DCBB Black Glass pt.7
Part 6
Let it never be said that Michael was not an honorable man. He liked to see his affairs through to the end, and in good order and esteem. Let it never be said that Michael was the one that stabbed foreign dignitaries in the dark alcoves that littered the Holy Empire, instigating wars in the surrounding countries that the Basilica profiteered from, discretely of course. Let it never be said that he struck a servant repeatedly till he succumbed to his injuries when he learned that the Unholy Child still lived and had murdered an entire band of reconnaissance soldiers just south of the border.
He snarled and hurled a clay jar of wine at the far wall of his chambers, momentarily satisfied at the loud crash and tinkle of the pieces falling to the floor. He paced in front of his desk, glancing furiously at the picture on the desktop. It was a blurry, grainy capture; it could have been anyone or anything in the black and white four by four, but the bulky, dark mass on its back that branched out above its head betrayed its identity. The Unholy Child-the result of an unnatural union between the former ruler and an ignorant servant girl-still lived, still breathed free air and lived outside of the Empire. Michael was powerless to act against him without resorting to underhanded methods of violence that he usually didn’t much care for. Usually.
He bit his lip and consulted the continent map on the wall across the room, taking care to notice the placement of the sightings. The Unholy seemed to travel extensively, his men couldn’t pin an exact area in which to search. It seemed at first to be just a massive expanse of empty land and it was odd that the man would go there at all. But the more detailed reports that were delivered, the more pieces fell into place. He seemed to be a hunter, seeing as every area he visited was known to be gathering grounds for game, known mainly by hunters who grew up in the surrounding area. These were migration routes and hereditary fields, hunters from other continents or even from the opposite side of the Empire would not know of these lands. The sightings and reports seemed to indicate that the Unholy spent numerous weeks in those areas. Michael had a fuzzy idea of his location, though he had to consider the possibility that he really was a hunter-trapper and as such would constantly be on the move.
If only he could discern exactly where the ship carrying the Unholy had wrecked onto the shore, perhaps it would be better to send patrols to the riverside rather than search for a needle in a haystack. He traced the Great River with his index finger, humming in thought. If he could find the wreckage, perhaps some hint was given as to where the traitor and the Unholy had gone.
Cas woke shuddering and coughing, feeling dagger-like cold spread over his wings and body. He instinctively clutched the still warm baby girl to his chest, protecting her from whatever had happened. He could barely open his eyes due to the harsh, diffused light of the morn, but something had woken him. Again, he wasn’t one to simply drift in and out of sleep, something or someone was close.
He stood on shaky legs and stumbled around their ramshackle camp. His wings trailed unresponsive behind him, but soon blood flow would return, he was hardly concerned about that. He felt the baby girl’s heartbeat, was unconcerned about her. But Dean, Dean was missing. Once more in his life he damned his lack of speech, and whirled around in the clearing, looking for any sign, any hint at where Dean had gone. Their fire had died, Lisa’s funeral pyre a black smudge against the white of the forest floor. Her ruins and wrappings burned away to nothing overnight, all that had been her was gone with the fire and the smoke. The girl began to wake and move against his breast, and he keened in distress, puttering about the camp, looking for any trace of his mate. He knew he needed to calm himself, his heart beat against his ribs painfully and he fought for each breath, and the girl’s wails filled his ears, he couldn’t hear anything over their panic, and he tried shushing her gently. Nothing worked, and he whimpered and sat by what had remained of the fire, stroking the girl’s head in what he hoped was a soothing manner.
He focused and heard distant chopping noises, somewhere to his left. He relaxed and settled further onto the ground, bringing his shivering wings around his body and the little girl’s. Within the hour Dean returned with an axe over his shoulder and a pile of wood in his other arm, soot and wood splinters covering his face and clothes. He smiled at Cas and merely glanced at his child, something grim flashing across his face before it was gone in an instant. Cas tightened his grip and nodded at him, watching him start a new fire. Dean eventually sat down on the opposite side of the new flame and Cas whined at him, wondering why his mate chose to sit alone rather than share his body heat.
