Chapter Text
If Dean had a watch, or any kind of grasp on the concept of human time, he’d probably be thinking that it’s getting kind of late. He shuffles against the tree he’s leaned against. The bark’s scratchy through the dark green tunic he’s wearing. It’s a floaty, gossamer fabric that’s oh-so-comfy in the Fae realm but just a massive pain in the ass in the human world, with all its sensory nightmares.
He thinks about manifesting a watch. Just for the fun of it.
Anything would be better than standing here in the freezing goddamn fall air, watching a ring of mushrooms and his own misting breaths.
“You’re behind on your quota, Dean,” he mutters to himself in a terrible impression of his King. “Several seasons’ worth, by my count. We need humans, Dean, ‘cause we’re soooo powerful, we need fuckin’ mortals to feed on at all times, no, that’s not a contradiction, shut your mouth, Dean.”
Dean breaks off his own huffing, breath caught in his throat. Was that a snapping twig? Is someone coming? He listens carefully, pointed ears twitching. The forest is dark, not that it matters to Dean, every forking branch visible on the trees that are spread sparsely around him. The floor is littered with fallen branches and mushy leaves, a brown and orange carpet that’s mixing with the topsoil.
An owl hoots in the distance, but there’s no more sounds. Dean’s wings flick irritably and he winces as they catch on the tree trunk. This fucking sucks. It’s not like he has any intention of actually carting someone home but he’s gotta at least look like he’s trying. It’s just so much effort. Nah. He’ll trap them, extract some weak ass promise, feed on a childhood memory or something, and let them go again.
And he’s not even sure he can be bothered with that much, if he’s being honest. The circle looks about as effective as he feels like being. Dean used fly amanita. Nobody’s gonna be stupid enough to wander into a perfectly circular ring of bright red mushrooms with white spots, like an illustration in a literal fairy tale. And if they are, they deserve a bit of Fae trickery.
Dean’s about to give up and spin a portal to the nearest bar when he hears it again. A snap that becomes crunches that become clomping footsteps, echoing out into the air. Jesus, they’re lucky it’s only Dean out here. If he wasn’t, then if something supernatural didn’t get this human, a fucking wolf would. As it is, his presence has anything with magical or animal senses keeping far away.
Nothing fucks with the Unseelie Court.
The footsteps get louder, accompanied by offkey humming, and Dean watches in disbelief as a human man enters his space from between two trees, bobbing his head to the music that’s playing on his over ear headphones. The sound is tinny and faint, but Dean can hear it clearly. It’s something bouncy and synthesized, some pop singer du jour. Ugh.
Dean misses the 70s.
The guy’s wearing jeans and a plain light blue t-shirt, sneakers that have seen better days, and a tan trenchcoat that’s woefully inadequate for the weather thrown over the top. His eyes are down, squinting against the dark for where to put his feet, so he doesn’t see the unimpressed fairy watching with folded arms.
Hmm.
For a stupid, noisy mortal, he’s remarkably attractive. Slight scruff, angular jaw. Cheekbones that could hold up a nation. And if Dean’s seeing under those lowered, dark eyelashes correctly, blue irises that are so bright, the guy could be supernatural himself. Suddenly all those deals his other, pervier brethren like to indulge in make a lot more sense.
Not that Dean would ever stoop so low. Give him a Nymph over a human any day.
The man stumbles slightly over an abandoned tree branch, grinning at his own clumsiness, and Dean grimaces. Add ‘uncoordinated’ to the list of reasons this man should never have made it to his apparent mid thirties.
Oh, God.
He’s actually walking into the fucking ring.
Dean groans with frustration, running a hand through his hair and ruffling it in every direction.
The guy stops dead suddenly, jerking with surprise when he spots Dean. He’s not made it to the other side of the circle, which means he doesn’t even realise he’s trapped yet.
This is gonna suck.
“Oh!” the guy breathes, reaching up to tug his headphones down to around his neck. “Uh. Hello?” There’s a reddish tinge blooming on his cheeks, presumably embarrassment at being caught half dancing and singing in the middle of the woods. “Um, are you okay?”
The guy’s just run into a complete stranger, hanging out in the dark in a forest for no apparent reason, and his first reaction is to check if said possible serial killer is okay?
How is this man alive?
Dean rolls his eyes and steps away from the tree, tilting his head until his neck clicks, then lifts his wings and fills his eyes with pitch, glittering blackness. Showtime.
