been cooking up this bad boy since this fic first dropped but I wanted to give the whole fic a little art, so I waited until the last chapter was posted to finish this up for surprise purposes :0
(also I'm aware there's already art for this fic but idk you said in the past that more art is never a bad thing so I'm going off of that, though my costume designs aren't nearly as creative as what the other artist came up with)
I really hope this banner is readable, I got kinda zesty with it esp with the title part but idk I had a vision of the dot of the 'i' going off like a shooting star because...idk something about wishing on a star ig though thinking about it now, that might not actually fit the fic all that well uh
still can't draw horses but Impala deserved a chance to shine. I started on this thingy way back when the fic first posted and decided partway through that this fic was gonna get another art piece of Dean and Cas doing something together. originally thought the fic was gonna have two chapters but it ended up with three which was ghenfhd. also fun fact but this was vaguely inspired by this other art piece I did for another one of @destielshipper4cas' fics because I'm like that and like adding in references to other stuff I've done
(also ignore my attempts at adding depth to this I can't draw trees/forests man)
naturally just had to tie the fic off with a magic destiel kiss. I realize only one leaf fell in the fic or at least only one noteworthy one fell but for the sake of making the scene more magical and stuff, it became a little leaf storm that was sorta inspired by yet another thing I did for a different fic—the first ever art piece I ever threw at this author's unsuspecting head forever ago. and ofc Cas has a leaf in his hair he deserves it okay I don't make the rules
the fic this is made for is called "The Wishkeeper's Path" by @destielshipper4cas
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
(fic is locked for people who aren't signed into AO3)
MWAHAHAHAHHA FINALLY FINISHED. I TOLD YALL THAT I WAS GOING TO PARTICIPATE AND I KEPT MY FUCKING WORD, EVEN IF IT SLOWLY KILLED ME.
Anyways, this is the September challenge #letsdrawcastiel!! The prompt was to draw Castiel as any mythical creature. So I did a witch! That counts, right??
Cas as a witch was based off of Godstiel and how he snapped before doing spooky shit. But instead of being juiced up on thousands of souls, he's just juiced up on a fuck ton of power given by a demon or another creature.
I am so proud of this piece and I am purely in love with his face here. This was also a lighting practise, so that was fun.
Suptober Prompt: Day 7 - Black Cat | A Friend to Bee | 2.8K | Teen and Up | Read on Ao3 (or below cut)
Dean befriends a neighborhood cat, and, against all odds, it might just bring luck his way...
“Achoo!”
As if on cue, the second Dean stepped over the threshold to his home, he sneezed, groaning at the way his eyes watered as a result. He quickly hung up his coat on the rack, and tossed his keys in the dish on the stand by the door, before fleeing into the kitchen, only to sneeze again. It was only a matter of time, Dean surmised, before his eyes burned, and he’d need to stubbornly fight the urge to rub them, as was his daily routine as of late—that, and popping allergy pills like candy. Pills of which he was currently out of, and thus doomed to suffer, slowly succumbing to his allergies.
Dean took his phone out and shot his brother a text, before setting out to put some leftover chicken and rice in a bowl. And, summoned by the prospect of food, the source of all of Dean’s current health problems—and well-being—jumped up onto the counter, signaled by another sneeze.
“You’re lucky you’re so friggin cute.” He muttered, putting the bowl down in front of the fur ball that could, quite possibly, be the death of him—if he couldn’t somehow find a way to manage his cat allergy.
It hadn’t been that long since they first encountered each other, Dean and his hairy, four-legged visitor—be it a miraculous act of fate or what have you—but it sure felt like forever, seeing as Dean hadn’t had a moment’s peace since.
Two weeks ago, on Dean’s way back home, he encountered the most unusual pair of blue eyes, that, upon further inspection, belonged to an even more unusually mannered black cat, perched perfectly poised atop the front steps to his home. He recalled how the eyes seemed to glow then, a trick of the lights Dean’s sure, but they drew him in nevertheless. Since then the cat has, beyond any feasible reason Dean could see, stuck around. Enough so that yes, he’s even begun to feed and water the damn thing—despite said allergy.