“We can’t go back, Cas.” Dean said instead, poking at the fire with a stick. “There are soldiers everywhere; ain’t a secret who they’re looking for.”
Cas swallowed and adjusted his grip on the girl, and again, Dean gave her that look, and for once Cas couldn’t stand it. He growled low in warning, tucking the girl closer against his chest, beneath his furs. Dean’s eyebrows shot up, in alarm or amusement Cas could not tell, but he smirked, stoking the fire again.
“What, you thinking you gonna keep that thing?” Dean chuckled. “It’s too dangerous to have a child out here. And there’s no way Lisa’s folks will take it…they didn’t exactly approve.”
Cas of course understood none of this, what was the danger? Cas was an animal of the forest and as such would protect his new child with all of his might. Her mother had perished, that was no fault of the baby’s, and it shouldn’t be handled that way either. His wings bristled at the thought of losing her, of leaving her behind. He wouldn’t let it happen, even if he had to fight his mate for the right. He snarled and stood, setting the baby on a nest of blankets by the fire as he set about packing his things, ignoring Dean’s protests.
“You’re just gonna take her? Just like that? She’s not yours, Cas. You’ll never have a child, you should just accept it-”
Cas growled and knocked Dean to the ground, straddling his hips and keeping him there as he bit his neck. Dean was sorely mistaken if he thought he could talk to Cas like that, and he would show him his place. He gnawed on the delicate flesh, not satisfied till Dean let out a pained shout and he tasted the copper of blood, and Dean’s body fell back to the ground in submission.
“Cas, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” Dean wheezed against the dirt with his eyes screwed shut and Cas drew back only a little, huffing against the inflamed flesh, lapping at the sweat covered skin in slight apology. What Dean didn’t realize was that he had given him his child, willingly or not he had fulfilled his duty to his mate. Cas nuzzled against his brother’s neck, satisfied when Dean remained limp and unresisting in his grasp, and then he pulled away, though still sitting on his lap. Dean’s trembling hands trailed up his mate’s thighs, haltingly, breaths hitching on every overexerted exhale as he worshipped his alpha’s body. Cas hummed in pleasure, moving his hips around on Dean’s lap. He could feel his mate’s excitement against his tailbone, and he ground back against it, reveling in the breathy gasp issued from Dean’s lips.
Cas cocked his head and gazed down at his lover, sitting heavier on his swelling member and rolling against it sensually slow, painfully slow, smirking at every hitched breath and moan issued from his mate’s lips.
“I want in you, Cas, I want in…” Dean groaned, bucking his hips up in jerky half-stutters. Castiel uttered a breathy chuckle, the most positive emotion he had displayed in a long time. He leaned down and licked a trail up Dean’s neck to his chin, loving the taste of soot and sweat and his brother’s innate essence that was ever present. Dean’s hands fumbled with the ties on his leggings, pulling them and his long-johns down his thighs as far as they could go. His hands, cold from the wintery air, landed on Cas’s buttocks and he flinched. Cas distracted himself by removing Dean’s clothes as well, sighing into the older man’s mouth when Dean’s erection was freed into the air. He took it in hand, stroked it carefully and spread the beading precome from the tip to the root, breathing in the heady smell of lust and pheromones in the close air.
He began rolling his hips again, selfish in his own pleasure, and Dean clamped his hands down on them. Cas whined in frustration, tossing his head and glaring down at his lover. Dean smirked and put two of his fingers in his mouth, suckling at them, getting them good and wet before trailing them underneath Cas’s spread legs. Cas shuddered and gasped loudly when Dean shoved them inside his hole with no preamble. The sounds of the forest could be heard in tandem with Cas’s shaky breaths and the thick squelching of preparation. It had been a long time since he had submitted to his brother like this, he was ill-prepared for the penetration and his body burned with pain and lust equally. He was torn between rutting down against the intrusion or scrabbling away and hissing like the creature he was. Lucky for him, Dean didn’t give him the time to choose.
