grumbles and heads towards the door.

“You know I can’t do that. You’re the older son, the crown prince. You’re the one that’s supposed to take part in the ceremony!”

Dean throws his brother one last look over his shoulder. Sam is four years younger than him but certainly doesn’t look so–he’s almost a head taller than Dean and still keeps growing. His wings are bigger now, too, but Dean pretends it doesn’t bother him.

“You know I hate these things, Sam,” Dean says finally.

Sam’s eyes soften and he breathes out loudly. “I know.”

Dean hesitates only for a moment. “And you know I don’t really think princes can’t ride butterflies, right? Even if they’re white. I just…”

“I know.” Sam grins at him. “Nothing’s better than Baby.”

“Damn right.” Dean smiles back. “Tell mom I’m sorry for skipping again. I’m sure they’ll let you go instead of me.”

Sam rubs his neck. “I kind of like The Golding of the Leaves.”

Dean snorts. “I know you do, you big sap.”

Sam throws a pillow at his head but Dean’s already out of the room, chuckling quietly.

It’s the first day of autumn. For every other fairy, it’s a day of celebration: eating, drinking, dancing, and generally having fun. But Dean’s not every other fairy–he’s been lucky enough to be born into a royal family and, as a prince, he’s supposed to accompany his parents in every stupid ritual they take part in. And they take part in a lot of rituals.

He’s endured this for the most part of his life, but recently he’s been having a particularly hard time fulfilling his princely duties. He’s not sure why, but he feels there’s something lacking in his life, something other than bowing to the fairies of the court and wearing a gold crown on his head. Call him ungrateful, but he’d be really glad if he could just pass his title to his brother. Sam already looks as if he was older, why can’t he be the crown prince? Dean just doesn’t feel good enough and he has a feeling he wouldn’t be a good king, anyway.

Besides, Baby would sulk for days if she knew he rode a butterfly, of all things.

He finds her where he left her, just outside the palace garden, her reins hanging loosely by her furry sides; she would never leave without him anyway. She buzzes loudly when she notices him and he smiles.

“Ready for another adventure?” he asks when he climbs her. He pats her head, careful not to touch her feelers; she hates it when someone does it. He doesn’t even have to say anything; she takes off and flies into the dusky air, taking speed with every tremble of her glassy wings.

He wouldn’t trade his bumblebee for anything.

They fly around mindlessly and Dean loses any sense of time, admiring the views around them. He notices some of the leaves have already changed their colours into beautiful autumnal browns and golds and he steers Baby in the other direction, not wanting to meet his parents just yet.

When the night falls completely, they land on a wooden windowsill of a small cottage somewhere beyond the Vale. The Goldening should be over soon and Dean could head home to finally face his parents, but there’s quite a distance between the palace and where he is right now so he lets his bee rest for a moment while he searches for something to eat in the small bushes by the house. He finds a few red wild strawberries and bites into them, careful not to trample the delicate roots.

When he feels full and well-rested, he flies up to the windowsill only to find his bumblebee missing.

❧❧❧

Castiel wakes up when he hears a loud buzzing.

He sits up in his bed and rubs his eyes, pulled out of his dream and a little confused. Then he hears the buzzing again, this time accompanied by a loud thud, and he looks at the window.

There’s a big insect currently headbutting the glass, trying to get out but failing. Castiel stifles a laugh and gets out of bed, then crosses the small shelf that connects his table with the windowsill and goes over to inspect his new guest.

“Oh, you’re a bumblebee,” he says when he finally gets closer. A smile tugs at the corners of his lips when he looks up at the fat furry bee. “Let me help you, okay?”

He notices a small gap where the window has been left half-open and goes over to push the window a bit farther. The bumblebee seems to spot him and flies down onto the sill.

“Hello,” Castiel says, mesmerised. He’s always felt a strong affection towards bees, not really sure why, and he doesn’t hesitate before reaching out to pet the insect’s head.

He stops mid-air when he hears a loud shout.

“Don’t touch her!”

He looks up, alarmed, but all he can see is the flurry of gold and green and then there’s something flying down on his head and standing between him and the bee. Castiel backs away a few steps and covers his face from the weird bright dust that blows into his eyes. It takes him a good few seconds to recover and then he lowers his hands.

There, right in front of him, stands a man. He has light brown hair and pale skin and he’s wearing a green robe that shines whenever he moves and a pair of tight dark pants. He is holding a sharp sword in his right hand, currently pointed at Castiel, and there are two pairs of glorious wings behind his back.

What is more important, he’s almost Castiel’s size.

They stare at each other for what feels like forever. Castiel can’t breathe; his eyes take in the man’s sight as if he was to vanish into thin air at any second. He stares at him, at his clothes, at his sword, at the golden dust floating all around him. At his wings.

Then, finally, the man moves. He lowers his sword and smiles and Castiel thinks he’s dreaming–the smile is beautiful.

“Sorry,” the little man says, eyes never leaving Castiel’s face. “I thought you wanted to hurt my Baby.”

“Your baby?” Castiel croaks.

The man gestures to the bumblebee behind his legs. “My bee.”

Castiel blinks. “I only wanted to help it.”

“Her,” the man corrects. “It’s a she.”

“Oh. Alright.” Castiel takes a tentative step forward. “She got stuck behind the glass and I just wanted to let her out.”

“I get it,” the man says. “Sorry for scaring you. I guess I… overreacted.” He smiles, as if remembering something, and then he returns his sword to its place under his belt. “Who are you?”

Castiel stops and tilts his head. “I should be the one asking this. This is my house.”

The man looks around and nods. “Fair point. I’m Dean,” he says and offers him his hand.

Castiel stares at it for a few seconds, then steps closer, takes it in his hand and shakes, just as he’s seen his father do sometimes. He’s not sure how long he’s supposed to hold it, though, so he looks up at Dean questioningly.

Dean arches his brows but doesn’t let go of his hand. “And you are…?”

“Castiel.” He decides it’s lasted long enough and takes his hand back. Then he hears Dean laugh.

“Castiel? What kind of name is that?” he asks, clearly amused.

“Excuse me?” Castiel narrows his eyes at him.

“Oh. Sorry. I mean, wow, what a beautiful name! It’s perfect, really.”

Castiel is still frowning, but he lets it go, still not really sure what to make of Dean. He glances at his wings again and clears his throat.

Before he can say anything, Dean sneezes loudly, bending in half and shooting up a cloud of gold dust right into Castiel’s face again. Castiel wants to tell him off for that, but then he notices Gabriel standing just behind Dean and he freezes.

“What the…” Dean looks up at Castiel apologetically. “I’m sorry, man, I don’t know what–”

Gabriel moves closer and curiously touches one of Dean’s wings with his nose.

Dean spins around and screams. The cat screws up his eyes and reaches out his paw.

“Gabriel, stop,” Castiel protests loudly and starts towards them, but Dean finally manages to recover and he pulls out his sword to point it right at Gabriel’s face.

“Step away, you filthy creature!” he says while Gabriel squints at the tiny needle sword in front of his eyes. “Get back, Castiel, I got this…”

“No, you don’t,” Castiel says and puts his hand on Dean’s arm to lower it. Dean tries to protest but Castiel glares at him. “This is my cat! You are not allowed to threaten him.”

Dean gawks at him, lips parted in surprise. “Your cat?”

“Yes.” Castiel tries very hard not to roll his eyes at him and then turns to the cat. “You’re not filthy, Gabriel. Don’t listen to him.”

Gabriel meows loudly and continues to stare at Dean, his paws moving slowly towards them.

Castiel lets go of Dean’s arm and steps in front of him to shield him from the cat. “Hey, hey. It’s okay. You can go back to sleep. He’s my friend.”

It takes Gabriel a good few moments, but he finally decides Dean isn’t worth a fight. He meows one more time and turns away, sweeping his tail over Dean’s face when he leaves.

Dean sneezes.

“Who on earth would want to keep this… this creature inside a house?” he wonders out loud.

Castiel turns to him and frowns. “Probably not a person that sneezes and leaves glitter whenever a cat comes closer.”

“Hey! It’s not my fault!” Dean protests. Castiel notices the points of his ears go pink. “And it’s not glitter!”

“Of course. Whatever you say.” Castiel shrugs.

“It’s fairy dust!”

Castiel wants to say that it doesn’t really sound any better, at least in his opinion, but he concentrates on something else instead. He swallows and looks straight into Dean’s blushing face.

“So… you’re a fairy.”

Dean blinks. “Yeah.” His eyes dart towards Castiel’s back, where his wings should be visible. “Yeah, I’m a fairy. Obviously.”

Castiel waits for a question, but it doesn’t come. So he asks, “Obviously? I have never met a fairy before. I wasn’t even sure you really exist.”

Dean grins at him. “Aww. You have no faith, Castiel. That’s your problem.”

“I’ve only read about your kind in books. How could I believe in that?”

“Well, humans are in books, too. Do you believe in them?”

Castiel says, “Of course I do. My father is a human, I don’t need books to know that.”

Dean once again looks as if he wanted to ask something, but he just shrugs instead. “Like it or not, fairies are real.”

“Are there many of you?” Castiel asks.

Dean rubs his neck. “Whew, man. I don’t know. I guess? I don’t really know about the fairies around the world, but there are quite a lot of us here, in the palace.”

“And do… do all of you have wings?” Castiel asks, taking a small step forward.

Dean looks for Castiel’s wings but still can’t find them and then… there it is. He frowns and comes closer, too. “Yes, we do. We have wings. But… who are you?”

Castiel shakes his head sadly. “I’m Castiel.”

“Yeah, I know that. I mean, what are you?”

Castiel looks away, trying to escape Dean’s piercing gaze. “I don’t know. I’m just Castiel.”

“But… you’re little,” Dean says, surprise in his voice.

“Thank you for noticing. Yes, I’m little.”

“But you don’t have wings.”

Castiel tries to raise his shoulders in what is supposed to resemble a shrug, but he’s suddenly too tired to do it properly. “I never have.”

Dean moves and tries to catch Castiel’s eyes again. Castiel turns away from him.

“You said your father’s a human. How’s that possible? Where are you from? How old are you?” Dean questions. He grabs Castiel’s arm to stop him from escaping and Castiel finally gives up and glances at him.

“I don’t know, Dean. I don’t know the answers,” he says quietly.

Dean lets go of his arms and straightens up. “Huh. That’s weird.”

Castiel blinks and drops his gaze again, but Dean immediately grabs his shoulder.

“No, no! I don’t mean bad weird. I mean good weird.” Dean explains hurriedly. “It’s weird but interesting. You’re interesting.”

Castiel looks up at him shyly. Dean’s face is the same lovely shade of pink again, but he keeps talking.

“I’ve just never met anyone so small without wings. All the fairies I know have wings. And… and… fairy dust, of course, and the whole shebang. And I know humans just… don’t have that. And you’re like… you’re like a fairy but also like a human. It just doesn’t make sense.”

Castiel sends him a small smile. “I’m sorry to disappoint, Dean.”

Dean’s eyes widen. “What? No! God, no, you’re not disappointing! You’re the opposite of disappointing. I wish my brother could see you. He would geek over you so hard. Read all old books we have to learn more about you.”

“You have a brother?” Castiel asks, trying to steer the conversation away from himself. He’s not sure if he should feel sad or flattered by Dean’s fascination with him.

Dean smiles. “Yeah. His name’s Sam. He’s four years younger than me.”

“Do you have any other siblings?”

“Nah. Just me and Sam. And, well, my mom and dad. And the court, of course, but, er… Yeah. There’s just the four of us, yes.” Dean averts his eyes for a second and his hand slips off Castiel’s shoulder. Only now does Castiel realise it’s been there for this whole time.