“Hey there, stranger,” Dean says, breezy, the corner of his mouth picked up in a lazy smirk. “You lookin’ for me or just lost?”
The guy’s mouth falls open, though whether it’s down to the words or to how Dean must look to his shitty human night vision is anyone’s guess.
“I-” the guy starts, then stops entirely. He stares some more, head cocking like a confused puppy.
Dean’s smile widens, knowing that the hint of fang will make it seem downright predatory. “It’s your lucky night, sport. See, you coulda attracted all manner of nastiness, out here alone like this, but instead you got me. And I ain’t gonna hurt you. All you gotta do is a li’l somethin’ for me and you can skip on your merry way.” Every word of it’s the truth. Sort of has to be, Dean physically can’t lie, not without his tongue twisting up in his mouth and trying to choke him.
The human’s squinting at him still. “Is that- Are you wearing a fairy costume? Is this one of those LARPs? I’m so sorry, I’m not actually playing, my friend Charlie does them though, she’d love to join you. Maybe we could swap contact details? I can put you in touch, what’s your name?”
This guy’s voice is very nice. All raspy. And stuff.
Dean snorts. “What the hell’s a LARP? And dream on, buddy, I’m not just givin’ out my name to some stranger, are you kiddin’ me?”
“Oh! Yes, I’m being rude. I’m Castiel Novak. Nice to meet you. There, not strangers any more.” The human, Castiel, smiles at him, tentative and hopeful.
Dean shudders all over, involuntarily, as he feels the goddamn tether settle between them. That was his real, honest to God full name. He could get this human to do literally anything.
Jesus Christ.
“Are you insane?” Dean growls. He swipes a hand in the air, snapping the bond, because come on, he has standards, that wasn’t exactly a challenge. Then he waves it at the circle and himself in turn. “This look like a meet an’ greet to you?! Where the Hell is your common sense? Didja hide it somewhere, along with your survival instincts?”
Castiel’s brow furrows, more confused than scared or angry. Like he should be. “Is this still part of the game?” Finally, finally, he starts looking a bit unsure, fiddling with the headphones around his neck as he looks Dean up and down like he’s reassessing. Or looking for the murder weapon. Then his expression clears and he starts smiling again. “That costume really is very impressive, can I-?”
Castiel starts forward, and Dean waits, one brow raised, curious to see how the guy’s gonna react when this penny drops.
Cas hits the line of mushrooms on the other side and freezes, his leg still hovering mid step. He frowns, waggles his foot. It doesn’t get past the line of red and white. And then Dean watches, not smiling, he’s not, as Castiel hops his way around the inside circumference, testing the boundary with one foot.
Then he does it again, with the other one.
This is the weirdest goddamn human Dean’s ever met.
“Um,” Castiel says, finally dropping his foot, hands on his hips, head tilted as he examines the thin air that’s stopping his progress. “I think I know what’s happening.”
“Hallelujah!” Dean exclaims, throwing his hands in the air. “Now can we-”
“I’m dreaming, aren’t I?” Cas says, and Dean despairs.
Actually, he thinks, dropping his hand from where he’d immediately facepalmed, that’s not a bad idea. Fuck it, the reality’s clearly beyond this guy’s comprehension. And Dean maybe can’t outright lie but he’s been playing this game a longass time.
“You think so, huh?” Dean asks, nodding encouragingly, agreeing without words.
Cas is looking around again, running his hand down the invisible barrier in the air. “It’s very realistic.”
“Mm,” Dean hums non-committally. Finally, they’re back on track. Time to do what he does best and then get out of here. “And I guess if you were dreaming, there’d be no harm in doing a deal, right?”
“A deal?” Castiel asks, refocusing on him, his hand dropping. Then his grin widens. “Oh, I like this dream. And, um, what kind of deal could you possibly want from someone like me, Mister mystery fairy?” He’s looking up through his eyelashes, pupils dilating, toying idly with the hem of his t-shirt.
His tone is distinctly coquetteish.
Dean didn’t even know he knew that word before just now.
“Not that kind!” He yelps. “This dream-” he cuts off, choking, strangling as his tongue attempts to double back on itself, has to verbally pivot in a way he’s not needed to do in centuries. “I mean, if you’re right, and it’s a dream, it wouldn’t be that kind, it’d be dry, very dry dream!”
“Oh,” Cas says, and he looks so disappointed that Dean’s not sure what to do with it.
In fact, he suddenly feels too warm, grasping at the wide vee neck of his tunic and immediately getting his fingers tangled up in the strings that criss cross over the gap. “Just- fuckin’- Why’re you even out here?”