In a blurred second Cas was on his back, staring up at the heather gray sky with his wings pinned awkwardly beneath him. Dean immediately loomed into his vision, devouring his lips when his arms hooked under Cas’s knees, pulling them apart. There was a precious moment when Cas felt the head of Dean’s cock against his entrance that sent his world into silence. He ceased to breathe, no sound entered his senses and his entire being thrummed in anticipation.
And then it was interrupted by a shrill, wailing cry from his left.
Dean groaned, collapsing onto Cas’s chest and the hunter let his head fall back against the ground in frustration. Cas strained his neck to look over, and saw the little girl wriggling in her wrappings, little arms flailing in the air for her mother’s embrace, and possibly for sustenance too. He clucked his tongue and rolled out from beneath Dean, crawling to the fire where the baby lay and he pulled her into his arms. She didn’t immediately calm, but the more he shushed her and bounced her on his knee the more her sobs turned to happy gurgles. He cooed at her softly, smiling at her toothless grin, her green eyes sparkling in the firelight.
He half turned when he heard a deep moan. Dean stood at one end of the clearing braced against a tree as he brought himself to completion. Cas licked his lips and stared as his mate’s body shuddered through his release, and he could immediately smell the salty tang of ejaculate in the air. He wished he could have tasted it, but he knew there were things that shouldn’t be done in front of a child, mating being one of them.
Cas willed his arousal away. It wasn’t hard, he had lived months in the harsh countryside, pleasure was not a priority, and soon enough he was flaccid and cold once again. He cast about, still cradling the girl against his chest, looking for some of his clothes.
“Here,” Dean murmured, coming back over to the fire, holding out Cas’s pants and long-johns. “I’ll hold her,” and he took the girl out of his hands, tossing Cas’s clothes onto his lap. He huffed and stood, pulling on his clothes and kept a wary eye on Dean and the child. He hadn’t mistaken that look from before; Dean held no love for the little girl, not as much as he should anyway. But when he looked at him now, he saw a glimmer of fondness, maybe affection, in his eyes. That was good, it helped calm his nerves as he pulled the rest of his clothes on, shrugging on his top and numerous jackets, and lastly his cloak that helped shield his wings from the cold and elements. His breath fogged in his face and he smiled, wondering how Dean and he had even considered mating on the frozen ground.
Uriel might have been old, but he was no fool. He understood the stirrings in the Basilica for what they were, unrest and unease. Trickery was afoot in the upper echelons, and he would be damned if he didn’t try and put a stop to it. He saw it in the way servants scurried about, like little messenger doves with rolled scraps of paper tied to their delicate little feet. He saw it in the way the Ministers spoke in hushed tones in every drafty corner of the Basilica, in the back alleys of the Holy Empire. Something was stirring, like a great demon rising up from a slumber, and he was staring down into the belly of it, alone to challenge it.
He took to studying alone in his chambers, venturing out only if necessary. Soldiers roamed freely throughout the halls, and would stop anyone they deemed suspicious. Newcomers were downtrodden, beaten things that Uriel pitied. They had made the journey to the Empire in hopes of a new, gilded life, but given how things were they were not welcomed with open arms.
“Come along, child,” Uriel uttered to a disheveled peasant girl that had collapsed at the doors of the Basilica. Her head rolled limply on her spindly neck, and she remained unresponsive. He picked her up and brought her to the kind women of the Ministry. They would help her. One such woman took the child from his hands, sighing and crossing herself at the pitiful sight.
“My lord, if things continue as they are…”
“I know, madam. All we can do now is pray.”
She pursed her lips and nodded at him, taking the girl inside. Uriel left, knowing the child was in good hands. He wandered back to the interior of the Basilica, tracing his hands over the equally worn and forgotten murals on the walls of time and events long past. He gazed up at the image of the previous Emperor-his likeness had been struck from the wall-and imagined what the Lost Prince’s face must look like. Would he look like his father? Would those boyish features mature into harsh angles and bone structure that would speak for generations of royalty flowing through his veins? Or would he come to take after his mother? With rounder features and a softness that belied a grace and humility that many would come to rely on in these dark times. One thing Uriel knew for sure, those eyes of his would continue to burn blue like the sharpest, hottest flames found at the center of any inferno.