“I wish I had siblings,” Castiel says. Dean looks back at him and Castiel notices the way the moonlight is reflected in his green eyes. “I mean, I love my family. I love my father and Gabriel. Gadreel is really interesting to talk to and Hannah is like a mother to me, sometimes…”

Dean grins. “That sounds like a lot of humans.”

“Ah. No.” Castiel chuckles. “They’re animals. Well, all except my father.”

Dean tilts his head. “You can talk to animals?”

Castiel nods. “To those who are old enough to speak, anyway. Oh, and Gabriel still doesn’t talk to me. I think he’s too lazy.”

Dean looks positively impressed. “I swear to God, Cas, you’re the weirdest little person I’ve ever met.”

Castiel blinks at the diminutive but doesn’t say anything. Dean must misunderstand his silence because he adds, “And I mean that in a positive way. Really.”

“Thank you.” Castiel smiles at him. “You’re the weirdest fairy I’ve ever met, too, Dean.”

They stare and smile at each other for a long time. Even in the faint moonlight coming through the window, Castiel is able to notice the splattering of tiny freckles all over Dean’s nose and cheeks. His fingers itch to reach out and touch them, but he refrains.

Then there’s a loud buzzing coming from behind them; they both turn to see the bumblebee fidgeting impatiently, her long shiny wings vibrating in the air.

“Ah. Baby,” Dean says, as if surprised to see his bee there. “She doesn’t like staying in one place too long,” he explains and glances at Castiel. “I guess I should go. I stayed much longer that I should have.”

Castiel nods and steps away, watching Dean go over to his bumblebee and grab her harness. He tugs her towards the window and looks at Castiel over his shoulder.

“It was nice to meet you, Cas,” he says and smiles.

Castiel wants to say something more, but it feels out of place, considering he has met Dean only half an hour ago. So he repeats the sentiment and waits on the sill while Dean mounts his bee and takes off.

They fly above Castiel’s head in a circle and Castiel can’t help but laugh when a cloud of glitter covers him from head to toe. Dean grins at him.

“Maybe I’ll see you again,” he says. “Soon.”

“Maybe,” Castiel says, head tipped backwards and eyes never leaving Dean, even when he finally flies higher and higher and then disappears through the gap in the window.

❧❧❧

‘Soon’ happens a week later.

Castiel has already managed to partially convince himself it was all a dream–a strange, wonderful dream. If it wasn’t for the pile of golden dust he’d found the next morning and swept into a tiny hazelnut shell, he would certainly start to worry about his mental health. He hid the dust in the crack of the wall in his room and didn’t say anything about it to anyone, not even his father. He stayed up late on the first two nights but then persuaded himself to stop staring out the window and finally get a good night’s sleep.

But when he hears the familiar buzzing a week later, he’s out of the bed in a split of second. He rushes to the window and peers through it, standing on his tiptoes to see better.

Dean’s face appears right in front of him, on the other side of the glass, and Castiel falls back on his ass, startled.

He can hear Dean’s laugh while he lies on the sill, and then there’s glitter all around him and a hand grabs his elbow to get him to stand up again.

“Sorry,” Dean says, but he’s still laughing and doesn’t appear to be particularly apologetic.

Castiel glares at him and brushes glitter off his sleeve. “You’re so messy.”

Dean’s face goes red but he tries to look offended. “I can’t help it! It’s just the way I am. I can go if you don’t like it.”

Castiel smirks. “No, I guess you can stay.” He turns away but still catches a surprised expression on Dean’s face. He doesn’t wait for him, though, and runs over the shelf to his table, balancing on the edge in what he hopes is a graceful display of his skills.

When he stops by his bed and looks back, Dean’s right behind him, a wide smile on his lips. He’s wearing a different robe this time, the colour of late-autumn leaves, a pair of tight dark pants, and soft leather shoes. His hair is messier than last time and there’s a tiny twig just behind his ear. Castiel eyes it for a second, tempted to reach out and brush it off, but then quickly looks away.

“So, how’ve you been?” Dean asks. There’s a smile in his voice.

Castiel shrugs. “There isn’t much to tell, I’m afraid. It’s been only a week.”

Dean bites his lip and looks down for a moment, looking sheepish. “Yeah, about that. When I said ‘soon’, I really meant soon. I kinda wanted to come back the next night.” Castiel observes as Dean’s cheeks go a little red and he suddenly feels warm inside. “But, heh, my parents got mad for skipping the… this one thing I should’ve done… And it’s not like I’m still a child or something, I can decide for myself, you know, but they wouldn’t let me go anywhere. I mean, they actually took Baby away from me, can you believe it?”

Castiel smiles. “That must have been awful.”

“Damn right, it was! You don’t just go and… confiscate my Baby, you know? Even if you’re a ki… even if you’re my dad, I mean. That’s just not fair.”

Castiel nods. “That’s okay, Dean. I get it.”

Dean beams at him. “Good.”

“And it’s not like we actually set a date,” Castiel continues. “We barely know each other. Our first meeting was just… a coincidence.”

Dean looks at him for a few seconds, his eyes serious. Then he nods. “Right. Yeah. Coincidence.”

“Oh, no, I don’t mean it like that,” Castiel says, seeing Dean’s awkward smile. “I’m glad you’re here. I would really like to get to know you better.” He knows he’s blushing, but he keeps on talking anyway. “Well, simply because you’re the first fairy I’ve ever met. And the first little person. And I’ve always thought, well… I’ve been worried I’m actually the only one, and that I would never meet anyone like me. So… I’m really glad you’re here. Really.”

Dean stares at him for a while, and then they both look away and laugh awkwardly. So far, it’s not really going the way Castiel has imagined it would, but at least now he’s sure that Dean is real. And even if today is the last time he gets to see him, at least he will know he’s not all alone.

“So.” Dean clears his throat and looks around. “Is this your bedroom?”

Castiel shrugs. “You could call it that. It’s a bit too big for me, but yes, it’s mine.”

Dean grins at him and then gestures to the nutshell behind Castiel’s back. “And that’s your bed?”

Castiel shuffles his feet, suddenly self-conscious about his unmade bed and the blue cotton pyjama he’s wearing.

“Uhm,” he hums noncommittally.

“Aw, man. It’s cute.” Dean goes over and sits at the edge of the nutshell only to almost fall down when it starts swaying. “Ahh! It’s also dangerous,” he comments and stands up.

“You’re just not doing it right,” Castiel says. “Where do you sleep?”

Dean rubs the back of his neck with his hand and avoids Castiel’s eyes. “We have these… Uhm. Beds.”

“What kind of beds?” Castiel asks and can feel himself smiling wider.

“Just… regular beds.” The tips of Dean’s ears start to get red again and Castiel can’t force himself to look away. “Normal beds, nothing fancy.”

Castiel chuckles. “They’re made of flowers, aren’t they?”

Dean’s eyes are wide and panicked when he finally looks at him. “No, they’re not. Why would you say that?”

His face is bright red now and there’s a cloud of dust floating to the ground whenever he moves. Castiel can’t help it any longer and laughs out loud.

“There’s no need to be ashamed, Dean,” he assures fondly. “I find it really fascinating.”

“You’re… fascinating,” Dean retorts and crosses his arms over his chest. “How did you know, anyway?” He still doesn’t meet Castiel’s eyes.

“I may have read some stories about fairies in the past week,” Castiel admits with a smile. “I’m not laughing at you, I promise. Please don’t be angry.”

“I’m not angry,” Dean grumbles. “I just feel stupid.”

“Don’t. I like it. I’d love to have a bed made of flowers.”

Dean raises his eyebrows skeptically. “You wouldn’t. They’re not even that comfortable.”

“But I bet they smell nice,” Castiel says. He thinks about the scent that seems to be following Dean and smiles, finally understanding where it comes from. He wants to compliment him on it, but he fears it’s too early for that, so he stays quiet.

“They’re not really flowers, though, just so you know,” Dean says. “We don’t live in freaking flowers. We have normal houses and normal beds, even if they’re small. And, well, kind of made of flowers.”

Castiel nods and then sits down on the table with his back to the spine of the book he’s been reading that evening before sleep. Dean seems to consider it for a while but then sits down beside him, too.

“You know, I was born in a flower,” Castiel says after a moment. He can feel Dean’s eyes on his face again, but doesn’t look back. “Or I think I was. My father had a flower once, he kept it in the house, on this windowsill.” He points to the sill in front of them. “He says he got the seed from some woman on the street. And then, one day, the flower blossomed and I came out of it. It was a few years ago.”

Dean is still looking at him. “Fairies are born out of flowers, you know,” he says quietly.

“Fairies have wings. I guess I’m just broken,” Castiel says.

Suddenly, Dean’s fingers brush against his jaw and he turns his face upwards so that Castiel finally looks up at him.

“You’re not broken,” Dean says. “And even if you are, I don’t care.”

Castiel’s skin burns where he can still feel Dean’s fingers. “I wish I had wings.”

Dean smiles and lets go of his chin. “Maybe someday you will,” he says.

❧❧❧

Dean pats down his hair and brushes off his clothes, irritated by the way the stupid yellow dust keeps floating around him. It seems to be getting out of hands these days, a literal path of dust trailing after his every step. Even his family has commented on the sheer amount of dust he seems to be producing nowadays.

He tries not to think about the fact that it’s getting way worse every time he’s around Cas.

He looks through the window, his fingers tangled in Baby’s soft fur, but he can’t see Cas anywhere. He focuses his gaze on his own reflection instead and winces. His hair is a bit too long and messy and there are dark bags under his eyes, probably the result of the lack of sleep in the last week. He smiles at that thought, though; he’s visited Cas every evening for the last seven days, sometimes staying long after midnight, and he can’t say he regrets it, tiredness be damned.

There’s something easy about spending time with Cas: the way they can talk and talk for hours, never running out of the conversation topics. Cas tells him about his everyday life, his father, and his animals; about the books he’s read and new things he’s learned. In return, Dean tells him about himself, his family, and, most often, about the traditional life of fairies. He still can’t bring himself to tell him he’s a prince, but it hardly matters, anyway–he’s sure Cas wouldn’t mind either way, no matter if he was a mere peasant or the richest fairy in the whole world. There’ve been times he almost confessed–like when he talks about the court and the palace or about his family’s duties as the monarchs and Cas looks at him in confusion, asking how he knew so much about it.

Maybe he’ll tell him one day, but right now it seems kind of too late to just barge in and say, ‘Oh, and guess what? I will be a king of the fairies one day.’

Baby’s buzzing pulls him out of his thoughts. He looks down and brushes his hand through her fur. “Go and have some fun, girl. It’s your evening off.” He chuckles to himself. “Again.”

Baby buzzes at him indignantly, her feelers swaying right in front of his face.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I promise you, we’re gonna spend some quality time together soon. Now get out.”

He watches as the bee flies away and disappears behind the cottage, and then he jumps and flies over to where he knows the gap in the window is. Pushing through isn’t difficult, but he’s careful not to rip his wings when they squeeze between his back and the wooden frame. After a few seconds, he’s finally inside and only a little out of breath.

He lands on the windowsill and looks around. The cat is nowhere to be seen, which is a plus–he won’t be sneezing so much again (last time Gabriel insisted on following Dean around for the whole evening and Dean experienced a little sneezing fit while Cas sat on the ground and laughed his tiny ass off). Dean marches along the shelf, hoping to spot Cas in any of his usual places: on top of the pile of books or behind an open one, engrossed in another story about humans and magic; on his little cotton sack full of beans, where he sometimes sits and listens to Dean talk about one thing or another; near the candle, where he tries to warm his hands if they’re cold.