Castiel squints at him again, corners of his mouth tilting up. “Shouldn’t you know that already, if you’re part of my subconscious?”
Fucking smartass.
“Indulge me,” Dean says through gritted teeth.
“I think I’m dreaming about my usual night time walk,” Cas says thoughtfully. “I got a little turned around, but it’s a nice night, and I’m sure I’ll find the path again soon.”
Dean closes his eyes and scrubs a hand down his face. “Your- your usual-” No, actually, not touching that. “Right. Let’s get this over with, and then I’ll- goddammit, I’ll lead you out.” It goes against all of his instincts, guiding lost travellers is for the pansy ass Seelie Court, but it’s that or let the guy get eaten by something. “Okay. Here’s the deal. Childhood memory for your freedom. We dancin’, Cas?”
Great, now he’s Cas.
Cas looks a little taken aback. “A memory?”
“Yeah, yeah, look, it ain’t gotta be a good one.” They just taste a million times better. “Just, I dunno, what’s the worst thing you remember?”
The way Cas’s face crumples makes Dean feel like he’s chewing on his own foot. Real tactful.
“Well, um.” Cas sounds like he’s gonna cry. “There was the time my brother Luc took my journal into school.”
Dean already hates the direction this is going. “Ah, jeez. Guessin’ it wasn’t to give it back?”
“No,” says Cas, voice bitter and wobbling. “He read it out to my friends, as well as most of my class, and then very shortly they weren’t my friends any more. Too embarrassing for them.” He takes a deep breath, straightens a little. “I was ten. High School was difficult, following that. But it’s alright, it was a long time ago.”
And also happening right now. Dean’s not constrained by a human understanding of time. He knows how memories can muddle the timeline, pulling it up into big, painful loops.
And fuck Dean’s life because he can’t take that memory, Cas needs that to remember what a dick his brother is. Hmm. Luc Novak. Unusual name. He’d be pretty easy to track down, even by human methods.
“You, uh, you got anythin’ a little less important there, bud?” Dean asks weakly.
Cas blinks at him. Those eyes really are very fucking blue. “Well, I suppose you could take any one of the dinner parties my parents liked to throw. Those were always fairly miserable.”
Dean’s breath escapes in a relieved whoosh of air. “Okay, now we’re cookin’! Concentrate on one of those for me, okay?”
Dean claps his hands together then rubs them, palm to palm, a sphere of green smoke beginning to build around his hands and expand, sparkles scattered and winking over the surface. It’s irritatingly gratifying, the way Castiel’s eyes grow wide. The sphere gets bigger, tendrils swirling up Dean’s arms as he prepares to release it and-
And then the whole fucking thing sputters and dies, smoke dribbling into nothingness.
They stare at each other for a beat.
“Uh. This doesn’t usually happen to me,” Dean says, rubbing the back of his neck.
The wind picks up and the trees around them creak, like they’re laughing at him. Might be they are. He swears, if there’s a goddamn Dryad around watching this then he’s gonna chop their tree down. Make a bonfire and warm his goddamn hands over it.
“Could it-?” Cas starts hesitantly. “Could it be because I didn’t actually agree to the deal?”
Dean closes his eyes and pulls his lips between his teeth. For fuck’s sake. “Yup. Yup, that’d do it.” Why the Hell is he getting the goddamn basics all twisted up tonight?
Cas chuckles, a rich sound in the quiet of the night. “Well then, fairy, I accept your terms. We have a deal.”
The sudden rush that hits him is sweet, sweeter than the usual triumphant surge of magic in response to a mortal bargain being struck. It’s milk and nectar and fireworks. The green smoke explodes from his hands, actually knocking him back a step.
It curls around his body, the rest spreading forwards in a creeping, glittering wave along the ground. When it reaches Cas, it wraps almost affectionately around his calves and then up, spiralling around the rest of him, all the way to his neck.
Dean shivers as the deal concludes, energy travelling along the haze that links them, from Cas’s chest, over the forest floor, and up to Dean’s. A lemon-sour memory sinks through his skin and into his ribcage.
A small child with big blue eyes and a shock of black hair, barely able to see over the top of the dining table, reaching for a fork. A smack to the back of the hand and a cold hiss in his ear. It was the wrong fork. The child knew better. He’d do better next time. He promises.
Dean smacks his lips, wishing he could spit the taste out. Unpleasant, and Dean could maybe levitate a pencil with the amount of power that gave him, but it’ll do.