Without meaning to, the Lost Prince had become a symbol to the beleaguered masses beneath Lord Michael. Uriel knew he didn’t have much time left; he just hoped he lived long enough to see the homecoming of one Castiel, the true Holy Prince.
With Dean’s adamant refusal to return to town, let alone to their cabin, they set out deeper into the forest. It was a region Cas had trekked before, and he remembered adequate shelter spots and areas they should avoid in fear of pitfalls, traps and other predators. The going was slow and hard; Cas took to the environment like a fish in water with the baby tucked close in a sling around his chest, but Dean struggled behind with most of their belongings on Cas’s sled. They had to stop often to change the baby’s wrappings and feed her. Dean still hadn’t named her, he started calling her Girl, and Cas knew that would be the closest thing to a name that she would get. It wasn’t out of hatred or neglect, he just couldn’t bring himself to give her a name without his-now dead-wife’s input. Cas understood on some base level why.
Dean was hiding something, that much he knew when he snuck glances behind at the struggling man. His face tightened whenever he looked upon him, whenever Cas expressed some desire to turn back the deeper they trekked. Sometimes Cas would find him mispronouncing his name, adding more syllables at the end that sounded strange and unwanted to his ears. Dean would be quick to correct himself, but the slip did not go unnoticed.
After about two months of the same drudge, Cas finally drew to a stop next to a lazily trickling brook. He put his hands on his hips, breathing deep and almost choking on the sharp winter air. He panted and turned back to his companion, watched him struggle up the rocky terrain and then toss their bags to the ground in frustration.
“What, what is it? Why are we stopping?” Dean growled, and Cas snorted, turning to look back out at the view.
“I get it, you’re mad at me. C’mon man, we can’t go back, it’s too late now. Way too late.”
Cas didn’t turn back, but he could hear Dean grunt and curse in frustration.
“Can you just say something? Please?”
Cas shrugged and looked down at Girl’s little head, soft tufts of hair blowing about in the breeze. She was beautiful, everything he could ever want in a child, and she was his, without a doubt now. Dean made it perfectly clear he wanted nothing to do with her, so it fell to Cas to care for her. The only problem was they were running out of supplies, and they were too far north now. Their only choice would be to double back and try to live off the land till they made it home, or continue north to the Empire, which based on Dean’s aversion to the soldiers, would be a horrific idea. Yet their list of options wore thin as time went on, the farther they went, and besides the Empire no civilization was closer. He hated the idea of venturing there, but soon enough their survival would depend on it.
“We don’t have a whole lot of options, Cas.” Dean sighed when Cas played with Girl with his fingers. She would grab at them and he would pull them away and she giggled madly at the sport.
“Would you listen to me?” Dean hissed and Cas spared him an exasperated look over his shoulder, half turning at least.
“I remember Dad talking about a fishing village he came across on his way south from the Empire. If we can find it maybe they won’t mind us staying for a while, just till we get back on our feet, figure out where we’re headed from here.”
Cas looked down at the stream and knew Dean had a valid point. Where there was a stream, there was a river, where there was a river there was bound to be a lake, and this far north there was bound to be a settlement of some sort.
“I don’t know what they’ll think of your wings though…” Dean trailed off, staring at them, as if for the first time.
Cas cooed at him in confusion, tucking them behind his body in a brief flash of embarrassment. He had never felt shame about them before, he wondered about it now. Should he be worried about exposing them in public? He remembered back to Lisa, how she had initially reacted upon seeing them, then the soldier in the forest. They certainly weren’t normal, he knew that much from seeing his brothers and the various men that visited their father when he was still alive. But he had never wondered about them before, never thought them an abnormality to be ashamed of. Wasn’t it Dean who brought him the cloak that he was wearing at that very moment? The cloak that, if he worked his wings the right way, would cover them completely? Dean caught his look and fought to continue.
“I mean, what with the Empire out looking for you and all we might look a little suspicious. We are getting closer to the Empire after all.”
Cas still recoiled from Dean’s placating touch, and settled for pressing on, trying to ignore the painful pricks of tears fighting to spill from his eyes.