The little rascal didn’t seem too pressed to leave any time soon, and you could say that he even, perhaps, got used to having it around—not that he’d tell anyone that. He wasn’t sure who exactly owned his new friend, just that it had to be someone in the neighborhood, but sincerely hoped they wouldn’t mind how often he spoiled the guy’s pet.
Dean’s phone buzzed from where he left it on the countertop, and pulled himself from his reverie, reading the reply from his brother.
<< hey sammy, were you able to pick me up some more of those allergy meds?
>> Yeah, they should be in the bathroom.
And then, a few seconds later, came another.
>> You know, you never told me why you needed them?
<< nunya
>> What?
<< sorry, let me rephrase that
<< nunya business
<< Wow, really mature Dean. I didn’t have to get them for you, but it sounded urgent, so I did.
<< The least you could do is tell me why. Or even how you ran out of the other bottle so quickly.
Dean sighed and looked over to the cat, who was now pinning him with its starling azure gaze, apparently finding him more interesting than finishing off the bowl of food.
“I dunno, what do you think? Should I tell Sam?” He asked, not really understanding why he thought the cat would answer, but directing the question toward it anyway.
Predictably, it just sat there and blinked at him.
Dean sighed again, deciding to just bite the bullet and tell his brother.
<< I maybe sorta got a cat?
>> You WHAT?!
>> Dean, you’re allergic to cats
<< uh yeah, Sammy, that’s why I needed the allergy meds duh
Dean let out a groan and pressed his forehead to the cool countertop, as his phone began to ring, Sam’s caller ID posted across the screen. He let it ring a few times before picking up.
“Heya brother-o-mine, shouldn’t you be working?”
“I’m on lunch break right now actually, Dean,” Sam whispered harshly into the receiver, straight to business as always, “what’s this about you getting a cat?”
“Well, it’s not technically mine. It just showed up one day, and won’t leave.”
“And you didn’t think to call authorities?”
“Authorities?” Dean snorted. “What am I going to do, Sam, get it arrested?”
Dean could hear the eye roll through the phone. “I mean animal control, Dean. Or maybe even a vet?”
“Course I thought about doing that…”
“You can’t just steal a cat, it could belong to somebody. It could have a microchip or something. Maybe its owner is looking for it.” Sam sighed, and now it was Dean’s turn to roll his eyes.
“Dude, I’m not stupid, okay? ‘Sides, I didn’t steal it. It just showed up, and never left. I mean, the little guy comes and goes, but it always comes back and ends up staying for a few hours, before disappearing again.” He shrugged, despite his brother being unable to see it.
As if knowing it was being talked about, it padded over to Dean, and head butted the palm of his hand. Dean smiled, and ran his hand down the creature’s back, before letting out another sneeze.
“Ugh.”
“Yeah, sounds like a real healthy arrangement you’ve got there, Dean. Why do you even let it inside?”
“That’s the strange thing, Sammy. I didn’t. It showed up on my doorstep, but I just let it be, and went inside. Don’t ask me how, but the damn thing is smart or something, and lets itself in. And out.”
“Uh-huh…” Sam trailed off, sounding skeptical.
Dean wouldn’t believe it either if he hadn’t witnessed it time and time again.
“I’m serious. I know it sounds crazy, but the cat is a friggin weirdo. I’ve tried to keep it out, but it always finds a way. Hence why now I just…let it do its thing.”
“Okay, well, even if what you’re saying is true, Dean, this isn’t sustainable. You need to find its owner, and tell them about their cat.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“Now I’m serious, Dean. You can’t just keep going through allergy meds just because the cat likes to loiter.”
“Sure thing, whatever you say, mom. Don’t get your panties all in a twist, Samantha. I’ll take care of it.”
“I mean it, Dean.”
“And I promise, I’ll take care of it. Now get back to work, slacker. Don’t spend all of your lunch break talking to your big brother.”
“Alright. Talk to you later. Love you, jerk.”
“You too. Love you, bitch.”
They hung up, and Dean put his phone back down onto the counter, turning his attention back toward the adorable, furry interloper, who was still staring unblinkingly at him.
“That was my baby brother, Sammy. He’s this big shot lawyer, and, don’t tell him this, but I’m a pretty proud big brother.”