Just as suddenly as the smoke started, it dissipates, glitter still hovering in the empty space left behind.
“Is- is that it? It’s done?” Cas asks, gently, like he’s trying hard not to offend.
“Yeah. Yeah, you’re, ya know. Free to go and all that,” Dean grumbles. “And for the record, you agreed to that way too easily. For the love of God, promise me, you end up in this situation again, fuckin’ haggle, at the very least.”
Cas snorts, picking his way out of the mushrooms and over to Dean. As he draws near, Dean inhales. Cas smells… Nice. Just unscented soap, clean and fresh. A touch of herbal deodorant, maybe. “What would I haggle for?” he asks, sounding amused.
“Anythin’.” Dean growls. “Safe passage. A favour. Fuckin’ directions.” He doesn’t add that Cas could’ve even bartered for Dean’s name. No need to give the human ideas.
“You already offered to do all that,” Cas says mildly.
Son of a bitch. He actually did. “Not everyone’s as much of a bleedin’ heart as I am,” Dean bites out.
He doesn’t give Cas a chance to respond. He spins on his heel, starts stomping through the mulch, not looking back to see if Cas is following.
He can hear him anyway.
The whole damn forest can, those stumbling, cracking footsteps as Cas finds every breakable twig along the way. The footsteps get a little louder, a little closer.
An electric shock shoots down his spine.
Something brushed the edge of his wing, something warm and trailing.
Dean stops and turns, baring his fangs in a snarl. They’re small compared to some creatures out there, but impressive enough to give a human pause. “What the Hell, dude?”
Cas at least has the courtesy to look guilty. “Sorry, sorry! I just wanted to see if they feel as, well, as delicate as they look. They’re very- light. Translucent. Like ricepaper, but they feel solid, like, like bendable eggshells.” Cas babbles. “I’m surprised I could feel anything at all, to be honest, I never usually can in dreams.”
Right. Cas thinks he’s dreaming. His little grabby hands routine is harmless, in his mind.
“Well- just- don’t,” Dean half-yells. “Keep your human mitts off the goddamn goods!”
Cas looks at the ground, nodding. “Understood. I won’t. Um. Touch the goods.”
Fantastic, now Dean’s face feels hot. Does Cas clock the double meaning there? Probably not. Moron blundered into the world’s most obvious fairy ring like it was the entrance to the county fair.
“Good,” Dean says, and it sounds as stupid as he feels.
The following walk involves more adjusting of his tunic and the flowy, cropped pants underneath than Dean will ever admit to. Cas just keeps tripping into him, all heat and fingers patting Dean’s arm and mumbled apologies.
Seriously, how has Cas made it this far in life? He’s got the balance and grace of an upside down pine tree.
They reach the edge of the forest, the light from nearby streetlamps spilling into the earth and turning the dull, muted colours into something warmer. In the distance, there’s the thrum of the odd human vehicle passing, and somewhere above an electrical wire drones. Dean points towards the road with a heaping spoonful of relief.
“Okay, off you go,” Dean says, with an air like he’s releasing a stray cat into the wild. “Oh, wait-” He reaches and prods two fingers into Cas’s forehead, quick and perfunctory. “There ya are. Now you can go.”
Cas blinks at him, eyes glazing over. He smiles, slow and goofy. Dean may or may not have given him a little brainnudge, to ensure he makes the journey home in a daze, really sell the whole ‘it was all a dream’ vibe. Cas’ll wake up thinking he skipped the walk and got an early night. The memory of Dean will fade fast.
And he’s fine with that.
“Thank you,” Cas says, words syruppy and thick. “Goodbye, Mister Fairy.”
Dean feels the strongest, stupidest urge to tell Cas his name, just to hear him say it, and that horrifies him more than anything else that’s transpired.
“Yup, yeah, see ya, Cas,” he gets out quickly. “No more midnight strolls, okay?”
Cas laughs, a hiccuping little noise that gets deeper as it goes. “Silly,” he says, and boops Dean’s nose.
Then he saunters off, a shrinking figure that Dean can just make out through the trees, wavering along the sidewalk and towards civilization.
Cas’s definitely not gonna stop going for late night walks, Dean thinks grimly. And then what’s gonna happen to him? He gave his name away like it was nothing. He hasn’t got a single ounce of self preservation, couldn’t even fathom that magic exists, let alone how to guard against it. Someone needs to protect this human from himself.
And Dean just sent him off to walk home all alone, mind addled.
With a groan, Dean starts to follow.