But he’s not in any of those places. Frustrated, Dean flies around the room, angling his head to look for him, and then he looks at Cas’ bed and almost crashes into the wall.

He flies down and lands softly on the table just beside the nutshell. With a warm fuzzy feeling in his stomach, he leans over and sees Cas, asleep in his blue pyjama, one hand under his cheek, his lips parted in an inaudible snore. Dean chuckles and puts his hand on the shell to push it a little, but stops in the last second. Maybe he shouldn’t wake him? Dean knows he came a little later than usual, but Cas has been getting so little sleep recently. Dean stares at his face for a long moment, then sighs. He’ll just leave a note for him, in case he’s been waiting for Dean’s visit, and then go. He can always come back tomorrow.

With this decision in mind, he abruptly turns around and bumps his knee into the nutshell, consequently pushing it hard and making it sway.

Cas sits up in his bed, blue eyes open wide.

Dean laughs awkwardly and brushes his hand through his own hair. “Uhm. Hi. I wasn’t watching you sleep, I swear. I was just about to go.”

“Go where?” Cas asks, his voice heavy with sleep, and Dean’s throat goes a little dry.

“Well, I didn’t want to wake you so I just…” He gestures to the window.

Cas tries to get out of bed, but it’s still swaying dangerously and he loses his balance, falling back onto his pillow. Dean laughs and catches the shell to stop it.

“I’m awake now,” Cas says after finally standing upright on the table beside Dean.

Dean takes in his sleepy features, from the top of his head, where his dark hair is sticking hilariously in every direction, through his cheek with the pillow imprint, down to his feet with fluffy socks on, and then he laughs. Cas frowns and tries to scowl at him but it looks so ridiculous in his current state that Dean laughs even louder.

“You’re being messy again,” Cas complains grouchily, staring at the dust floating off of Dean and onto the table.

Dean’s face heats up. “How many times–”

“I know,” Cas says and smiles. “Not your fault.” He reaches out and brushes off the dust that covers Dean’s shoulder, a small smile still on his lips. “Did you know you smell like flowers?”

Dean’s a hundred percent sure his face has never been so red before. “What?” he croaks, embarrassed.

Cas looks up at him through his lashes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Dean’s feeling dizzy but decides it’s all sleepy Cas talking and lets it go, asking about Cas’ day instead. While Cas delves into the story about one of the ducklings getting trapped in the barn, Dean tries to concentrate on his words and stop thinking about the fact that, to him, Cas smells like late summer sun and warm hay.

Some time later, Cas seems to be fully awake again; he remembers about something and digs behind his books for a few moments. When he comes back, he’s carrying two perfectly round blueberries in his arms.

Dean grins and takes one from him. “Thanks.” When Cas sits by his side again and looks at him with smiling blue eyes, Dean tries to stifle the strange tingling in his chest and asks instead, “You trying to make me fat, Cas?”

Cas blinks at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. My father was making a blueberry pie today and I saved those two in case you were hungry.”

Dean’s about to bite into his fruit, but stops and looks curiously at Cas. “Blueberry pie?”

And that’s how Cas introduces him to the best human invention he’s ever heard of: pie. They sneak off to the kitchen and Cas shows him a big lump sitting in the middle of the table. Dean carefully lifts the heavy cloth covering the thing and is hit with one of the most amazing smells in the world. Cas laughs when Dean pushes the cloth away completely and just stares at the so-called pie for a full minute. Cas talks to him about things called ‘baking’ and ‘oven’ and ‘butter’ but Dean is barely listening, too enthralled with the feel of the pie beneath his hands.

“So… it’s edible,” he says finally.

Cas beams at him and then comes over to where Dean is standing. He leans over the pie and tears away a small piece of it.

“It’s called a crust,” he explains and hands it to Dean. “Try it.”

Dean eyes the thing in his hands, smells it, earning himself a laugh, and then simply pops it into his mouth. He’s barely aware of the loud moan that escapes his lips only a few seconds later.

“Wow,” he manages and tears another piece of the pie. “Man, this is delicious,” he says with his mouth full.

Cas is still laughing, a beautiful and vibrant sound, and then he hands Dean another crust piece, this time with something dark smeared on top of it. Dean raises his brows.

“You can put different fruit into a pie,” Cas says. Dean gets lost in the way his skin crinkles around his eyes when he’s smiling. “This is a blueberry pie.”

“Ah,” Dean mumbles, sending a spray of crumbs all around. Cas giggles, raises his hand, and feeds him the pie. Dean’s cheeks feel hot, especially when Cas’ finger touches his lips to wipe the remaining crumb off it.

They spend a lot of time in the kitchen, Dean stuffing himself with more and more pie and getting his hands dirty from the juice leaking out of its centre. He comments on the way Cas is now certainly trying to make him fat and Cas suddenly starts crying with laughter, pointing at Dean’s face. Dean wipes a hand over his lips and realises they must be as blue as his fingers now, so, in retaliation, he forces Cas to eat some pie, too.

They end up sprawled on the kitchen windowsill, looking through the window with their backs leaning on the pie pan and their faces covered with dark purple splotches of blueberry. It’s dark both in the kitchen and on the outside and Dean swears he can see tiny fireflies flying around Cas’ yard. He’d love to go out and watch them but Cas’ arm is warm against his arm and he actually can’t move because of all the pie he’s eaten.

He forces himself to get up only when he sees Cas yawn for the fifth time, then makes sure Cas gets into bed and leaves.

He’s suddenly very eager for tomorrow night.

❧❧❧

Castiel sits on the windowsill outside of his room with a thimble full of sweet tea in his hands. He’s certain that if his father saw him now, he’d probably scream and clutch at his heart, even though he rarely raises his voice. But his father is fast asleep in his bedroom and Castiel feels too charged to sleep himself.

The tea is hot and the thimble warms his fingers while the cold wind rushes through his hair and gets beneath his clothes. There are stars in the sky above him and Castiel wishes he knew more about them, but instead, he just looks and smiles when they blink at him.

After a while, he finally hears buzzing but forces himself to stay in the same spot.

Dean arrives on his bumblebee, lands inelegantly in the middle of the sill, and then tries to jump off her and take his little helmet off at the same time. He nearly falls down on his face and Castiel stifles a laugh.

Dean throws his helmet onto the sill and glares at Castiel.

“What are you laughing at?” he asks, voice sharp.

Castiel shrugs and hides his smile behind his thimble. Dean grunts and stands still for a moment, staring at Castiel with narrowed eyes, but when Castiel doesn’t look away, his features soften a little and he sighs.

“Ugh, I’ve had the worst day ever,” he groans and goes to sit beside Castiel, lifting his helmet off the sill on his way.

Castiel tilts his head. “Mine was quite pleasurable.”

Dean snorts. “Whatever. I don’t wanna hear about your day, you jerk. I wanna complain about mine.”

Castiel raises his eyebrows, unimpressed. Dean elbows him in the ribs.

“Shut up,” he mutters.

“I didn’t say anything,” Castiel replies and sips his tea.

“No, but your face did.” Dean looks over at him and squints. “What’re you drinking?”

“Raspberry tea.”

Dean makes a face and blows a raspberry, successfully sharing his opinion about Castiel’s tea. Castiel assumes it’s his turn to push an elbow into Dean’s ribs, so he does, earning himself a glare.

“Don’t torture me, Cas,” Dean moans and backs away. “Not you.”

Castiel eyes him carefully. “Are you ticklish?”

Dean pouts. “No.”

Castiel nods, then slowly puts his tea down and turns to Dean, a smile on his lips. “That’s good.”

Dean has no chance to defend himself before Castiel tackles him to the sill and sticks his fingers into Dean’s sides. Dean cries out and Castiel covers his mouth with one hand, afraid his father could hear them, but then Dean takes this opportunity and topples them over so that he has Castiel pinned to the sill by his wrists.

“Never do that again,” he orders.

Castiel tries not to smile, squinting to stop the golden dust from falling into his eyes. “Alright.”

Dean slowly lets go of his wrists, still wary of his every move, but then looks down and frowns, distracted.

“You’re not wearing your pyjama,” he comments and straightens up, although he stays in his spot on the sill, just beside Castiel.

“Congratulations on your amazing perceptiveness,” Castiel remarks without moving to get up.

Dean jabs his finger into his stomach. “You always wear your pyjama.”

“It’s a bit cold outside, in case you didn’t notice, and we’re currently outside.”

“You think you’re so clever today, don’t you? Snarky son of a bitch.” Dean turns away from him and then simply leans his back on Castiel’s drawn up legs. “Why are we sitting outside, anyway?”

Castiel shrugs and hums noncommittally, closing his eyes and letting Dean’s body heat warm his leg covered only with a thin fabric of his pants.

“Tell me about your bad day,” he says after a moment of silence.

He can feel Dean shifting beside him. “Eh, it was nothing. Just had a fight with my dad, that’s all.”

“What about?”

“Uhh. Nothing in particular, really. He just… he doesn’t like that I ‘keep avoiding my duties’, his words not mine, and that I should grow up and behave like a… Er, behave like...”

Castiel opens his eyes and lifts his head to look at Dean. “Behave like a prince?”

When Dean spins to look at him, his eyes are wide and a little bit panicked. “What?”

Castiel straightens up to sit beside Dean. “A prince, Dean. It’s quite an easy word, you know.”

Dean opens his mouth, then closes it only to open it again and finally stutter, “How long have you known?”

Castiel rolls his eyes. “A while. Since the first day, to be precise.” When Dean still doesn’t say anything and just stares at him, Castiel shakes his head. “I’m not sure whether I should be offended that you think of me as stupid or angry that you didn’t want to tell me anything.”

Dean rubs the back of his neck with his hand, a gesture Castiel has come to recognise as a sign of nervousness. “What about neither?” he asks bashfully.

Castiel sighs and looks away.

Dean leans towards him and tilts his head to catch Castiel’s eyes again. “I don’t think you’re stupid. And I wanted to tell you. I just didn’t know how.”

“How about, ‘I am a fairy prince’?” Castiel asks.

Dean groans. “I hate the sound of that. I just… I don’t feel like a prince, you know? That’s why I didn’t know how to tell you. I don’t want you to think of me as a prince because I’m not a prince, not really.”

Castiel frowns. “Isn’t your father a king? And aren’t you an older brother? That doesn’t only make you a prince, Dean, it makes you a crown prince.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Suddenly, Dean stands up and turns away from Castiel. “This is why I didn’t want to tell you. I knew you wouldn’t understand.”

Castiel gets up, too. “Why don’t you explain it to me, then?”

Dean throws his hands into the air. “I don’t wanna be a king, Cas! Not now and probably not ever. I don’t like ordering people around. I hate taking part in the royal rituals, I hate making small talk with fairies of the court. I hate formal clothes. I love my bee and I love flying around and doing nothing all day. I’m not interested in marrying a pretty princess and ruling the country.”

He pauses and Castiel wants to say something, but then Dean turns and looks at him.

“I’m not as brave as my dad, I’m not as patient as my mom. I’m not as wise as my younger brother. I’m just not good enough to be a king.”

Castiel presses his lips together and steps closer. “Don’t say that.”

Dean shrugs and looks away. “But it’s the truth.”

“No, it’s not.” Castiel puts his hand on Dean’s shoulder. “You may not want to be a prince, but you can’t say you’re not good enough. Dean, I’ve only known you for a few days but I can already say you’re all of these things you said about your family.”