The cat meowed and tilted its head to the side, earning an amused chuckle from Dean.
“Can’t have his head grow bigger than it already is, y’know? Don’t know what’s in the water these days, but the kid’s huge, and I mean humongous.” He joked, shaking his head fondly.
“Anyway, Sam’s right. Not that I don’t enjoy the company, but you should probably get back to your owner, yeah? Got one of those, don’t you?”
Again the cat meowed, but Dean was, unfortunately, sorely lacking in the knowledge department for ‘how to translate cat language’. He watched as it went back to finish the food he’d set out, and chuckled, albeit a bit bitterly.
“Yeah, I’d be bored of me too.”
Letting the cat go about its business Dean pulled away from the kitchen island and sauntered into the bathroom. He figured that, in the meantime—or at least until he located the cat’s owner—it’d be wise to take some meds while it was here. Dean was rather fond of breathing, thank you very much. And the, however temporary, relief of itchiness was an additional perk.
It was some time later that afternoon, Dean sat on the couch with the fur ball curled in his lap, when his phone buzzed with a text message. He leaned over to put his half finished beer down on the coffee table, and exchanged it for the phone, reading the text from Sam.
>> Have you tried following the cat when it leaves? Maybe you can do that.
Dean hummed thoughtfully, and looked down at the cat. He hadn’t tried that, no, but it wasn’t a bad idea actually. He’d have to try that next, though, if anybody in the neighborhood caught him following some dude’s cat to said dude’s house, he didn’t want to know what they would think of him. He’d rather sooner admit to being an avid fan of chick flicks than deal with the repercussions of being labeled a friggin creepy weirdo.
“What do you say to me taking you home this time?” He asked, raising a brow at the little shit still snoozing in his lap, who had the audacity to peel open one of its eyes, before opening the other and leveling Dean with a look that was oddly reminiscent of one of Sam’s bitch faces.
Dean opened his mouth, a smart ass remark on the tip of his tongue, when the cat leaped off his lap and quietly padded over to the door, in lieu of responding, or well, as it’s response since it was an animal, and it couldn’t actually talk back—unless you counted the, albeit perfectly timed, meows it gave Dean sometimes.
With a groan, as his thirty-something almost forty-something body protested, he hefted himself off the couch and, against his better judgment, he followed the damn thing out his front door.
Thankfully his four legged guide was waiting for him, and even stopped every so often on the way to wherever the fuck, looking back to check if Dean was still behind, following. He couldn’t believe he was actually doing this, and that it was actually working. It certainly didn’t ease his anxiety, especially since he was completely in the dark as to where he was even being lead—to his death maybe—but of all panned out, maybe he’d bake his brother a pie or some shit. He’d see how he felt about it later.
Though Dean didn’t have to wait long to find out what his imminent death looked like, because after a ten minute or so walk down the street, the cat made its way up some steps to a rather unassuming house, much like his own—and everyone else’s in the neighborhood. This one was painted a pretty blue, nothing like the eyes of his new friend, but a softer, grayer shade.
On the door, as Dean approached, hung a gorgeous, decorative autumn wreath, with the words “Blessed Bee”—no that was not a typo, and to which Dean assumed was a pun referring to the little plastic bees dispersed within. Though, with an additional quick, cursory glance towards the house, the owner’s aesthetic was growing increasingly apparent, if not for the garden beds of flowers attached to each window sill, and the immaculately groomed bushes (hah) lining the front.
Even the grass was a lively color, a rich, vibrant green, and neatly trimmed to boot. Dean couldn’t help the whispered, “Damn,” that slipped out in awe. This guy had some serious gardening chops, that Dean couldn’t help but be a little envious of. The only plant he could remember growing was a little succulent he nicked from the local supermarket for him and Sam when they were little, and he couldn’t tell you what became of it.
The cat meowed, once again with the intention of pulling Dean from his reverie, and he, with a final resolve, reached up and knocked on the door. Though, nothing could have ever prepared him for what happened next.
