*****

A bitter coldness nips at Dean’s skin and he tries to bury his nose into the collar of his coat, seeking out any source of warmth. He rolls over on his side, yelping when a sharp edge jabs into his ribs. His eyes snap open as he stills, his senses returning from drowsiness along with a sense of dread.

Shit.

He fell asleep. He scrambles to sit upright while his heart rate picks up in his chest. Dammit, dammit,

dammit.

How could he let himself fall asleep?

He does a quick scan of the sky, the water, the trees behind him, over the edge of the rocks and down to the bottom of the cliff that ends in watery darkness. He breathes out a sigh of relief, not seeing anything that should alarm him. Everything is quiet.

How long has he been out though? He glances upwards to get an indication, but everything looks about the same as he last remembers. The moon is still high in the sky with stars gleaming through the cracks in the clouds. He couldn’t have been asleep no more than an hour. Perhaps taking that couple mile trek to check the traps earlier wasn’t the best idea for conserving his energy. He sets down his crossbow to stretch out his limbs and roll his stiff shoulders.

He freezes when he hears branches of the trees rattle together, the noise too loud for it to be caused by the wind, even if it has picked up speed. Something’s out there. Could it really be one of those fire breathing terrors? Dean shifts so his feet are under him, picking up his crossbow and standing slowly, cursing his sore joints that protest against the movement. He stalks forward, crossbow loaded and ready to fire a poison dipped arrow at even the slightest movement out of place.

He stops before the tree line, hating the idea of possibly facing a dragon in the woods. If they set even one tree on fire, Dean’s screwed. No doubt it would spread and trap him inside. If the flames don’t kill him, the smoke will and if by some miracle he survives either, the fire could spread too close to the village. Even so, Dean has no other options. The occasional rustling of the branches is moving deeper into the forest and if this thing is making its way towards the village, Dean has to catch up with it and put it down.

He follows the sound cautiously, pausing every so often to listen and gauge where it could be. Whatever it’s doing, it doesn’t seem to be taking any obvious path. Dean keeps pressing on until he gets to a small clearing in the trees, the canopy overhead looking broken like something crash landed through it. He trails his eyes along the branches overhead, searching for any dark shapes within them.

That’s when he spots it. A dark silhouette perched on a thick branch high up in one of the trees facing away from him, a long, powerful looking tail swaying with the wind, flexing and unflexing the wings at the end of its tail. What the hell is it doing though? It’s just… sitting there. Either way, it made a grave decision to land in this forest.

Dean raises his crossbow higher into position, gazing through the scope to find the perfect shot. Annoyingly, there’s too many branches in the way to lodge the arrow into its body. He could get a shot at either of the tail wings, but it’ll take the poison longer to infect the bloodstream and Dean would essentially be dead by the time the dragon is weakened. He has to get a clearer shot.

He creeps forward, still squinting into the scope and watching for any indication the dragon is aware of his presence. So far, so good. He hates how exposed he is in the middle of the clearing like this, but he has no other options at the moment. He’s just about in position, finger covering the trigger, when his world shatters. Well, some dead leaves do anyway, but it may as well be his world. With one step, his foot kicks at a dead branch, the fallen leaves littered over the ground to rustling too loudly under it and causing the dragon to whip its head around and set its intense, golden glare on Dean.

He’s fucked.

Instinctively, Dean presses down on the trigger and sends the arrow flying at the beast but it’s no use. It’s already flown from the branches, dodging the hit and letting out a loud, pissed off roar that vibrates Dean’s bones. He grabs another arrow from the quiver slung around his body and loads it up as the ground shudders under his feet, followed by an overwhelming heat that licks at the left side of his body. He stumbles away inelegantly to avoid getting burned, cursing under his breath in the process. Dammit, this thing is lightning fast.

Despite being shot at with fire though, the flames are helpful in lighting up the clearing so Dean can see it better. Wherever it went. He scans the trees, the sky beyond the branches, but the damn thing is gone.

A distinct thump from behind causes Dean to whip around, only to find himself staring into large, gold eyes, surrounded by an expanse of sleek, black, scaly skin with a glow emanating from the back of its throat through its parted mouth. Dean was right. He wasn’t just seeing things. He knew what he saw and now he’s face to face with it – one of the four most lethal dragons to roam the earth.

A Night Fury.