Dean huffs. “Aw, come on, Cas. You don’t know it.”

“Maybe you can’t see it, yet,” Castiel says. “Maybe it’ll take some more time for you to see it, but I’m sure you will one day. I hope you do.”

Dean looks at him. They stay silent for a moment, but then Dean laughs awkwardly. “Gee, too much talking. Can we stop now?” he says.

Castiel shakes his head at him but smiles. “You’re impossible, Dean. But yes, we can, if that’s what you want.”

He turns away and bends to grab the tea that has gone cold. Before he can go inside, though, Dean asks, “What are you doing?”

Castiel looks at him over his shoulder. “I thought you didn’t want to talk to me anymore.”

Dean huffs out a laugh. “What? No! I just meant no talking about the prince stuff, not no talking in general.” He pauses then, suddenly looking more uncertain. “Unless you’re tired?”

Castiel smiles, leaves his thimble near the window frame, and then turns to Dean again. “I’m not. Do you have anything particular in mind?”

Dean’s eyes slide over Castiel’s whole body, from head to toe, and Castiel feels tingly with anticipation.

“I kinda had this idea. If you agree, that’s it,” Dean says, biting his lip.

“I would have to know what it is first,” Castiel reasons but steps closer.

“Okay.” Dean says and then puts his fingers into his mouth to whistle loudly. Castiel raises his eyebrows and stops just in front of him. “Alright. Uh. Do you think your dad would mind if you went out, just for a bit?”

“My father is asleep, he won’t notice.”

“Great.” Dean grins. “Are you afraid of heights?”

Castiel shakes his head.

“Okay.” They both turn when they hear buzzing. Baby lands on the sill just in front of them and Dean looks at Castiel one more time. “Last question.”

Castiel doesn’t say anything, just sways closer into Dean’s space.

“Do you trust me?”

Castiel glances at the bee and then back at Dean, who stretches his hand towards him. He can feel his face split into a grin when he takes Dean’s hand and lets himself be led towards the bumblebee and gently pushed onto her furry back. He laughs when the bee jumps a little; Dean winks at him before climbing onto her, too, right in front of Castiel.

“Hold on tight,” he says, and then pushes his heels into Baby’s side.

Castiel wraps his arms around Dean’s middle, careful of his wings that keep touching his face. The bee takes off and then they’re flying off the windowsill and diving straight towards the ground. Castiel can hear Dean’s laugh and he hides his face in his soft green jacket, just between his wings.

After a while, they fly upwards again and Castiel looks around to admire the views. Being as small as he is, he has never seen the ground from up above and he never thought he would. The landscape in front of his eyes is breath-taking, bathed in a gentle white moonlight, every leaf in glorious colours of gold and red and brown and yellow, every blade of grass swaying faintly in the soothing breeze. Dean steers his bee just over the small pond and Castiel reaches out to touch the water, admiring the way his finger leaves a trail of bubbles in its wake.

They circle over the pond a few times and then the bee lands her soft belly on the grass. Dean turns towards Castiel.

“You seen enough?” he asks, arching a brow at him.

“Hardly,” Castiel says but he can’t stop smiling. Dean must understand his mood because he grins back at him and then promptly jumps off the bee. Castiel follows him with a little less grace and more care and stops to pet Baby’s round back for a moment.

“Hey, Cas, come and see this,” Dean calls him from the edge of the pond. Castiel runs his fingers over the bee’s furry side one more time and then comes over to where Dean is sitting with his legs swaying above the water.

“Why did you take me here?” he asks.

Dean turns to look at him and winks. “Maybe I wanted you all for myself.”

Castiel’s throat goes dry at his words but then Dean points his finger at something across the pond and Castiel doesn’t have a chance to answer. Instead, he sits down on the grass beside Dean, their arms brushing and making Castiel shiver.

“You ever seen a dragonfly?” Dean asks, glancing at him. His face is so close Castiel is sure he could count all his freckles if he wanted to.

“Not a real one, no,” Castiel mutters and follows Dean’s finger with his eyes.

Across the pond, something moves so quickly that Castiel almost misses it; all he hears is a loud buzzing, even louder than the sound Dean’s bumblebee makes. But then something catches the moon’s light and he notices huge glassy wings fluttering just above the water.

Castiel glances back at Dean’s wings and catches his bright smile.

Dean’s wings look almost the same as the dragonfly’s. Castiel wishes he could see the insect’s wings up close to be able to compare them and to store every small fact about them in his mind.

“I’ve only seen them in books,” he murmurs and squints into the night, trying to notice more details. “They’re… really big,” he says and ducks when the dragonfly flies right above their heads.

“Yeah.” Dean laughs and points with his finger again. “There, another one.”

“I wonder how their wings feel,” Castiel says quietly, more to himself than to Dean; Dean must hear him, though, because his wings tremble a little, possibly on their own accord. Castiel’s eyes are drawn to the movement, his fingers itching by his sides.

Dean clears his throat. “I’d try to call one, but it probably won’t come any closer. They’re kinda weird and antisocial, to be honest.”

Castiel huffs a laugh. “It’s alright. I wouldn’t want to disturb them.”

They sit in silence for a few long moments, Castiel still enthralled by the dragonflies sweeping above their heads while Dean plays with the hilt of his thin sword.

“Have you ever wondered what you want to do in the future?” Dean asks suddenly.

Castiel shrugs. “I don’t know. I always assumed I would stay with my father.”

Dean smirks at him. “What, you never thought about finding a pretty little girl and moving out of your daddy’s house?” he teases.

Castiel frowns. “A while ago I didn’t even know other little people existed so no, Dean, I’ve never thought about it.”

“Ah. Right. All alone in the world and all that.” Castiel tries to pat him on the shoulder for that but Dean just ducks and laughs out loud. “Sorry, sorry. I understand it must’ve been hard. Especially for such a poor tiny guy like you.”

Castiel kicks him in the shin. Dean leans down and catches his leg.

“Ouch, okay, sorry. I mean it now!” He starts laughing when Castiel pushes his fingers into his side and wriggles them. “Cas, stop it! No, stop it! Get off me! I said get off!”

Dean catches him by the shoulders and pushes to the ground. For the second time during this evening, Castiel finds himself pinned down, with Dean hanging right above him. This time, though, he struggles a bit more and continues to tickle Dean, who tries to stand up and escape but fails when Castiel sticks out his leg and trips him. Dean howls and falls to the ground. Castiel is on him in a matter of seconds, his legs straddling Dean’s hips and his fingers gripping Dean’s hands.

“You’re playing dirty,” Dean says, out of breath, and tries to shift underneath him. He stops as soon as they both feel their bodies rub against each other. Castiel’s fingers loosen when he stares down into Dean’s face, so close and beautiful. Dean gazes up at him, his green eyes hooded and full lips parted.

One of Castiel’s hands lets go of Dean’s and slides lower to touch the wings splayed over the grass beneath Dean’s back. He hears Dean’s sharp intake of breath but he doesn’t hesitate and lets his fingertips run over the delicate tissue of the wing. It consists of thousands of tiny irregular tiles that seem to flicker with a whole variety of colours. Castiel has stared at Dean’s wings many times, but never from up close and never with the feel of their softness beneath his hands.

Dean gulps and Castiel turns his head to look at him again. He realises they’re much closer now; his nose brushes Dean’s cheek and he freezes, suddenly hyper-aware of the touch of Dean’s warm hand on the small of his back. His eyes flicker down to Dean’s lips and for a moment, he loses himself in the thoughts of Dean’s soft breath on his skin and the way his lips would taste if he just leaned a little lower. When he finally looks up to his eyes, his heart skips a beat when he notices Dean is staring at his lips.

Then Dean looks up and their eyes meet again. The fingers on Castiel’s back tighten in the fabric of his thin shirt and Castiel can feel his own breath get heavier and louder, his whole body leaning into Dean’s.

They both jump when they hear a thunderous croak somewhere near them. Castiel topples down to the grass, startled, and then something croaks again and Dean starts laughing.

Castiel scowls at him. “Why are you laughing?”

“If you could see the look on your face,” Dean says, chuckling. “You just… Your eyes, like, literally jumped right out of your head.”

Castiel winces. “I doubt it,” he says indignantly.

“No, really.” Dean turns to him and props himself up on his elbow. “You’ve never heard a toad or what?”

“I have,” Castiel huffs. “Just… not this close.” He glares at Dean and then narrows his eyes. “And by the way, you didn’t look any better. Your face is still white as a sheet.”

Dean absentmindedly touches his cheek. “It’s not.”

“Oh, believe me, it is.” The toad croaks again, even closer this time, and Castiel flinches. “I don’t like it.”

Dean chuckles. “I can’t believe it. You’re scared of a little frog?”

Castiel sits up and looks around warily. “It’s probably twice my size and poisonous. I wouldn’t wish to meet it, if that’s what you mean.”

Dean is still laughing when he stands up and offers his hand to drag Castiel up. Castiel accepts it and brushes his other hand over Dean’s chest when they’re close, feigning innocence. Dean doesn’t seem to notice, and if he does, he doesn’t protest.

“Don’t worry,” he says when they move towards Baby perched on the big rock in front of them. “I’ll protect you from all the evil toads of the world.”

Castiel rolls his eyes at that but doesn’t move away when he feels Dean’s arm winding around his middle and pulling him closer.

❧❧❧

Dean jumps off Baby when they’re still in the air and flies towards the window. He doesn’t even pay attention to the fact that the window is half open and only hopes Cas will be there. It’s the middle of the afternoon and there’s still plenty of time until the night falls, but Dean has been so jumpy he couldn’t wait any longer.

This is probably his family’s fault. They kept asking if something was bothering him. ‘You seem distracted,’ his mom said. ‘You’re sneaking off every night, Dean, this is not how a prince should behave,’ his dad criticised. And today, during breakfast, Sam teased, ‘Maybe Dean’s in love?’

Dean put his cup down on the table and glared at Sam, but the damage had already been done. His mom leaned on her hands towards him, a faint smile on her beautiful face.

“Is this true, honey?”

“No!” Dean protested because it wasn’t, it couldn’t possibly be true. Could it?

“I don’t care if he’s in love or not, I’d rather he stopped being so secretive about it,” his dad groused.

“I’m not in love,” Dean mumbled into his plate.

His mom kept watching him and he knew he was screwed even before she opened her mouth again.

“But you are seeing someone, aren’t you?” she asked fondly.

“Maybe,” Dean muttered. “But it’s nothing.”

“Is this someone we know?” Sam grinned at him.

“No.” Dean’s thoughts kept running towards Cas and he wondered if this could be true. Sure, he liked Cas. He liked spending time with him. He liked talking with him and listening to him and eating pie with him. He couldn’t imagine not going back to Cas again and again and again and…

Oh. He really was screwed.

“You know what?” He raised his head and looked at his family. “I think you should meet someone.”

Love or not love, he knew he wanted to spend as much time as he could with Cas. If introducing him to his family and making it more official was a way to do it, then everything else be damned.

And maybe someday he would figure out his feelings and try to face them.

That’s why he rushed out right after breakfast, with a promise to ‘bring him tonight so that they could meet him’. He didn’t miss the look on his dad’s face when he heard that but didn’t stay too long to hear anything about it.

He’s not sure what Cas will say to his offer–will he even want to go with him?–but he’s trying not to think about it too much when he flies into Cas’ room and lands in the middle of the table.

And that’s when he notices the mess.

The big chair that usually stands by the table is knocked over and Castiel’s books lie on the floor in disarray. Dean looks around, looking for Cas’ bed, but his eyes land on the big cat, Gabriel, standing in the middle of the room. Without thinking, he flies over to him.