The front door swung open, revealing possibly the hottest guy Dean has ever seen, looking all soft and—albeit artfully—rumpled, in a sweater and jeans, and holy fuck this dude’s eyes. If he thought the cat’s eye were an unusual shade of blue, they were nothing compared to this man’s, and if Dean didn’t say anything and just stood there frozen, gaping like a fish, being spotted and labeled as a creepy weirdo were the least of his worries.
“Uh…” he said, rather intelligently.
The man didn’t seem to mind, however, and just smiled, reaching down to pick up his cat, who was winding between his legs.
“You must be Bee’s new friend.”
Dean blinked, taking a moment to realize that, son of a bitch, the hot dude just spoke to him, and then another to realize that that is what he sounded like. Deep and gravelly, and god friggin’ dammit Dean was fucked. Truly and utterly fucked.
“Um…what?”
Wow, nice going Dean, he mentally scolded himself.
As far as first impressions went, this was probably as worst as it could get. He’d spoken a total of three words to this strange (sexy) man, and they only seemed to feed the narrative of what a fool he was. He could flirt with women with the ease of driving his baby, no problem. But put a pretty guy, let alone a pretty guy with gorgeous blue eyes, in front of him and he was rendered speechless, dumber than a sack of potatoes, and probably as useful as one too. He was not good at this.
The man chuckled, and gestured to the cat in his arms, before giving who Dean knew now as Bee chin scritches.
“My cat. She’s been telling me all about you.”
“Oh, uh, all good things I hope?”
The man smiled again, and Dean felt his knees grow weak, like they could buckle at any moment, and he’d just melt into a puddle on this guy’s front steps.
“Hm, yes, I must thank you for taking good care of her. She likes it there very much.”
“Haha well, I’m glad? But, uh, about that…” Dean swallowed against the lump in his throat, and reached up to rub the back of his neck.
“I’m actually allergic to cats.”
“Oh.”
Dean inwardly cursed as the man frowned, and furrowed his brows in concern. He looked down at Bee then, and gave her a disapproving stare.
“You didn’t tell me that.” He shook his head, and put her down, ushering her into the house. “Go on, shoo. We’ll discuss this later.”
They both watched her disappear around the corner, before the man turned back to Dean, now looking apologetic.
“My apologies, I didn’t realize you were allergic. Had I known, I wouldn’t have encouraged Bee to visit so often.”
“Don’t worry about it man, I just, uh, thought you should know, I guess? But really, ‘s’no big deal. I actually enjoyed the company.”
The guy smiled softly, and hummed. “That’s good then. I’m glad. She enjoyed the company too.”
“I’m Dean, by the way.”
“Castiel.”
Dean nodded, feeling his cheeks heat the longer they stood there, just staring at one other. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and cursed himself again for his eternal awkwardness.
“R-right, well…” he trailed off, not wanting to say goodbye just yet.
“Maybe next time you could come over too? If you, um, if you want. Bee knows where it is.”
Castiel beamed, and damn, if that wasn’t easily on Dean’s ever increasing list of favorite things about him.
“I’d like that very much, Dean.”
“Yeah? Awesome.” Dean grinned back, and then even wider when Castiel ducked his head bashfully.
Dean liked him so much already, it was wild. Even more wild that a black cat was beginning to be the luckiest thing that ever happened to him.
“See ya later, Cas?”
“Yes. And I’ll try to whip up something to help those allergies, if you’d like?”
“I have no idea what that means, but sure why not?” He shrugged with an easy smile, and started to back away, his eyes never leaving Cas’.
“Don’t worry, it’s not of import.” Cas dismissed with a wave of his hand.
“Until we meet again, Dean.”
“Bye Cas.”
They waved their goodbyes, and Dean finally turned around to make his way back, but only after he may—or may not—have stumbled, earning another, rather amused, chuckle from Cas from behind him.
Dean laughed awkwardly, brushing off his totally-not-a-stumble, you know, as a man does, and raised his hand in one more final parting gesture, before hurrying off back home to bake that pie.
Ten years ago, Dean made a deal. To save his brother’s life, he promised a witch his firstborn child. It was a no-brainer since Dean never planned on churning out pups and settling down as the perfect house-omega. No, he was fine spending his fertile years sleeping around, wrapping it before tapping it, and all that jazz.