Death is only mere moments away, but Dean hardly cares. As long as he can take out the bastard creature that tore his life apart. He fires the crossbow just as it’s knocked out of his hands, but the cry of the dragon tells Dean he got it somewhere. He barely thinks to celebrate though when he’s knocked backwards, hands getting seared as they catch his fall against the smoldering spot that was once the ground. The pain leaves his mind though when hot breath floods over his body and, looking up, he finds the Night Fury towering over him with a snarl twisted into its mouth, that glow growing brighter with every passing second. Dean closes his eyes, waiting for searing hot death to engulf him.

“Gabriel! Stop!” A voice shouts to his left. Dean’s eyes fly open, following the Night Fury’s gaze to the source - a guy standing at the edge of the clearing, body tense with widened eyes.

A low growl rumbles from the Night Fury and while the dragon is distracted, Dean lunges for his crossbow that was just out of his reach. He has to fight back against the pain that blooms from his burned hands at the touch, but if he can get one more arrow through the thick skin, even better - a wing, he can save himself and whoever this stranger is.

Just as Dean shakily loads up the weapon, there’s a pair of hands pulling it from his grasp as the dragon flaps its wings to retreat back into the trees. Dean looks up into fire-illuminated blue eyes and sputters for a moment. “What the fuck are you doing? It’s getting away!”

The guy just narrows his eyes and unloads the weapon before tossing it farther away, the clunk of the precious crossbow making Dean cringe. “Do not harm him,” is all the stranger says, voice just about as low as the dragon’s growl.

Dean huffs in disbelief. “He tried to kill me!”

“Because you frightened him,” he argues, keeping a steady hold with Dean’s gaze.

Dean’s eyebrows shoot up, mouth falling open. “I frightened him?”

The stranger nods, completely serious. “Most would be if someone came at them unexpectedly with a weapon.”

There’s a growl somewhere above them that Dean swears sounds like one of agreement with the guy’s words. He eyes the canopy uneasily before looking back at the stranger still standing above him. “Who the hell are you?”

“Someone who listens to what the world has to say,” the guy replies and Dean thinks he’s joking, but that stoic expression doesn’t waver for even a moment.

Dean snickers humorlessly. “Okay Chuckles, how about answering why you’re trespassing on our land in the middle of the night?”

The stranger stops, expression faltering only for a moment before glancing down at Dean’s hands. “You’re hurt.”

Dean’s eyebrows crinkle at the sudden subject change before rolling his eyes. “Wonder what could’ve possibly done that.” He shoots a pointed gaze upwards and a rumble of a growl answers him.

“I can help with that,” the man says and Dean turns his attention back to him, scoffing.

“What makes you think I want your help?”

The man’s mouth doesn’t smile, but a different type of light enters his eyes, something of amusement. “Because burned hands to a hunter are equivalent to death.”

Dean narrows his eyes at the guy. He’s not exactly wrong. Hunters rely heavily on their hands, on that power that comes from them. Being able to pull a trigger, hold a weapon steady, tie binds. He’s still eyeing the guy when he sighs, not waiting for Dean to confirm anything. “Stay here,” he says before turning on his heel and walking back off into the forest. Dean grumbles to himself, scooting a little farther away from the burning ground, the flames having died down but the radiating heat is still too strong to be very close, but it does provide warmth from the icy breeze.

“You try anything, I’ll blast another arrow in you, ya hear?” he threatens, glancing up in the tree where the Night Fury is still perched, staring down at him with those golden eyes. That’s when Dean finally notices the leather harness strapped around its body. Interesting. The dragon lets out a snort, eyes gleaming with a sort of taunting look to them. Huh. Gold eyes. He remembers red ones.

Not even a minute later, the stranger is returning with a large pack. Dean watches him, tracking his every move as he crosses the clearing and hesitantly sits down next to him, but not too close. He doesn’t glance up at Dean as he starts to dig through the bag, pulling out little pieces of soft looking fabric, a water skin, and a jar of green tinted paste.

“Hold out your hands,” the man says, practically a command and Dean obeys, though not without a glare. He watches as the guy soaks a strip of fabric in the water, sucking in a breath as it’s placed over the blistering skin. The coolness makes Dean jerk his hands back only for a moment before holding them steady once again, clenching his teeth to push past the pain. Blue eyes flicker up at him, softening before returning back to his hands. “Sorry.”

Dean just shrugs. “Been awhile since I got burned.” He pauses, jaw clenching as the same is done to the other hand. “So I think you got some explaining to do.”

A smirk pulls at those chapped lips. “Such as?”