“Hey! You!” He points his fingers at the creature. The cat hisses, his fur spiking up, and Dean puts a hand to his nose to refrain from sneezing. “Where’s Cas?”

Gabriel stares at him, his fluffy tail raised and swaying slowly in the air.

“You know what? Now would be a good time to start talking,” Dean says, frustrated. He spins in the air, scanning the room one more time, but Cas is nowhere to be seen. “What the hell happened here?”

The cat meows and his paw almost hits Dean.

“Hey!” he yells and flies higher. “Stop screwing around and tell me where Cas is. You know, if he finds out what you did to his room he’s gonna be pissed–”

“Meow,” Gabriel snarks at him.

Dean takes a deep breath and lands on the animal’s nose. “I know you can hear me, you furry son of a bitch. Talk, or I’ll yank your whiskers out.”

Gabriel tries to hit him with his paw, but Dean jumps over to the top of his head and then to his back. He sneezes, once, and almost loses his balance, but finally Gabriel stills and meows pitifully.

“Alright. That didn’t sound good,” Dean says, suddenly more anxious. “Do you know where Cas is?”

He lands in front of the cat just in time to see him nod his big red head.

“Is he here?” Dean asks, gesturing around.

Gabriel shakes his head.

“Is he even home?”

Gabriel meows loudly and shakes his head again.

Dean frowns. “Do you know when he’s gonna come back?”

And then the cat does the most ridiculous thing Dean has ever seen an animal do: he tries hopping around the room, butting his head into the overthrown chair and squeaking loudly.

“What the–” Dean stares at him, dumbfounded. “Can’t you just talk?”

Gabriel hisses at him and then points with his paw to the window.

“What?” Dean looks back and forth between the cat and the window and then throws his hands in the air. “You’re not making any sense, you ugly stupid thing!”

Gabriel is on him in a matter of seconds, grabbing him with his paw and squeezing. Dean tries to scream and struggle, but the cat doesn’t try to hurt him, just jumps towards the chair, onto the table and over to the sill. Before Dean can even make a sound, he’s thrown out of the window and diving into the ground.

His wings work automatically and he comes back up, shaking with anger.

“Are you insane!” he yells at the cat that is still sitting on the sill. “Have you gone compl–”

And then he freezes.

“Are you saying this is what happened to Cas?” he stutters. He looks down to the ground and can feel his fingers tremble. “He… fell?”

Gabriel, who’s been nodding, suddenly snorts and hides his head in his paws. Dean reconsiders.

“Someone took him?” he asks slowly.

Gabriel doesn’t nod this time, just starts jumping around the windowsill again.

Dean’s throat goes dry.

“A frog?!”

❧❧❧

Castiel wakes up slowly, as if he is trying to crawl up from underneath a pile of heavy sheets. His eyes won’t open for a long time, and when they finally do, everything he sees is blurry and covered in something resembling white mist.

He’s still in his bed, but something feels different. There’s a strange breeze on his face and he can hear a loud dripping sound, as if his father has forgotten to turn off the tap in the bathroom. He also hears birds, but it’s not that surprising–he always sleeps with his window ajar and wakes to their twittering.

Something appears right in front of his face while his bed swings heavily, as if pushed. He blinks and tries to raise his hands to rub at his eyes but realises he can’t move.

That’s when the panic sets in.

“Shh,” he hears a raspy voice right above him. He wants to struggle and force his muscles to move but he feels helpless. “Oh, I’m sorry. You’re probably still partially paralysed. I must have used too much venom on you. You are quite small and it was difficult to predict the outcome.”

Castiel can feel his fingers twitch and he can still blink, so he assumes there is some hope. Finally, his sight clears out enough so that he can make out the thing above him.

It’s a toad.

“Oh. Hello, little person,” the toad croaks and Castiel is sure he would scream and run if he could.

The creature is at least twice his size, its skin brown with patches of dirty green and yellow. It’s staring at Castiel with huge bulging eyes, the skin beneath its mouth swelling with every breath.

“You should try talking,” the toad says. “I assume you’ll find you can do it again pretty soon.”

Castiel opens his mouth and gasps. He tries forming words but his heavy tongue fails him. The toad sighs and turns away.

“I’ll give you a little bit more time. Don’t try to run away.”

Castiel racks his brain trying to think of some explanation of the situation he’s in. All he remembers is going to sleep after getting back home from his meeting with Dean. He didn’t wake up at night and, since he’s still in his bed, he guesses he’s been taken away in his nutshell.

He manages to move his head a bit and glance around. He notices the blue sky above him, then looks down to see high grass swaying lightly in the wind. He’s outside, then; probably somewhere by the water, hence the constant dripping sound…

“Oh God,” he whispers and doesn’t even notice he’s talking again because he’s too shocked at his own realisation. He suddenly recognises the surroundings: the high grass, the water, the toad.

It’s the same pond Dean showed him and he has been kidnapped by the toad that startled them yesterday.

“See? You can talk again,” he hears and then the toad stands by his bed to peer down at him. “Let’s start with something nice. I’m Naomi and this is my home. What’s your name?”

“What… what do you want from me?” Castiel rasps.

The toad tsks. “I don’t think that’s your name, little person. Try again, please.”

Castiel frowns and tries to get up, but the toad puts its slimy hand on his shoulder.

“I just want to hear your name. Can you tell me your name?”

“I don’t understand,” Castiel says quietly. “I don’t know what is happening.”

Naomi leans down towards him. “Is your name Cas? Is it your true name? I heard the fairy use that name yesterday.”

“It’s Castiel,” he hisses, realising he doesn’t want anyone except Dean call him Cas ever again. “And you had no right–”

“Now, now. Don’t get all righteous on me, Castiel. Do not worry: I’m not going to hurt you.”

“You already have!” Castiel growls. He can feel his legs and hands again, but keeps still, not sure what will happen next.

“I only used my venom to transport you safely to my home. I wasn’t sure you’d want to go of your own free will,” Naomi explains calmly, as if she wasn’t talking about kidnapping.

“And you were right!” Castiel narrows his eyes at her. “Why would I? I don’t even know you.”

“It doesn’t matter. I don’t want anything from you, not really.”

“You could have fooled me,” Castiel snarls, his hands turning into fists by his sides.

“Well, yes. I do want one thing.” Naomi puts her hands on both sides of his bed and leans down. “Tell me about fairies.”

Castiel blinks. “What? What fairies?”

Naomi rolls her eyes. “Don’t play stupid, Castiel. You have been in contact with the species commonly known as fairies. I want you to tell me everything about them.”

“Why?” Castiel asks warily.

“Because it’s important to me. Now, tell me. Where do they live? I need to know the exact place.”

Castiel tries to sink deeper into his pillow to avoid the toad’s round eyes. “I don’t know. I don’t know anything, I swear.”

“Please, don’t lie. You are a friend of the fairy prince. You must know where he lives.”

“I don’t. I never visited him. I barely know him.”

“Are you sure? It didn’t look like that to me when I watched you yesterday.”

Castiel feels his cheeks heat up. The thought of that disgusting toad sitting among the grass and staring at them, observing their every move, the way they… talked, and touched, and almost kissed… It makes him feel sick.

“You’re an abomination,” he snarls and pushes Naomi hard in the chest. She sways but keeps her hands on the nutshell. “You have no right to question me like that. Even if I knew, I would never, ever tell you–”

Naomi’s wet fingers land on his throat and push him down into the pillow. “Then I’ll let you go and follow you. You will never get rid of me. I will follow you and you will lead me straight to your precious little fairy prince and then I will throw you deep into the pond and keep you underwater until–”

Suddenly, a big shadow falls over them and Naomi pauses to look over her shoulder. Castiel takes this opportunity to push her aside and jump out of his bed. He lands on something soft and wobbly and, before he has time to realise they’re not on the ground, his knees go weak, he trips, and then sinks deep into cold water.

It takes him a long moment to resurface, his lungs screaming for air and legs kicking the water in search of something to stand on. He has never learned to swim and he knows that the frantic movement of his body doesn’t help his situation at all. He falls into the water again and manages to catch the stem of the lily pad he has just fallen off. Trying not to breathe in too much water, he heaves himself upwards, hoping the lily pad won’t go beneath the surface with him.

When he finally manages to climb onto the pad, he’s relieved to see the toad is gone. He lies down for a while, breathing heavily and coughing up water, and then he looks around.

There is a bird sitting on the branch that hangs just above the water. Castiel’s heart stops for a second when he realises the bird is staring right at him.

“Bonjour, little one,” it speaks up and Castiel nearly falls into the water again.

“Are you… talking to me?” he asks, uncertain.

“Do you see any other pipsqueak around?”

“Where is the toad?” Castiel asks instead of answering.

“Why, do you miss it? Bleh. What an atrocity! It’s gone, for now. No need to thank me, chéri,” the bird says nonchalantly.

Castiel narrows his eyes. “Who are you?”

The bird flaps its wings and cocks its head to the side. “Who am I? I’m Balthazar, swallow extraordinaire, a lover of beautiful things,” he hums and bows theatrically, the dark blue of his feathers glinting in the sun. “Also, the one that rescued you from the claws of the evil toad.”

“I’m quite sure toads don’t have claws,” Castiel comments drily, but when Balthazar just keeps looking at him, he nods. “Thank you, though.”

“Oh, don’t thank me, little one. I hate toads. Now, I’m much more interested in you.”

Castiel bristles. “Why is everyone so interested in me all of the sudden?” he asks angrily. “I swear, if anyone else–”

“Easy, mon ami!” The swallow flies above him in circles for a while and then lands elegantly on the nearest lily pad. “I’m not that kind of bird. I’m just curious what a tiny person like you is doing here, all alone, groped by the awful toad in the middle of the pond.”

Castiel sighs and shakes his head. “I’m… not sure, actually. Yesterday I went to sleep in my house, and today I woke up here. She wanted me to tell her something about fairies, but I don’t know anything.”

“Fairies?” Balthazar tilts his head, his small eyes glued to Castiel.

“Yes. I… I know the fairy prince.” Castiel isn’t sure why, but he feels safe with Balthazar and doesn’t hesitate before telling him more about his situation.

Balthazar visibly perks up. “The fairy prince! Dean!”

Castiel blinks. “Do you know him?”

“Oh, not personally. But I’ve heard about him.” Balthazar leans towards him. “Wait. Is your name Castiel, by any chance?” When Castiel doesn’t answer, just stares at him incredulously, Balthazar explains, “The forest has been talking. Everyone’s heard about the fairy prince and a mysterious little man called Castiel who stole Dean’s heart away. Well, okay, not everyone. I just have my sources.”

Castiel is sure he’s blushing, but he manages to say, “I didn’t steal anything.”

Birds don’t have eyebrows, but Castiel knows Balthazar would be arching one at him right now if he had. “Whatever you say, monsieur Castiel.”

“I mean it,” Castiel repeats sternly. “I didn’t do anything, and now I’m in the middle of nowhere, barely alive, wet, and hungry. I just want to go home.”

“But what about the fairy prince?” Balthazar asks.

Castiel shrugs. “What about him? He’ll probably be waiting for me tonight but I have no way of informing him of my current whereabouts. It’ll take me days before I reach my home.” He swallows a lump in his throat and looks down. “Actually, it may take me even more than a few days since I don’t even know which way to go.”

He hears the flapping of Balthazar’s wings and lifts his head to look at him.

“I can find the prince!” the swallow says with excitement. “I’ll find him and tell him everything!”

“What? Balthazar, wait–”

“Go home, little one, and don’t worry! I will find the prince for you!”