But now he has an angry, powerfully magical alpha on his doorstep, demanding payment.
Castiel knows this part of the woods like the back of his hand. There's no tree he didn't meet as a sapling, his magic whispering ancient words when they grew into young trees, strengthening and guiding them until they touched the sky. They would have grown without him, of course, but this is Castiel's witchdom, and he likes that the trees speak to him as only domesticated ones do.
It often comes in handy. They whisper to him when a fire breaks out in the hot summers, or when hunters pass the invisible boundaries, chasing deer. His deflection spells keep his animal friends safe, and his forest is known as a shelter for every creature, as long as their hearts and intentions are pure.
Castiel collects sorrel for his dinner and Valerian root for a sleeping potion. He's been haunted by weird dreams as of late, a vision of the future to come or a déjàvu from his past? He isn't quite sure. He has lived a long time, and at some point, certain things repeat themself. But these dreams? They are vivid.
Green eyes look at him, and he sees his own callused hand stroking over beautiful light brown fur. A wolf. The most beautiful wolf he has ever seen. Strong and bold. Sometimes, he looks as if he were grinning.
Castiel has studied the books of oneiromancy, tried to trace the fresh dream with rituals. To no avail.
Who could this wolf be? A familiar, maybe? Castiel has never had one. His brothers used to make fun of him because of it. Gabriel had a snow owl, Balthazar a raven, and Anna a cat. He has seen none of them in decades. Maybe he should send a fire message to them, invite them to celebrate Midsummer Night.
Castiel sits down and leans against one of his oldest tree friends. He always tries to eat his lunch out here. In his little cot, he sometimes feels lonely. Not the dark, drowning kind, but still. He has always felt more one with himself between the miracles of the world, the magic that is life itself.
This mid-morning, a rabbit comes to sniff at his clothes, and a bumblebee tells him about the early summer flowers he visited so far. A timid fawn asks him for help to find her mother, and Castiel sends out his magic to call for the doe.
All in all, it's a lazy morning, the sun shining warm, the moss still damp from last night's rain. Castiel takes a deep breath and lets the scent of wood and soil wash over him. He needs this like water and bread.
His sister had warned him that solitude could turn into forlornness. She meant well all those centuries ago. But she didn't understand. He wasn't alone. And he wasn't expecting anyone to join him, either. He knows that he's a hermit at heart. Who would want to share the quiet rain falling on the slades of his roof or the strenuous work of kneading bread?
Speaking of bread. He's gotta go. The dough should be risen soon, and even though he could push it in the oven with his magic, Castiel prefers the traditional way better.
He's just turned out the dough on a baker's peel when a humming of the trees alerts him to someone passing the borders of his realm. He freezes his kitchen with a snap of his fingers. He's not willing to let good bread dough go to waste, or the fire to extinguish.
He storms out of his cot and tries to sense the stranger. But the humming is too loud, the trees too agitated. "Silence!" Castiel booms and all creatures, flora and fauna alike, follow his command. It's not often that the witch raises his voice, his power quiet and sensed by the simplest of life forms. Only the wind doesn't falter in rustling the leaves, but it is white noise to Castiel's ears.
He can feel a rapidly beating heart, can hear panting and whines of pain. He grabs the length of his garment and starts running, his magic already reaching to where his feet still have to carry him.
Someone is wounded. He can smell the blood, can feel the earth soaking it up like a sacrifice. No! No living being will die in his forest. He won't allow it.
The sounds and smell grow stronger, and Castiel's magic has long painted a picture in his mind when he finally reaches the wounded animal.
A wolf.
Castiel stops still in his tracks when impossibly intense eyes pierce him and a sharp, threatening growl is sent his way.
It's a big wolf, but Castiel isn't afraid of him. He still has to meet a creature who could hurt him severely. Still, he takes a step back and scans the wolf's body.
"Damn hunters!" he curses when he sees the penetrating gunshot wound. The wolf's demeanour changes in a split second, as if he understood the words.
He leans his head to the side and considers the witch. Not letting Castiel out of his sight, he laps over the still gushing wound.
"I can help you with that," Castiel says and curls a ball of magic in his hand. He knows that it can communicate with the frightened animal from outside his woods.