Dean scoffs. “I dunno. Maybe let’s start with why you have a pet dragon?”

There’s a simultaneous snort from both the man and the dragon up in the trees. “Gabriel’s not my pet.”

Dean scrunches his eyebrows together. “Gabriel?”

He nods, peeling off the damp fabric and gingerly drying the skin with a new one. “Yes. What do you think his name is?”

Dean’s speechless for a moment. This guy has gotta be off his rocker. “They don’t have names. They’re oversized pests.”

Another growl from above. But the man chuckles under his breath. “I’d expect that response from a hunter, understandably. But yes, this is Gabriel and he is my friend. We treat each other as equals.”

Dean snorts, wondering if he’s still on that cliff edge, curled up in the rocks asleep. This has got to be some sort of joke. Before he can say anything though, the guy scoots closer, very much invading Dean’s personal space. “This will probably hurt,” he warns – though it’s not much of one - before touching his fingers to Dean’s blistered skin and he winces, biting back a strained groan. The paste that coats the man’s fingers feels like fire licking at his burns, a white hot sensation spreading across his palms and fingers.

“What the hell is that shit?” Dean asks through clenched teeth.

“A remedy I created. I’m no stranger to getting burned and I can assure you it’ll feel better in a few minutes,” he explains, that voice just a rumble in his chest. Dean looks away from the angry red flesh of his hands and studies the stranger again, getting a better look at him in the low light of the burning embers. It’s a nice distraction once he realizes just how attractive this guy is - long eyelashes that cast shadows over his cheeks, dark tousled hair that can only be compared to sex hair, the sharp line of his stubbled jaw, his pink lips that are wetted by his tongue every time the wind blows through and dries them. Seriously, he’s beautiful. The thought makes Dean cringe and he swears he’s going delirious from the pain.

“So, fearsome dragon tamer, you told me that hunk of scales’ name. Do you not have one?” Dean asks, his curiosity growing with each passing second about who this not so random guy is.

“Castiel,” he answers, not raising his eyes from Dean’s hands.

“Well, Cas,” Dean starts, shortening the name so it sounds like a jab but it comes out way too easy-going and laid back to be considered an insult. He blames the pain. “Have you ever considered that maybe you wouldn’t get burned so many times if you weren’t buddy-buddy with a dragon?”

Castiel’s lips twitch, his eyes doing that smiling thing again. “That’s the logical reasoning, yes, but accidents happen. I can be a little reckless at times.” Dean wants to give a smart ass remark but stops himself when there’s the telltale sound of wings flapping, tensing when he sees ‘Gabriel’ land not too far behind Castiel. “Relax, Dean. He’s not going to harm you,” he says casually, now focused on wrapping strips of the soft fabric around Dean’s paste covered hands.

Dean shifts his glare from the dragon to Cas, not sure who to direct his frustrations at but then freezes, narrowing his eyes at him. “How do you know my name?”

Cas’ hands only pause for a moment – and Dean swears he sees the guy’s throat bob with uncertainty – before calmly resuming his wrapping. “As someone who protects dragons, it’s beneficial to learn the names of those who hunt them.”

Dean tears his hands out of Castiel’s grasp, jaw clenching at the pain that flares up but he ignores it. “Bullshit. How do you know?” Cas stares back at him with a slightly panicked expression before looking away, not saying a word. “If you don’t start talking –“

“I overhear them,” he blurts out, interrupting Dean mid-threat.

Dean stares at him, unable to process the words. “You what?”

A sigh escapes Cas, a white puff into the cold air. “Whenever I make my stop here, I… I hear what people say. The Winchester brothers are a common topic of conversation and it wasn’t difficult to guess which brother you were.” He fidgets with his hands, cheeks darkening, but Dean’s not paying attention to that. He’s about three seconds away from knocking the guy out.

“What are you, some sort of spy? Why are you hanging around here eavesdropping?” Dean all but snarls at him.

Castiel shakes his head, still avoiding Dean’s gaze. “I don’t mean to, but if people are nearby, I have no choice but to –“

“Then why are you here?” Dean demands, not letting him finish, Dean’s patience running low.

“I free trapped dragons,” Castiel growls out, locking his eyes back on Dean’s. His eyebrows shoot up, though he’s not sure why he’s so surprised. This guy has a dragon as a friend for fuck’s sake. Cas seems to take the silence as an invitation to keep talking. “Dragons aren’t all you make them out to be, Dean. Many times they’re scared - striking out of fear for what they know hunters will do to them. I’m not saying there aren’t some darker souls out there, because there are, but they’re like humans. You just have to take the time to understand them.”