“But–”

He’s gone before Castiel can yell at him in frustration.

❧❧❧

“You need what?” the king of fairies asks.

Dean’s fingers curl around the edge of his helmet. “Please, dad. You have to delay the winter frost. At least for a few days.”

His mom comes closer and puts her hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Honey, you know we can’t do that. Winter has to start tomorrow and there’s no way to delay it…”

“But mom,” Dean pleads. “Cas is somewhere out there, alone. I tried to look for him, I flew all over the pond, and then along the river, but I couldn’t find him. If winter comes…”

“Son.” His dad looks at him sternly. “Listen to yourself. First, you sneak off in the middle of the night and deny everything, then you announce that you’re seeing someone and that we have to meet him… And now what? You want us to stop winter from coming because that boy of yours has vanished?”

“He’s been kidnapped, dad!” Dean argues. “I told you, he’s just like us but he has no wings and he can’t–”

“He’s not like us, then, if he doesn’t have wings,” his father cuts in.

“John,” the queen admonishes and sends Dean an apologetic smile. “We understand you’re frustrated, sweetheart. And we’re sorry for what has happened to your friend. But there’s nothing we can do.”

Dean rubs his hand over his face. “It’s so cold already, especially at night,” he murmurs, more to himself than to his parents. “What if the toad is keeping him somewhere? I shouldn’t have laughed at him, I should’ve found that ugly croaking bastard and smash its head in–”

“Dean.” His mom touches his face and forces him to look at her. “There’s no point in blaming yourself. I’m sure your friend wouldn’t blame you.”

“Cas,” Dean mutters, leaning into his mom’s palm.

“Cas,” she repeats. “Cas wouldn’t want you to be worried. If he’s anything like you, honey, I’m sure he’s alright.”

“What if he isn’t? What if he’s hurt? Oh, God, it’s all my fault–”

“Dean,” his dad speaks up and comes closer. “Your mother’s right. Stop moaning.”

Dean looks up, feels his shoulders straighten up on their own accord, trying to look more appropriate for his father’s sake. But then John reaches out and puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Moaning isn’t going to help Cas. Just go and look for him, and we’ll do what we can,” he promises and smiles encouragingly.

❧❧❧

Castiel’s fingers are so stiff he can barely move them.

He hides his hands under his arms to warm them and sends a thankful note to whomever is listening that he decided to put on a thicker sweater that night. He’s still in his cotton pyjama pants, though, with woolen socks and no shoes, and the temperature seems to be dropping with every passing minute.

His stomach growls loudly and Castiel sighs. It’s almost dark already and he hasn’t eaten anything since the afternoon when he found a half-dried plant with overripe blackberries.

He’s been travelling up the stream for the whole day, after he finally managed to get off the lily pad Balthazar had left him on, only straying off the course when the water was too high on the banks for him to go. He’s not even completely sure he’s going in the right direction, but he remembers that the river near his house goes downward in towards  the forest and the hills. He hopes he will find his home again sooner rather than later.

As long as he doesn’t freeze to death first.

He’s looking around the bushes again, desperate to find something, anything to eat, when he sees it.

There’s a round hole in the ground right in front of his eyes and it seems it’s been covered with a small hunk of bark in a way that resembles doors. Curious and despairing, Castiel comes closer, straining his ears to hear anything alarming. When he doesn’t, he quickly gets the bark out of the way and, stooping low, he goes into the dark tunnel in the ground.

After a minute or so, he finally reaches a bigger room, entirely surrounded by soil. To his surprise, however, the room doesn’t really differ from the rooms in his own house, with shelves, wardrobes, a tiny table in the middle of it, and even a bed. Castiel blinks and, for a moment, forgets about being cold and hungry.

“Oh, hello there!” someone says from behind him.

Castiel flinches and hops away, turning around on his heel. In the other part of the room stands a small beetle, shorter than Castiel but much wider than him. His long feelers move quickly in the air and he’s standing on two legs while the remaining four hang by his sides.

“Ooh!” the beetle croons and steps in his direction. “Oh, just look at you! What are you doing here, little human? Are you lost?”

Castiel moves back, trying to get inside the tunnel again, but the beetle quickly moves to stand on his way.

“I’m not lost,” he says in what he hopes is a confident tone. “I was just looking for something to eat.”

“Eat? Ah, little human, I have food! You’re very lucky today,” the beetle assures him fervently. “What’s your name, pretty one?”

Castiel tries not to wince. “I’m not pretty,” he says angrily.

“Alright, alright, don’t get mad, gorgeous. But oh, aren’t you cold? You’re not wearing any shoes! Oh, my dear, you must be freezing!”

“It’s okay… Mr Beetle,” Castiel says.

“Marv! Call me Marv, sugar.” The beetle stares at Castiel with his black beady eyes and Castiel can swear he can actually see him grinning at him. “So, whaddya say we get some food into you and dress you in some warm clothes? I think I have a pair of cute little shoes just for you somewhere around here!”

“I don’t need shoes,” Castiel protests, feeling unpleasant goosebump crawl up his skin at Marv’s screechy voice. “In fact, I don’t want anything from you. I don’t want to disturb you.”

“Oh, angel, you’re not disturbing me, I assure you.” Marv reaches out and grabs Castiel’s hand. He tries to shake him off, but the beetle’s grip is surprisingly strong. “Let me see you, honeybee. Turn around for me!”

“Get off!” Castiel objects and doesn’t let himself be spun around. He pries Marv’s hand off his wrist and backs away. “Don’t touch me.”

“Aww, angel! Don’t get mad. I just want to see you so that I can find perfect clothes for you!”

“I told you I don’t need your help,” Castiel grits out through clenched teeth.

“Oh, really?” Marv moves quickly again and stops right in front of Castiel, his feelers waving frantically. Castiel flinches and looks away. “But your hands are so cold. Your skin is almost blue. Do you want to freeze to death?”

He tries to catch his wrist again, but Castiel pushes past him and heads towards the tunnel, every previous  feeling replaced by anger and humiliation. Coming in here was a mistake, he knows it now, and he hopes he can get out without having to act more violently towards the beetle.

He’s not so lucky.

“Oh, my!” Marv cries out behind his back. “Sweetie, where are your wings?”

Castiel stops to throw him a look over his shoulder. “I don’t have wings,” he says, even more annoyed now.

Marv’s eyes sparkle. “But I do.”

In a split of second, he spreads out his wings and jumps towards Castiel, toppling him to the ground. He’s short but has three pairs of legs, which he uses to pin Castiel down.

“I’m gonna help you, my wingless angel,” he seethes. One of his feelers drags down Castiel’s face and Castiel cries out, disgusted. “I happen to be a collector of pretty things, you know. I will show you every pair of wings I have and you can choose whichever one you want! Isn’t this amazing? I know it’s amazing.”

Castiel manages to free one of his arms when Marv is too distracted pointing to his wardrobe. Without hesitation, he brings his fist to the beetle’s head and hits as hard as he can.

Marv yells and falls down. Castiel is on him in an instant, his knees pushing hard into the beetle’s body and his fist punching him hard in his face a few more times. Marv stays conscious and keeps babbling, but doesn’t struggle anymore and seems almost harmless. Castiel stands up and looks down at him.

“Don’t touch me without my consent ever again,” he spits out and kicks him hard in his side.

Marv moans but doesn’t try to stop him from leaving this time.

Castiel is trembling when he climbs out of the tunnel, his breathing hard and face hot. He keeps on walking, though, trying to get as far from that place as possible before his legs finally give up and he falls to the ground.

He curls on the cold ground and covers himself with a dry leaf, trying to fight off nausea and let his body rest at least for a while. He finally falls asleep but wakes up on every sound, still shivering from the cold and fatigue.

Somehow, he manages to survive the night. He gets up as soon as the sun is up and spends a few long hours going straight ahead. He finds a few hazelnuts lying among the tall grass and splits them with hard rocks and stiff fingers. He drinks some water from the stream but it’s so cold he can barely swallow it.

The sun is still high on the sky when he notices thick yellow clouds gathering far behind his back. He tries to move faster, but suddenly the wind gets colder and it seems the temperature has dropped drastically, making his whole body shiver.

It starts snowing an hour later.

His socks get soaked after a few minutes of walking on the wet ground, and the rest of his clothes goes completely wet when he trips and falls into the puddle. He sits there for a while, hot tears stinging in his eyes and fingers buried in his damp hair.

This must be what dying feels like, he thinks.

❧❧❧

“Son of a bitch,” Dean grunts when the first snowflake hits him on the nose.

He speeds through the snow without stopping, his cold fingers gripping the reins of his bee while he looks around and calls Cas. His throat is already starting to object, scratching like hell every time he opens his mouth and breathes in more cold air.

“Cas!” he yells and coughs. “Cas, goddamit! Where are you? Cas!”

A huge snowflake knocks into his shoulder and he sways dangerously on Baby’s back. The next one lands on his face and blinds him for a few long moments. He spits out the snow and curses loudly, and that’s when Baby crashes into a branch and sends him flying down, right into the cold stream.

He’s out of the water in a matter of seconds. “Baby!” he yells and jumps into the air to fly and look for his bee, but his wings doesn’t work and he falls back down, his knees hitting the frozen ground. “What–” he rasps and looks over his shoulder. Sure enough, his wings are wet and trembling and Dean swears he can see the frost that spreads out all over the glassy tissue.

And then, completely out of the sudden, he’s hit across the head and he loses consciousness.

❧❧❧

He’s woken up with a hard slap across his face.

He opens his eyes and blinks a few times, trying to stop his head from spinning. He’s leaning on the piece of wood in something that resemble a big hole in the ground. He tries to move but can’t, tries to say something but his tongue is too heavy in his mouth.

“Hey! The prince’s awake,” someone says.

Dean focuses his eyes on the shape in front of him and groans with disgust. A small ugly beetle is staring at him, its feelers trembling with excitement.

“Finally!” says another voice. Dean doesn’t see anyone or anything and it must show on his face because the beetle crunches creepily.

“It’s a frog,” it whispers conspiratorially. “She’s too big to fit in here so she’s staying outside and waiting for your little friend to come.”

Dean groans again because that’s the only thing he can do for now.

“Ah, yes. We have a deal, the frog and me,” the beetle says. “She wants you. I want your pretty wingless friend. You’re the bait.”

“Can he talk?” comes the voice from outside.

The beetle sighs heavily. “No!” he calls. “Patience, my dear, patience! He’s still paralysed.”

Dean stares at the beetle with as much hatred as he can possibly muster, but the ugly insect only snickers.

“She wants to get information out of you, little prince. I don’t know why, but she’s pretty hung up on you fairies.” The beetle turns away, opens the doors of the little wardrobe, and then, to Dean’s utter surprise, starts pulling out various pairs of wings.

Dean gags, disgusted, when he realises they all must have belonged to other insects once.

The beetle hears him and looks at him. “Pretty, aren’t they? I have the entire collection. I’m trying to decide which will suit your precious friend best. Maybe the colourful ones? Or the black ones? We would be the same, me and him, both with black wings. But, oh.”

He stalks up to Dean again and Dean looks away, feeling sick.

“You know what?” he hisses into his ear. “Your wings are quite wonderful, too, little princeling.”

❧❧❧

Something smells delicious.

Castiel yawns and opens his eyes only to see the darkness. He panics for a few seconds but then realises there’s something on his head. Carefully, he grabs the soft cloth and pulls it down.