The wolf howls in pain. "I know you don't trust me. But ask the trees. I want to take care of you."
Green eyes, slowly growing dim, look at him, and with a start, Castiel recognises them. He swallows hard, his heart clenching in unfamiliar ways.
"Who are you?" he whispers before the eyes close and the wolf's head slumps to the ground.
***
"It needs to work," Castiel mutters as he walks up and down his cot, stopping now and then to look at the wolf lying in his bed.
It's not the first time that Castiel took care of a bullet wound, and it's not even the worst he's ever tended to. There is a puncture wound on the wolf's stomach as well. It looks nasty. But none of it explains the state of unconsciousness the wolf slips in and out of. These are resilient creatures, and Castiel put all his tinctures and balms to good use, changed the dressing, cleaned the wounds.
Three days, and only the bullet wound is closing slowly. Other than that, nothing has changed, only the wolf's heartbeat seems to have settled down.
Castiel goes to his kiln and pulls a fresh badge of earthen healing amulets out of it. He spells them in long-forgotten tongues and puts the strongest over the stab wound that simply doesn't want to heal. He's at his wits' end. Healing magic was never his forte, but patching someone up has never been a problem for him—a herbal witch from a strong lineage of witches, a seer, a guardian of the forest.
He hears the trees whispering and sees the bees checking on him in obvious intervals. They must sense his desperation, must see his inner turmoil. This isn't just anyone to him. He can feel it. He wouldn't have dreamt of him if he were just a nonentity, a stranger stumbling into his woods by mistake or accident. There is a bond brimming between them. A weak one, but still.
Is he his familiar, chose him in thanks for his fight? Or is he something else to him?
Castiel has sent his magic into him, again and again. There is a barrier, something hindering him from entering the wolf's core. It's unsettling. Nature of all kind always welcomed his magic, called it warm and strong, gentle, kind. He healed so many animals, reunited children and their parents, spread kindness and love. But now that it counts, his powers fail, and his wolf rejects his tender probing.
His wolf.
He doesn't even have a name, and still, Castiel knows that they belong together. He can feel it in his bones.
He uncorks another bottle of tonic and cradles the wolf's head to feed him the strengthener. It's his last batch, but a new one is already boiling over the hearth.
For a short moment, the wolf's unusual eyes open and look at him. The wolf swallows the potion as best as he can. Then, the head sinks heavily into Castiel's hand.
"You need to make it. I wanna know who you are," he pleads.
***
"He's awake," a robin chirps as Castiel collects medicinal herbs on the fringes of the forest.
"He's awake," murmurs the wind in the trees.
"He's awake," calls the forest in one harmonious choir.
"I heard you," Castiel grumbles and runs back to his cot as fast as his feet can carry him. He storms into the room and stops dead in his tracks. His mouth falls open at the sight in front of him.
"Who are you?" he whispers like a hundred times before over the past week, but never had he been worried to hear the answer before.
Green eyes behold him, keep him trapped on his doorstep. Freckles dust the stranger's face and a full beard frames his soft features.
"Dean," the stranger in his bed says. The naked stranger under the quilt that his mother sewed for him before he left home.
"What have you done with my wolf?" Castiel demands to know.
"Your…?" Dean looks at him for a long moment before he starts laughing. Despite a lot of grim willpower, Castiel's lips curl up into a small smile.
"It's me," Dean explains and pushes the quilt down. Castiel averts his eyes, cheeks dusted in pink. He has never seen a naked human before.
"I won't show you my crown jewels. Don't fret," Dean guffaws.
Castiel looks back at him. The amulet falls off the slowly closing puncture wound and, on his exposed hip, the closed bullet wounds are visible.
"Are you a shapeshifter?"
Dean shakes his head. "A werewolf."
Castiel's eyes grow wide. No, that can't be! He should have seen that. Werewolves can't hide their double form from witches' eyes. Besides, Dean should have healed in record time if he were a were.
The witch crosses his arms over his chest. "I don't believe a single word you say."
Dean gathers the blanket and sits up. "You're a witch," he states, eyes shining in excitement.
"Wanna burn me? You're a little late to the party," Castiel scoffs.