Let it never be said that Michael was not an honorable man. He liked to see his affairs through to the end, and in good order and esteem. Let it never be said that Michael was the one that stabbed foreign dignitaries in the dark alcoves that littered the Holy Empire, instigating wars in the surrounding countries that the Basilica profiteered from, discretely of course. Let it never be said that he struck a servant repeatedly till he succumbed to his injuries when he learned that the Unholy Child still lived and had murdered an entire band of reconnaissance soldiers just south of the border.
He snarled and hurled a clay jar of wine at the far wall of his chambers, momentarily satisfied at the loud crash and tinkle of the pieces falling to the floor. He paced in front of his desk, glancing furiously at the picture on the desktop. It was a blurry, grainy capture; it could have been anyone or anything in the black and white four by four, but the bulky, dark mass on its back that branched out above its head betrayed its identity. The Unholy Child-the result of an unnatural union between the former ruler and an ignorant servant girl-still lived, still breathed free air and lived outside of the Empire. Michael was powerless to act against him without resorting to underhanded methods of violence that he usually didn’t much care for. Usually.
He bit his lip and consulted the continent map on the wall across the room, taking care to notice the placement of the sightings. The Unholy seemed to travel extensively, his men couldn’t pin an exact area in which to search. It seemed at first to be just a massive expanse of empty land and it was odd that the man would go there at all. But the more detailed reports that were delivered, the more pieces fell into place. He seemed to be a hunter, seeing as every area he visited was known to be gathering grounds for game, known mainly by hunters who grew up in the surrounding area. These were migration routes and hereditary fields, hunters from other continents or even from the opposite side of the Empire would not know of these lands. The sightings and reports seemed to indicate that the Unholy spent numerous weeks in those areas. Michael had a fuzzy idea of his location, though he had to consider the possibility that he really was a hunter-trapper and as such would constantly be on the move.
If only he could discern exactly where the ship carrying the Unholy had wrecked onto the shore, perhaps it would be better to send patrols to the riverside rather than search for a needle in a haystack. He traced the Great River with his index finger, humming in thought. If he could find the wreckage, perhaps some hint was given as to where the traitor and the Unholy had gone.
Cas woke shuddering and coughing, feeling dagger-like cold spread over his wings and body. He instinctively clutched the still warm baby girl to his chest, protecting her from whatever had happened. He could barely open his eyes due to the harsh, diffused light of the morn, but something had woken him. Again, he wasn’t one to simply drift in and out of sleep, something or someone was close.
He stood on shaky legs and stumbled around their ramshackle camp. His wings trailed unresponsive behind him, but soon blood flow would return, he was hardly concerned about that. He felt the baby girl’s heartbeat, was unconcerned about her. But Dean, Dean was missing. Once more in his life he damned his lack of speech, and whirled around in the clearing, looking for any sign, any hint at where Dean had gone. Their fire had died, Lisa’s funeral pyre a black smudge against the white of the forest floor. Her ruins and wrappings burned away to nothing overnight, all that had been her was gone with the fire and the smoke. The girl began to wake and move against his breast, and he keened in distress, puttering about the camp, looking for any trace of his mate. He knew he needed to calm himself, his heart beat against his ribs painfully and he fought for each breath, and the girl’s wails filled his ears, he couldn’t hear anything over their panic, and he tried shushing her gently. Nothing worked, and he whimpered and sat by what had remained of the fire, stroking the girl’s head in what he hoped was a soothing manner.
He focused and heard distant chopping noises, somewhere to his left. He relaxed and settled further onto the ground, bringing his shivering wings around his body and the little girl’s. Within the hour Dean returned with an axe over his shoulder and a pile of wood in his other arm, soot and wood splinters covering his face and clothes. He smiled at Cas and merely glanced at his child, something grim flashing across his face before it was gone in an instant. Cas tightened his grip and nodded at him, watching him start a new fire. Dean eventually sat down on the opposite side of the new flame and Cas whined at him, wondering why his mate chose to sit alone rather than share his body heat.
