Castiel's scales are more precious than any gem and stronger than any metal. He fashions them into the shape of plates for armor. After all, a good king needs great allies. If his enemies say anything about him, it's that he works black magics. Which is actually really funny, if he's honest. No magic runs in his blood, not like in Sam's. He has no way of weaving Will and Faith into action. Sam augments his own power with blood spells, though that's hardly a dark art. The blood is rarely his anyway. Often it's Lucifer's. Dragons are quick to heal and quicker to bleed for those they love.
As matters of love go, dragons are eternal. Dean worries about what will happen when he passes. Men do not last the way dragons do. Castiel smiles and breathes fire into his lungs, the warmth soothing to his troubled mind. Dragon fire can kill without touching, but there's something in Dean's blood that keeps him safe. This, Castiel says, is why he shouldn't worry about his own mortality.
Dean doesn't understand what the beast means until the first time a sword goes through his chest, only to come away clean.
The king wonders if he isn't so much a man after all.
Castiel tilts his head, eyes wide and fascinated as blood drips down his fingers. Nothing was ever this red in Heaven. Up there all colors were softer, glowing. They were pure and subtle at once but here everything is jagged. The hues stab and slice, they are sharp. Dean is also sharp, though he doesn't cut Castiel. Has never once cut Castiel.
Angels in Hell are rare. Most of them hide and many of them despise demons actively. They act more like boogey men in the night, snatching unwary demons and leaving the smote husks somewhere for the hounds to chew.
That was how Castiel had been captured. The guards that found him initially took him to Crowley, but Cain quickly stepped in. At the time Castiel had been more concerned with Cain's interference than with the merchant king, but he knows now this was a mistake. Cain knew where he belonged.
His place was at Dean's side. The youngest knight and by far one of the strongest.
Castiel turns and side-steps a hollow spot in the dirt, the move twisting his gait and rolling his hips. He almost feels like he's dancing. Dean is perched on top of a tombstone, six gold wings glowing like the warmth of the setting sun against the chill of the cemetery. A saint's bones rest below him and Castiel thinks there must be some precedent for this, for an archangel to sit above the remains of a righteous man.
Dean's wings fidget and rustle as Castiel gets closer, feathers puffing out in an unnecessary display. It isn't any typical sort of dominance. Definitely not meant to put Castiel off. Rather, it's inviting to have Dean making himself seem even slightly larger in this way.
Arousal tinges the color on the quills of Dean's feathers. Normally a brightly shining silver, they shimmer with subtle tones of red and brighter hints of violet.
When Castiel comes to stand beside his general he offers a soft smile and is surprised when Dean responds by wrapping three wings around him. This possessive behavior is new for them. Dean has always been affectionate in a way, but never outright claiming as he is now.
"Stay with me for a while, Cas." Even though it sounds like an order, it's a question.
He nods quickly and looks out to the same cluster of stars Dean is observing. "Always."