There’s so much Dean wants to say in response, but where the hell does he even start? It’s certainly not what he says next. “So you're the reason Charlie's traps suck?”

Cas furrows his eyebrows, clearly not expecting that response either. “I suppose to you they may appear as failures, but they’re more than effective. One of the best I’ve seen, actually.”

Dean studies Castiel’s face, the way he is completely serious about every word coming out of his mouth and he huffs a breath. “You’re one crazy son of bitch, aren’t you?”

Castiel shrugs, not seeming to take any offense. “You have your story. I have mine.”

Silence stretches between them then, Dean lost on what to say. Two sides of him are warring with each other, unsure what to make of this guy. He’d be lying if he wasn’t incredibly curious about what Castiel’s story could be, because how in the world does a human interact harmoniously with dragons? A Night Fury at that? It doesn’t make sense. It goes back as long as anyone can remember that humans and dragons are natural enemies. A mentality of ‘it’s them or us’. So what makes Castiel the exception?

On the opposing side though, Dean’s actively fighting every instinct to not try and put down the dragon just a few feet away. It’s like an itch he’s desperate to scratch. At the same time, if Castiel is working with dragons, he should be considered a threat too. Dean should be knocking Cas unconscious and dragging him back to the village to be dealt with. Not letting the guy sit too close and tend to his burned hands.

Dean barely realizes he’s been holding Castiel’s gaze this entire time until Cas’ body jolts, Gabriel having inched forward to nudge at his back. Cas breaks their eye contact to turn his attention to Gabriel, who lets out a soft rumble that almost sounds like a whine and motions with his chin towards his shoulder where blood is trickling down. So Dean really did graze him with an arrow.

Castiel gets to his feet without a word and inspects the wound, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. “I suspect you poison dip your arrows, correct?” he asks without dragging his attention away from the cut.

Dean shifts uncomfortably. “Um, yeah.”

Castiel simply nods before crouching down to dig through his pack again and brings out another jar, this one filled green leaves of some sort of herb. He unscrews the lid and grabs a small handful before shoving them in his mouth, chewing them up carefully and spitting them out in his hand. Dean watches in amazement as Castiel spreads the green gunk along the length of the cut, which is relatively small – and Dean may or may not be disappointed with himself. If this was a dragon hell bent on killing him, not only would he have died, but he didn’t even get a good enough shot in to take him out afterwards.

“So, you’re a dragon healer too?” Dean asks with a teasing edge.

Castiel shrugs as he secures long strips of fabric around the wound to keep the poultice from sliding down. “It’s wise to not only know what herbs heal burns, but absorb and cleanse a wound of poison. It’s a common tactic hunters use against dragons – taking them down from the inside. Besides,” Castiel pauses, packing away the jars, “Gabriel has a certain weakness for sweet things, which includes berries. Unfortunately, getting poisoned by the wrong ones time and time again doesn’t seem to stop the assbutt from eating them.” The annoyed look Castiel throws at Gabriel makes Dean snort in amusement, especially when the dragon huffs indignantly in response before padding over to the edge of the clearing and lying down.

“So all this time, we’ve been taking down dragons with arrows and blades when we could’ve been using berries?” he muses.

Castiel rolls his eyes. “I suppose if they eat enough of the wrong berry, yes. But most dragons are large enough that any poison by food only results in them being sick for a couple days.”

Dean nods slowly, letting silence settle between them, that internal conflict stirring again. He really needs to make a decision about what to do with these two but… why is he even questioning what the obvious call of action is?

“Dean!” A faint voice carries over the wind and rustling leaves in the trees. Fuck. Sammy. Dean glances at Cas, seeing the alarm in his eyes, body tensed in preparation to bolt. Or maybe to fight. Dean should’ve seen this coming – Gabriel wasn’t so quiet during their confrontation earlier. Of course the sound would’ve been heard from the village, despite it being a good five miles away.

Dean keeps his gaze level with Castiel, watching to see what his move will be, and the moment Castiel’s eyes flicker down at his pack, Dean doesn’t even think as he jumps to his feet to retrieve his crossbow from where it was thrown earlier and pulls an arrow from the quiver still secured around his body. He raises the loaded weapon to train it on Castiel, who’s in the middle of climbing on Gabriel’s back.