“We can’t go back, Cas.” Dean said instead, poking at the fire with a stick. “There are soldiers everywhere; ain’t a secret who they’re looking for.”
Cas swallowed and adjusted his grip on the girl, and again, Dean gave her that look, and for once Cas couldn’t stand it. He growled low in warning, tucking the girl closer against his chest, beneath his furs. Dean’s eyebrows shot up, in alarm or amusement Cas could not tell, but he smirked, stoking the fire again.
“What, you thinking you gonna keep that thing?” Dean chuckled. “It’s too dangerous to have a child out here. And there’s no way Lisa’s folks will take it…they didn’t exactly approve.”
Cas of course understood none of this, what was the danger? Cas was an animal of the forest and as such would protect his new child with all of his might. Her mother had perished, that was no fault of the baby’s, and it shouldn’t be handled that way either. His wings bristled at the thought of losing her, of leaving her behind. He wouldn’t let it happen, even if he had to fight his mate for the right. He snarled and stood, setting the baby on a nest of blankets by the fire as he set about packing his things, ignoring Dean’s protests.
“You’re just gonna take her? Just like that? She’s not yours, Cas. You’ll never have a child, you should just accept it-”
Cas growled and knocked Dean to the ground, straddling his hips and keeping him there as he bit his neck. Dean was sorely mistaken if he thought he could talk to Cas like that, and he would show him his place. He gnawed on the delicate flesh, not satisfied till Dean let out a pained shout and he tasted the copper of blood, and Dean’s body fell back to the ground in submission.
“Cas, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” Dean wheezed against the dirt with his eyes screwed shut and Cas drew back only a little, huffing against the inflamed flesh, lapping at the sweat covered skin in slight apology. What Dean didn’t realize was that he had given him his child, willingly or not he had fulfilled his duty to his mate. Cas nuzzled against his brother’s neck, satisfied when Dean remained limp and unresisting in his grasp, and then he pulled away, though still sitting on his lap. Dean’s trembling hands trailed up his mate’s thighs, haltingly, breaths hitching on every overexerted exhale as he worshipped his alpha’s body. Cas hummed in pleasure, moving his hips around on Dean’s lap. He could feel his mate’s excitement against his tailbone, and he ground back against it, reveling in the breathy gasp issued from Dean’s lips.
Cas cocked his head and gazed down at his lover, sitting heavier on his swelling member and rolling against it sensually slow, painfully slow, smirking at every hitched breath and moan issued from his mate’s lips.
“I want in you, Cas, I want in…” Dean groaned, bucking his hips up in jerky half-stutters. Castiel uttered a breathy chuckle, the most positive emotion he had displayed in a long time. He leaned down and licked a trail up Dean’s neck to his chin, loving the taste of soot and sweat and his brother’s innate essence that was ever present. Dean’s hands fumbled with the ties on his leggings, pulling them and his long-johns down his thighs as far as they could go. His hands, cold from the wintery air, landed on Cas’s buttocks and he flinched. Cas distracted himself by removing Dean’s clothes as well, sighing into the older man’s mouth when Dean’s erection was freed into the air. He took it in hand, stroked it carefully and spread the beading precome from the tip to the root, breathing in the heady smell of lust and pheromones in the close air.
He began rolling his hips again, selfish in his own pleasure, and Dean clamped his hands down on them. Cas whined in frustration, tossing his head and glaring down at his lover. Dean smirked and put two of his fingers in his mouth, suckling at them, getting them good and wet before trailing them underneath Cas’s spread legs. Cas shuddered and gasped loudly when Dean shoved them inside his hole with no preamble. The sounds of the forest could be heard in tandem with Cas’s shaky breaths and the thick squelching of preparation. It had been a long time since he had submitted to his brother like this, he was ill-prepared for the penetration and his body burned with pain and lust equally. He was torn between rutting down against the intrusion or scrabbling away and hissing like the creature he was. Lucky for him, Dean didn’t give him the time to choose.