Dean laughs out loud. "I know a thing or two about witch hunts. I've been ditching humans all my life."
Castiel narrows his eyes. "Then why are you here? No one without intent can enter my realm."
Dean furrows his brow and looks down at his hands. "I had dreams, visions, of a secret forest and blue eyes." He raises his gaze and it lands tenderly on Castiel's face.
The witch grabs the doorframe to keep his balance. He doesn't know much about his looks, but he was told that his eyes were a striking blue.
"I felt a pull towards this place, so strong that I didn't even see the hunter before it was too late," Dean continues.
"But your wounds…"
"He knew that I'm a werewolf. He cut me with a silver knife. I was lucky that he couldn't enter your forest. I stumbled over the line, right where you found me."
Castiel falls a step forward. His poor wolf. No wonder that he stayed in his animal form and healed so slowly. Just good that Castiel's tinctures must have rinsed out the last silver molecules.
"You need clothes and food," Castiel decides.
Dean chuckles. "If it's not too much of a bother."
Castiel waves him off. Dean may not be his familiar, but he's happy that he could and can be of help. When he hands Dean his clothes, the other man grabs his hand and pulls him down to sit on the side of the bed.
"I told you who I am. Care to return the favour?" he smirks.
Castiel is startled into speechlessness. How many times did he brush a hand through his fur, caressed his muzzle? And now, Dean's so close, his eyes so soft, and his lips curled into a tender smile.
Dean sniffs, not even trying to pass it off as something else. His eyes grow wide and his mouth falls open. "No," he breathes.
A broad hand cards through Castiel's hair and holds him still, but the witch doesn't feel fear. Not because of his powers or the forest animals surrounding the cot, ready to defend him if need be. No. His magic is singing with joy, his blood flows a little faster. The beams of the setting sun light up Dean's face, and the crescent moon seems to smile down at them.
"My mate," Dean all but whispers. "You're my mate." His other hand cups Castiel's cheek. "I searched for you for so long, centuries."
Castiel blinks at him. His mother used to tell him fairy tales about soulmates. He stopped believing them a very long time ago.
"You're a werewolf. You don't live for centuries," Castiel deflects. This is all too much. This can't be true.
"The turned ones for sure do," Dean chuckles.
"You're a born were?" Castiel grabs Dean's arm. He's an ancient being, just like him. "But of course. That's why my magic couldn't reach your core."
"Try again," Dean whispers. Hesitantly, Castiel puts his hand on Dean's bare chest and sends tendrils of his magic under his skin. Visions of battlefields and rivers flood his mind, a tall groom with a brown-haired bride dancing, a blond woman smiling at them in the background. There are fireworks and a black stallion. Dean leans their heads together, both dripping with sweat. Dean throwing his head back as he dances around the fire.
"Dean," Castiel breathes.
"You can see it, don't you?"
Castiel nods. "How are you real?"
"I wanted to ask the same." Dean chuckles. "Will you kiss me now?"
Castiel pulls back. "Not without britches."
Dean laughs out loud and falls back into the pillows. "Old-fashioned. I like that."
Castiel flicks his fingers, and Dean is dressed underneath the covers. He startles, then relaxes in laughter.
"I think I heard about werewolves' mating rituals," Castiel says, watching with joy how Dean's eyes light up and narrow. Castiel is on his feet within a split second and the trees cheer him on as he runs out of his cot, along his favourite paths down to the creek that separates his realm from the outside world. He laughs as he reaches his favourite place in the whole wide world without his mate having caught up on him.
He stops at the stream and slumps against a tree. He smiles through his ragged breathing when Dean steps out of the woods into the moonlight. "I haven't waited for you," he confesses.
And Dean understands what these words truly mean. "I searched for the both of us." He cups Castiel's face with both hands, so tenderly it makes Castiel's heart ache in unfamiliar ways.
The moon shines softly on them as their lips meet for the first time, and the creek sings songs of union. Flowers bloom around them where Castiel's magic drops to the forest floor, and Dean laughs as they tickle his bare feet.
Castiel wasn't lost, and yet, he was found. And the whole forest, every tree, every animal, every blade of grass, and every flower is witness as two souls become one.
~~~~~~~~~
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