He has to squint his eyes against the bright light that’s coming from a small furnace in the middle of the room. He notices he’s lying in something resembling a small bed made out of a wooden spoon and covered with a thick soft blanket. When he sits up and looks down, he realises his old clothes are gone and he’s wearing a new fuzzy sweater and the soft woolen pants. He touches his hand to his cheeks and feels that they’re flushed; his hair is dry and messy, he can move both his fingers and his toes.

He’s never been happier to be alive.

He hears a loud clunk of pans and looks up. On the other side of the room stands a small plump mouse, dressed in an old wooly dress and moving around the stove. Castiel stares at it for a while, trying to remember anything.

“I found you half-dead in the snow by my door,” the mouse says all of the sudden, with its back still to Castiel. “I thought it was over, but it seems you’re a tough little cookie.”

Castiel lets his legs fall to the ground and he straightens up, with the blanket still draped around his shoulders. “I… Thank you.”

The mouse turns to him and smiles, showing its big teeth. “No problem, kid. I’m Meg, by the way. You want some tea?”

Castiel nods and, when the mouse comes closer with a little teapot, he says, “I’m Castiel.”

“I know.” Meg winks at him. “I know all about you, angel.”

Castiel winces, hearing the same pet name Marv used on him only yesterday. “Please don’t call me that.”

Meg cocks her big head to the side. “Why not?”

“Just… please, don’t.”

“What should I call you, then?” She flops down onto the bed next to him, her small black eyes curious but kind.

Castiel curls his toes underneath the blanket, his hands warming up over the cup of hot tea. He shrugs. “You can always just use my name.”

“Boring,” Meg says and sighs. “Everyone calls you that. I’m not everyone.”

Castiel isn’t sure why, but he finds it very easy to smile at her. “No, you’re not. You saved my life.”

“Probably.” She sways her short legs in the air. “I’m amazing, aren’t I?”

Castiel doesn’t reply, just sips his tea and watches her over the edge of his cup. After a while, she gets up and goes back to the stove.

“You hungry?” she asks and Castiel nods vigorously.

They eat hot vegetables with small bread crumbles and then share a big piece of cheese. Castiel thinks it’s the best meal he’s ever had.

“Do you know where I am?” he asks after some time.

Meg looks at him and arches her brow. “In my house, dummy.”

Castiel rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “I know that. What I meant was do you know the way that leads to the city? I have to go home.”

“City? The fairy city?” Meg asks.

Castiel blinks. “No. The human city. My father lives on the outskirts of… Wait, do you know where the fairy city is?”

“Of course I know. It’s almost my neighbourhood.”

Castiel sits up. “Have you heard of prince Dean?”

“Have I heard of him? Kid, I’ve heard of everyone. I’ve heard of the things the king ate for breakfast. News travel real fast around here.”

“Oh.” Castiel bites his lip, feeling a new flush rising up in his cheeks. “Have you… have you heard anything about Dean regarding his… love life?”

Meg turns to him then, her paws on her broad hips. “You mean about you? Yeah, kiddo. You’ve become quite famous. The fairy without wings, they call you. The prince’s flightless bird.”

Castiel casts his eyes down, feeling tingly all over, just like he used to feel when Dean was near him. He’d give anything to see him now, to be able to look at his beautiful wings, to hear his laugh, be embraced by his flowery scent and feel his green eyes on himself. He realises he misses Dean with every fibre in his body–now, when he’s warm and comfortable, even more than ever.

He’s pulled out of his thoughts by Meg’s quiet sigh. He glances at her and is surprised to see her sad face.

“It’s a shame he’s probably dead by now,” she says and Castiel’s heart stops.

“What?” he stutters.

Meg opens her mouth to speak but then there’s a loud knock at the door. She sends him an apologetic look and goes to open it. Castiel is left petrified, too shocked to even move.

There are voices coming from the door so he finally looks up to see a fat mole standing in the middle of the room and staring right at him.

“My, my. What have we got here?” he asks, his words pronounced with a strange elegant accent.

Castiel ignores him. “Meg. Please, can we talk?” He stands up and looks pleadingly at the mouse.

“Later, little bird,” Meg murmurs. “I want you to meet my neighbour, Mr Crowley. He lives just beneath me and he’s a very rich and elegant gentleman. Mr Crowley, meet my new friend, Castiel.”

“A unique name for a unique person,” Crowley hums.

“Meg.” Castiel throws away the blanket, goes past the mole, and stops just in front of the mouse. He discovers he’s actually a little taller than her and it gives him the confidence he needs. “Why did you say Dean was dead?”

“I didn’t say he was dead,” Meg says, her gaze jumping between Castiel and Crowley. Castiel can feel the mole’s hot gaze on his neck and he doesn’t care one bit. “I just said he’s probably dead.”

“Yes,” Castiel points out. “What makes you say that?”

Meg sighs and lowers her voice. “I heard he’s been attacked by some… beetle. Oh, and a frog. I don’t know any details, but the rumour has it he’s being held captive and tortured to get information out of him.” She must notice the look on Castiel’s face, because she grips his wrist and bursts out, “Don’t do anything stupid. It has nothing to do with you.”

“It has everything to do with me,” Castiel hisses. “Do you know where he is? Do you know where they are keeping him?”

Meg rubs a paw over her face. “I’ve heard different versions. The rumour is new but… The beetle’s house is most probable. Some say–”

“Oh, this is the most impolite,” Crowley drones from behind them. “What is all this whispering about?”

“Sorry,” Castiel says to him, distracted. “It doesn’t really concern you. It was nice to meet you, Mr Crowley, and you, Meg,” Castiel looks down at her and smiles, “thank you so much. I’ll never forget it.”

Crowley frowns. “Are you going somewhere?”

Castiel goes back to the bed he’s been occupying before and finds his old socks, now dry and warm, and puts them on hastily.

“Yes, I am, in fact.” He digs out his sweater and puts it on over the one he’s currently wearing, just to be safe. He still doesn’t have any shoes, but there’s no time to worry about it.

“Wait a minute, boy,” Crowley says. “I come here to meet you and you think you’re just going to dash out like that? Who do you think I am?”

Castiel blinks at him. “I don’t know, Crowley. And, honestly, I don’t care. I’m not here for you to stare at me. I’m not here for you to use me as your toy, or to add me to your collection.”

“But Meg said…”

“I didn’t say anything, Crowley,” Meg snarls at him. “You pulled the information out of me. You decided you wanted him and I had nothing to do with it.”

“Wanted me?” Castiel’s eyes widen when he stares at Crowley’s old, fat face. “We’ve never even met before, how could you want me?”

Crowley steps closer to him, his big claws shining dangerously in the warm glow of Meg’s room. “I am the richest creature in the neighbourhood. I am very sensitive to light and I can’t physically go outside, ever, and I need someone to live with me, help me, tell me stories about the world above.”

Castiel can’t believe what he’s hearing. “And you just decided I would live with you? Here, underground? Even though I barely know you?”

“It’s not a marriage proposal, you idiot,” Crowley hisses. “Although that would probably be more convenient for you, anyway.”

Castiel shakes his head, completely overwhelmed. “I am not going to live with you,” he says firmly.

“You’re not?” Crowley asks and steps even closer.

Castiel is twice smaller than him but he’s had enough of being treated as if he has nothing to say about his own life.

“No, I’m not. The idea is wrong and ridiculous. You are ridiculous for even believing I would actually agree to it.”

“Who said anything about you agreeing?” Crowley seeths and jumps in his direction.

But Castiel is ready. He punches the mole hard in the stomach and dives out of the way. Crowley crashes into the wooden bed and falls down with his face buried in the blanket. Castiel turns to Meg and notices she’s holding a big metal bar in her paws.

“Oh, just… just hit him. Hard,” she says and gives it to him.

Castiel hovers over Crowley and waits for him to stand up. He doesn’t, his belly too fat and his arms too short to support him. Castiel wants to put the bar down and leave without another word, but then Crowley turns onto his back and glares at him.

“I’ll find you, Castiel. I am the richest animal in the neighbourhood and you will do as I say or I’ll make you!” he spits at him.

Castiel lets the bar fall down onto his big head and doesn’t even wince when he hears the loud thud that accompanies it.

“No one,” he grits out through clenched teeth, “is going to make me do anything ever again.”

Seeing that the mole has lost consciousness, he puts the metal bar down and glances at Meg. “He’ll wake up eventually,” he says as he makes his way towards the door. “I promise I will come back here as soon as I find Dean and then deal with it once and for all. In the meantime…” He notices the wicked glint in Meg’s eyes as she eyes the bar on the floor. “Have fun. And thank you.”

❧❧❧

It’s a miracle that he stumbles across Balthazar almost as soon as he’s out of Meg’s burrow.

“Mon ami!” the bird calls and Castiel’s heart starts beating faster upon hearing his voice. He looks up and smiles.

“Balthazar! Here!”

The bird hovers above him for a moment, then lands right in front of him, his feathers a little ruffled and eyes sparkling.

“I know where your prince is!” he states gleefully.

“He’s at the beetle’s house!” Castiel replies with the same amount of excitement.

“Why, yes! That’s what I heard.” Balthazar tilts his head. “How did you know?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Castiel shakes his head vigorously and steps closer to the bird. It’s still cold and he doesn’t have shoes, but at least it’s not snowing anymore and his socks are only half-soaked. “Can you take me there?”

That’s how he ends up on Balthazar’s back, fingers gripping the feathers underneath his wings and face hidden in his neck to protect it from the cold wind. Balthazar is swift and smooth and Castiel is sure he would probably enjoy the flight more if he wasn’t such a nervous wreck, the images of Dean hurt, lonely, and unmoving constantly appearing in front of his eyes. Balthazar doesn’t talk and neither does Castiel, and then, after a while, they finally dive towards the ground.

Castiel is on the ground in a matter of seconds, already recognising the surrounding, even with a thick layer of snow covering everything. The toad is nowhere to be seen and Balthazar shouts something at him but Cas doesn’t hear it, plunging into the tunnel instead.

The sight that greets him punches all the air from his lungs.

Dean is half-standing, half-leaning on a piece of bark, his wrists and ankles tied together, head lolled to the side and eyes barely open. The beetle, Marv, is standing by his side, his spindly hands touching one of Dean’s limp wings.

Castiel shouts out and doesn’t even realise it at first. Marv turns around, eyes wide open, but Castiel’s eyes are still glued to Dean who seems to wake up hearing Castiel’s voice and slowly lifts his head.

“Finally!” Marv screeches happily.

He may not even exist, for all Castiel cares in this moment, too focused on the way Dean’s green eyes flash when he notices him. He can see Dean’s fingers moving and realises he’s probably been feigning paralysis to surprise Marv.

Affection swells in Castiel’s chest and he doesn’t want to spend any longer without Dean by his side.

“Get out of my way,” he growls when Marv comes closer. The beetle has been talking, but stops when Castiel’s fist collides with his face. They topple to the ground and Castiel keeps punching and kicking and sticking his fingers into Marv’s thin neck, hot fury clouding his mind and eyes.

“Cas!” he hears and freezes. He looks over his shoulder at Dean who’s trying to free himself from the strings around his wrists. “Cas, stop it. You don’t have to do this.”

He’s trembling when he slowly stands up, knees weak and knuckles hurting. Dean finally untangles the string, steps out of the tie around his ankles, and then starts towards him, only a bit unstable.

Castiel runs into his arms, Dean’s name the only thing on his mind. Dean huffs and sways a little, but his arms immediately come up and pull Castiel closer, fingers digging into Castiel’s sweater, breath hot on his cheek. Castiel pushes his face into Dean’s neck and breathes in, the flowery scent making him dizzy and drunk with happiness.