In a blurred second Cas was on his back, staring up at the heather gray sky with his wings pinned awkwardly beneath him. Dean immediately loomed into his vision, devouring his lips when his arms hooked under Cas’s knees, pulling them apart. There was a precious moment when Cas felt the head of Dean’s cock against his entrance that sent his world into silence. He ceased to breathe, no sound entered his senses and his entire being thrummed in anticipation.
And then it was interrupted by a shrill, wailing cry from his left.
Dean groaned, collapsing onto Cas’s chest and the hunter let his head fall back against the ground in frustration. Cas strained his neck to look over, and saw the little girl wriggling in her wrappings, little arms flailing in the air for her mother’s embrace, and possibly for sustenance too. He clucked his tongue and rolled out from beneath Dean, crawling to the fire where the baby lay and he pulled her into his arms. She didn’t immediately calm, but the more he shushed her and bounced her on his knee the more her sobs turned to happy gurgles. He cooed at her softly, smiling at her toothless grin, her green eyes sparkling in the firelight.
He half turned when he heard a deep moan. Dean stood at one end of the clearing braced against a tree as he brought himself to completion. Cas licked his lips and stared as his mate’s body shuddered through his release, and he could immediately smell the salty tang of ejaculate in the air. He wished he could have tasted it, but he knew there were things that shouldn’t be done in front of a child, mating being one of them.
Cas willed his arousal away. It wasn’t hard, he had lived months in the harsh countryside, pleasure was not a priority, and soon enough he was flaccid and cold once again. He cast about, still cradling the girl against his chest, looking for some of his clothes.
“Here,” Dean murmured, coming back over to the fire, holding out Cas’s pants and long-johns. “I’ll hold her,” and he took the girl out of his hands, tossing Cas’s clothes onto his lap. He huffed and stood, pulling on his clothes and kept a wary eye on Dean and the child. He hadn’t mistaken that look from before; Dean held no love for the little girl, not as much as he should anyway. But when he looked at him now, he saw a glimmer of fondness, maybe affection, in his eyes. That was good, it helped calm his nerves as he pulled the rest of his clothes on, shrugging on his top and numerous jackets, and lastly his cloak that helped shield his wings from the cold and elements. His breath fogged in his face and he smiled, wondering how Dean and he had even considered mating on the frozen ground.
Uriel might have been old, but he was no fool. He understood the stirrings in the Basilica for what they were, unrest and unease. Trickery was afoot in the upper echelons, and he would be damned if he didn’t try and put a stop to it. He saw it in the way servants scurried about, like little messenger doves with rolled scraps of paper tied to their delicate little feet. He saw it in the way the Ministers spoke in hushed tones in every drafty corner of the Basilica, in the back alleys of the Holy Empire. Something was stirring, like a great demon rising up from a slumber, and he was staring down into the belly of it, alone to challenge it.
He took to studying alone in his chambers, venturing out only if necessary. Soldiers roamed freely throughout the halls, and would stop anyone they deemed suspicious. Newcomers were downtrodden, beaten things that Uriel pitied. They had made the journey to the Empire in hopes of a new, gilded life, but given how things were they were not welcomed with open arms.
“Come along, child,” Uriel uttered to a disheveled peasant girl that had collapsed at the doors of the Basilica. Her head rolled limply on her spindly neck, and she remained unresponsive. He picked her up and brought her to the kind women of the Ministry. They would help her. One such woman took the child from his hands, sighing and crossing herself at the pitiful sight.
“My lord, if things continue as they are…”
“I know, madam. All we can do now is pray.”
She pursed her lips and nodded at him, taking the girl inside. Uriel left, knowing the child was in good hands. He wandered back to the interior of the Basilica, tracing his hands over the equally worn and forgotten murals on the walls of time and events long past. He gazed up at the image of the previous Emperor-his likeness had been struck from the wall-and imagined what the Lost Prince’s face must look like. Would he look like his father? Would those boyish features mature into harsh angles and bone structure that would speak for generations of royalty flowing through his veins? Or would he come to take after his mother? With rounder features and a softness that belied a grace and humility that many would come to rely on in these dark times. One thing Uriel knew for sure, those eyes of his would continue to burn blue like the sharpest, hottest flames found at the center of any inferno.