“Aww, what a romantic scene!” Marv says and Castiel realises the beetle is still there, watching them with his small beady eyes and creepy smile. He pulls out of Dean’s embrace and takes a step forward, but Dean’s hand lands on his shoulder and stops him.

“No, Cas,” Dean says and Castiel wants to protest, wants to tell Dean how much the beetle deserves it, but Dean’s eyes harden and he adds, “My turn.”

Castiel gives him a minute. He stands motionless and watches as Dean comes over the beetle still lying on the ground and pounds on him repeatedly, fists never hesitating. But then the lump in his throat grows too big and he closes his eyes.

“Dean, no,” he stutters. “Don’t.”

Dean stops. “I’m done,” he says as he straightens up and turns to Castiel. His knuckles are red and hair dishevelled, but his green eyes stay calm when they move to Castiel’s face and stay there. “It’s over, Cas.”

Castiel wants to hug him again. He wants to feel Dean’s warmth, Dean’s fingers in his hair, Dean’s skin against his skin. He wants to sink into Dean’s scent and never resurface again. He doesn’t want to lose sight of Dean’s beautiful face ever again.

But they’re still in this disgusting hole in the ground, with Marv moaning and tossing beside them, so Castiel reaches out and takes Dean’s hand. Dean smiles–his first smile since they saw each other again–and Castiel’s heart sings.

“Let’s get out of here,” Dean says and tugs at his hand. The step over Marv on their way to the tunnel, but before they go out, Dean looks over his shoulder. “I don’t wanna see you ever again, you hear me? I don’t care where you go, but just get your ugly face out of here, or else you’ll be dealing with my army.”

They don’t wait to hear Marv’s answer.

Dean’s fingers are entangled with Castiel’s when they get out of the tunnel and into the surface, and then they’re greeted with warm afternoon sunlight falling to the frozen ground in long golden streaks. Castiel blinks and smiles when he feels its warmth on his face.

Balthazar is sitting on the branch above them and at first Dean startles and lifts his arm to protect Castiel, but Castiel chuckles and touches it gently.

“Don’t worry,” he whispers into his ear. Dean relaxes a little underneath his touch. “He’s my friend.”

“Bonjour, lovebirds,” Balthazar chirps sweetly at them. “I gather you took care of that wretched insect, then?”

“We did,” Castiel says and takes Dean’s hand again, too starved for his touch to worry about Balthazar watching them. “Have you seen the toad anywhere?”

“Oh, I have. She’s long gone, I promise you, chéri.”

“How so?” Dean says, sounding suspicious.

“I may have asked a friend for a favour,” Balthazar says and chuckles. “He’s a stork, you know.”

“Balthazar,” Castiel admonishes but can’t stop the smile from spreading across his face. “She’s probably poisonous.”

“Ah, he won’t eat her, don’t worry. His tastes are much fancier than that. But he will give her something to have nightmares about.”

“That, or I’ll hunt her down with an army and throw her into the darkest dungeon,” Dean growls. “Together with that disgusting beetle.”

Balthazar laughs again and flaps his wings. “Well, well, little one. I can see your prince is quite a fighter. I’m guessing he can take care of you from now on, right? Unless he lets you get kidnapped again.”

“I won’t,” Dean hisses angrily.

“And I don’t need anyone taking care of me,” Castiel adds, but he squeezes Dean’s hand anyway. “I may be small, but I’m not defenseless.”

“Sure, mon ami, whatever you say,” Baltazar teases and jumps off the branch. “I wish you happiness and many adorable tiny children,” he shouts and Castiel can feel his face heat up. “Don’t be a stranger, Castiel!”

“Goodbye!” Castiel calls after him.

His eyes stay trained on the swallow’s retreating form on the sky long after that, cheeks still flaring. Judging from the fact that Dean still isn’t saying anything, he must be in a similar state.

After a while, though, Castiel sighs and looks down only to find Dean staring at Castiel’s feet.

“Are you wearing socks?” Dean asks incredulously.

Castiel blinks, a bit confused. “Yes. I didn’t have shoes on when I went to bed that night when the toad–”

“Okay,” Dean interrupts and covers Castiel’s mouth with his hand. “Stop. I don’t ever want to hear the word ‘toad’ again. Or ‘beetle’. Or ‘kidnapping’. So just… stop.”

Castiel nods slowly, but Dean’s hand stays on his mouth.

“I just. I’m.” Dean licks his lips and Castiel’s eyes are momentarily drawn to the movement. “God, Cas. I kinda thought I’d never see you again.”

Castiel lifts his hands and takes Dean’s palm off his face, but doesn’t let go, wrapping his fingers around Dean’s wrist. He doesn’t say anything.

Dean breathes out and closes his eyes. “Never do that again, Cas. Please.”

Castiel doesn’t say he’d never intended to do it in the first place: he just moves and closes the distance between them. His arms wind around Dean’s neck, their chests flush against each other. Dean puts his hands on Castiel’s hips and pulls him closer.

“I’m sorry,” Dean murmurs into his ear. “I’m so sorry, Cas.”

Castiel closes his eyes and buries his face in Dean’s shoulder. He feels Dean’s hand move upwards and then there are gentle fingers in his hair, hot breath on his cheek, a hand on his waist.

“It’s okay,” Castiel whispers because he probably needs it just as much as Dean does. “Don’t apologise.”

“Okay,” Dean says.

Castiel doesn’t have time to be surprised that he agrees so easily because Dean pulls away abruptly.

“For God’s sake, Cas, you’re shaking,” he accuses as if it was Castiel’s fault that it’s so cold. Dean points at Castiel’s socked feet. “We need to get you home and into bed as soon as possible.”

“I don’t have a bed anymore,” Castiel reminds him with a small smile.

Dean frowns. “We’ll think of something. Come on.”

They hold hands while they wander around on the snow, Dean whistling and looking up to the sky. After a while, the bumblebee flies out from behind the bush and Dean beams at it.

“If you ever leave me like that again…” he threatens, but when Baby buzzes and lands in front of them, he stops and just shakes his head. “Thank goodness you’re alright.”

He pats her back and Castiel climbs up. Dean sits up front and catches Castiel’s hand when his arms encircle his waist.

“We’re going home, Cas,” Dean says quietly and rubs his thumbs over Castiel’s skin.

❧❧❧

“Dean,” Cas murmurs into his shoulder when they’re flying over the stream.

Dean looks back. “Yeah? What’s going on?”

Cas’ hands move gently over Dean’s sides and he smiles. “Nothing. Just… Can we stop here for a moment?”

Dean wants to protest–they’re close to Cas’ house and the sun is almost setting–but then he looks down and sees the pond. Without a word, he steers Baby downwards and softly lands her on a pile of snow.

“But just for a moment,” he warns, getting down. “It’s freezing and it’s late.”

Cas doesn’t reply, just slides off Baby’s back, his socks sinking into the cold snow.

Dean winces. “Do you want my shoes?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Cas says and pads over to the edge of the pond. He looks up, as if expecting to see dragonflies, then glances around. “I woke up here just yesterday, but it feels like a lifetime.”

“Yeah,” Dean says and comes over to him. “I know what you mean.”

Cas smiles, his eyes glued to the frozen water in front of them. “I wonder if I could find my bed somewhere around here.”

Dean frowns. “If you feel uncomfortable, we can leave. We wouldn’t wanna meet that toad again.”

“No,” Cas says absentmindedly. “But I have too many nice memories of this place to feel uncomfortable, no matter what happened later.”

Dean’s throat goes dry. He thinks of the way Cas’ eyes shone that night when he took him here to watch dragonflies and how good it felt to feel Cas’ hands on his wings. Suddenly, he craves for that touch again. He wants Cas to look at him, to never stop looking at him. He wants to see him everyday, not only at night, but during a day too. He wants him to meet his parents and meet Sam and see his room and lie down in his bed. He wants to hold him in his arms and never, never let go.

He’s sure now.

“Cas,” he croaks and when he glances up, Cas is already looking at him, blue eyes soft and full of the same thing he’s feeling inside his chest.

He leans down.

Cas breathes out, their lips almost touching. “Dean,” he whispers and then cradles Dean’s face in his hands, pulls him closer, and kisses him.

Dean closes his eyes and sees the light explode underneath his lids. He holds Cas in his arms and kisses him back, Cas’ lips soft and perfect and a thousand times better than Dean has imagined. He swallows every gasp Cas makes, brushes his fingers through his hair, bumps their noses together to hear Cas’ quiet laugh.

But then the light becomes too much to bear and he stumbles back, confused.

The breath catches in his throat when he opens his eyes and looks at Cas.

Cas is glowing. His lips are red, cheeks flushed, hair messy, and he’s the most beautiful thing Dean has ever seen in his life and he’s glowing. Dean watches, mesmerised, as Cas breathes out and arches his body.

And then two pairs of bright dragonfly wings unfurl behind his back.

Dean gasps.

Castiel lifts his head and looks at him, eyes big and impossibly blue. “Dean?” he whispers, a small tremble to his voice.

Dean doesn’t have a chance to say anything because Cas looks over his own shoulder and his breath hitches in his throat at the sight of wings growing out of his shoulder blades. Dean’s body moves on its own accord; he reaches out and takes Cas’ hands in his, drawing his attention to himself for a moment.

Cas looks at him, amazed and terrified at the same time, face pale, lower lip quivering. Dean leans down and kisses him again before the tears that seem to be gathering in Cas’ eyes spill over.

Cas’ fingers dig into Dean’s hand almost painfully. The kiss is more desperate and passionate than the first one and Dean doesn’t hesitate before gathering Cas in his arms, especially when he feels the salty wetness beneath his lips.

“Dean,” Cas whispers hotly. “Dean, I have wings.”

Dean peppers Cas’ neck with soft kisses and opens his eyes to peer at the wings that keep quivering behind Cas’ back. He winds an arm around Cas’ waist and keeps him close, his other hand reaching out to brush against the gorgeous tissue of Cas’ wings. They’re a bit different from Dean’s, darker and dimmed where Dean’s are glassy and transparent. They feel soft and velvety beneath Dean’s fingers.

He drops a gentle kiss just under Cas’ ear. “They’re amazing,” he mutters. “Oh, God, they’re amazing.”

“How is this possible?” Cas asks, still sounding completely astonished.

“Don’t ask me, you’re the one that grew freaking gorgeous wings out of thin air,” Dean hums against Cas’ skin.

Cas struggles weakly against Dean’s body. “Let me go, I need to see them.”

Dean hugs him closer and closes his eyes. Cas has wings. Cas has beautiful wings, he’s safe and warm and laughing in Dean’s arms and Dean’s pretty sure he’s never letting him go.

“Dean,” Cas giggles softly, and he’s the happiest Dean has ever seen him. He’s buzzing with joy, he’s electric, he’s wonderful.

“I love you,” Dean whispers. “Cas, I love you.”

Castiel’s wings flutter violently and his laugh trembles, dangerously close to a sob. He stops struggling and melts against Dean, his hands hot on Dean’s chest.

“Dean,” he says reverently, like the name in itself is a declaration.

And it is. No one has ever said his name the same way Cas does.

“I love you,” Dean says because now that he’s started, he can’t seem to stop. He pulls away only to be able to look at Cas’ face.

His blue eyes are clear and bright, with no sign of tears. He touches Dean’s face and smiles.

“I love you too.” His wings flutter so violently that he’s lifted upwards and starts hovering just a little above the ground. He laughs and looks down at Dean, awe and fire and light in his eyes.

Dean can’t breathe.

Cas grabs Dean’s hands and entwines their fingers, then leans down and whispers against Dean’s lips, “Thank you for giving me wings.”