Without meaning to, the Lost Prince had become a symbol to the beleaguered masses beneath Lord Michael. Uriel knew he didn’t have much time left; he just hoped he lived long enough to see the homecoming of one Castiel, the true Holy Prince.
With Dean’s adamant refusal to return to town, let alone to their cabin, they set out deeper into the forest. It was a region Cas had trekked before, and he remembered adequate shelter spots and areas they should avoid in fear of pitfalls, traps and other predators. The going was slow and hard; Cas took to the environment like a fish in water with the baby tucked close in a sling around his chest, but Dean struggled behind with most of their belongings on Cas’s sled. They had to stop often to change the baby’s wrappings and feed her. Dean still hadn’t named her, he started calling her Girl, and Cas knew that would be the closest thing to a name that she would get. It wasn’t out of hatred or neglect, he just couldn’t bring himself to give her a name without his-now dead-wife’s input. Cas understood on some base level why.
Dean was hiding something, that much he knew when he snuck glances behind at the struggling man. His face tightened whenever he looked upon him, whenever Cas expressed some desire to turn back the deeper they trekked. Sometimes Cas would find him mispronouncing his name, adding more syllables at the end that sounded strange and unwanted to his ears. Dean would be quick to correct himself, but the slip did not go unnoticed.
After about two months of the same drudge, Cas finally drew to a stop next to a lazily trickling brook. He put his hands on his hips, breathing deep and almost choking on the sharp winter air. He panted and turned back to his companion, watched him struggle up the rocky terrain and then toss their bags to the ground in frustration.
“What, what is it? Why are we stopping?” Dean growled, and Cas snorted, turning to look back out at the view.
“I get it, you’re mad at me. C’mon man, we can’t go back, it’s too late now. Way too late.”
Cas didn’t turn back, but he could hear Dean grunt and curse in frustration.
“Can you just say something? Please?”
Cas shrugged and looked down at Girl’s little head, soft tufts of hair blowing about in the breeze. She was beautiful, everything he could ever want in a child, and she was his, without a doubt now. Dean made it perfectly clear he wanted nothing to do with her, so it fell to Cas to care for her. The only problem was they were running out of supplies, and they were too far north now. Their only choice would be to double back and try to live off the land till they made it home, or continue north to the Empire, which based on Dean’s aversion to the soldiers, would be a horrific idea. Yet their list of options wore thin as time went on, the farther they went, and besides the Empire no civilization was closer. He hated the idea of venturing there, but soon enough their survival would depend on it.
“We don’t have a whole lot of options, Cas.” Dean sighed when Cas played with Girl with his fingers. She would grab at them and he would pull them away and she giggled madly at the sport.
“Would you listen to me?” Dean hissed and Cas spared him an exasperated look over his shoulder, half turning at least.
“I remember Dad talking about a fishing village he came across on his way south from the Empire. If we can find it maybe they won’t mind us staying for a while, just till we get back on our feet, figure out where we’re headed from here.”
Cas looked down at the stream and knew Dean had a valid point. Where there was a stream, there was a river, where there was a river there was bound to be a lake, and this far north there was bound to be a settlement of some sort.
“I don’t know what they’ll think of your wings though…” Dean trailed off, staring at them, as if for the first time.
Cas cooed at him in confusion, tucking them behind his body in a brief flash of embarrassment. He had never felt shame about them before, he wondered about it now. Should he be worried about exposing them in public? He remembered back to Lisa, how she had initially reacted upon seeing them, then the soldier in the forest. They certainly weren’t normal, he knew that much from seeing his brothers and the various men that visited their father when he was still alive. But he had never wondered about them before, never thought them an abnormality to be ashamed of. Wasn’t it Dean who brought him the cloak that he was wearing at that very moment? The cloak that, if he worked his wings the right way, would cover them completely? Dean caught his look and fought to continue.
“I mean, what with the Empire out looking for you and all we might look a little suspicious. We are getting closer to the Empire after all.”
Cas still recoiled from Dean’s placating touch, and settled for pressing on, trying to ignore the painful pricks of tears fighting to spill from his eyes.