“Don’t even think about jetting off!” Dean yells, staring at them through the scope.

Gabriel snarls, lashing his tail as if he was about to attack but stops when Castiel rests a calm hand against his side. Placing both feet back on the ground, he hesitantly closes the space between them. Dean watches warily, not dropping his weapon from its position.

“Dean... please,” Castiel says quietly, a hint of pleading to the ember lit blue eyes. Dean clenches his jaw, moving his head just slightly so he’s looking at Castiel directly instead of through the scope.

“Cas, you know I can’t.” Dean tries to sound unbreakable, but his voice is strained at best. He really hates how doubtful he sounds, hates how wavering he’s being right now. Why is this so damn hard? Why can’t he just pull the trigger and send an arrow through him? Castiel’s a threat, he has to be. But there’s that gnawing voice in the back of his mind filled with doubt, making him question whether there’s gray to this black and white world he’s been living in all his life.

Castiel holds his gaze though, making Dean want to squirm from under it. “I think you know that if I wanted to harm your people, I would’ve let Gabriel finish off one of their greatest hunters.” Dean stays silent, trying not to hear the truth ringing in Cas’ words. “If you truly believed I was a threat, I wouldn’t be standing here right now.”

“Dean!” There’s the voice of a different hunter. Benny. Who knows how many more are on their way – probably Jo and Ash and Ellen and Charlie and Bobby just to name a few. Hell, maybe even Bobby dragged Rufus along too. With that many hunters on the way, Gabriel is basically a breathing corpse and Cas… he’s a dead man walking too.

Dean’s stomach twists at the thought and he growls, dropping his crossbow from position. “Come on.” He pushes past Castiel, stalking across the clearing and back the direction he originally came from. “You won’t be able to fly out of here. They’re too close and they’ve all come prepared. They’ll shoot you out of the sky,” he says over his shoulder, glancing back to make sure Castiel is following and jumping slightly to see him only a couple paces behind along with Gabriel.

“Would it be better if Gabriel and I hid and waited them out?”

Dean shakes his head. “No. There’s too many of ‘em. They’ll search the entire island quicker than you think. You have to leave.”

Cas nods slowly, not saying anything more as they make their way through the trees. Dean keeps his eyes forward, trying not to let the anxiety gnaw holes into his stomach while an ingrained mantra of ‘this is wrong’ echoes around in his head. They almost overshadow the weak voice that whispers ‘this is right’. Almost.

It’s only about a five minute walk with their brisk pace back to where Dean was settled in the rocks for his watch. At least Gabriel had the good sense not to be too deep into the woods when Dean found him. He leads them to the edge of the cliff, taking a deep breath before finally turning to face Castiel, who’s watching him closely. Though it’s not mistrustful in the slightest. He’s just… staring.

Dean clears his throat quietly. “This is where you get off. Um, don’t head south – they’ll be focused on this direction. Fly as close to the water as you can and follow the island around until you reach the north side. After that, get up in those clouds quick and you should be in the clear.”

Gabriel kneads the ground impatiently, tail lashing back and forth but Castiel doesn’t seem to notice, keeping his focus on Dean even after he’s done talking. “Thank you, Dean.” His voice is honest, and though his lips remain emotionless, there’s that small glitter to his eyes, made more prominent in the unobstructed moonlight that washes over them now. He raises his hand, hesitating before taking it back once again. He turns on his heel then and uses the harness to hoist himself onto the space just behind Gabriel’s head, attaching a tether from his belt to a ring on Gabriel’s harness.

Dean bites his lip as he watches him, not intending to say anymore more but his mouth betrays him. “Be careful, Cas.”

Castiel looks down at him, that smile spreading from his eyes to pull at the corner of his mouth. “Goodbye, Dean.” He tears his gaze away from Dean then to stare forward, saying an unfamiliar word in a commanding tone and Gabriel makes a satisfied growl, flashing a look that can only be described as mischievous to Dean before flapping his powerful wings once and diving down the side of the cliff, stopping just before they both crash into the rocks and gliding along the surface of the water like a another shadow in the night.

Dean stares after them even when they’re out of sight, stomach twisted tight the entire time. He waits for the impending relief, but it never comes. In fact, there’s only one thought in his mind that he can’t seem to shove away no matter how hard he tries. It doesn’t even make sense – why would he have even the smallest hope to see Cas again?

Frustrated, he rips off the bandages Cas secured to his hands and lets the wind grab them from the cliff, ignoring the pain that erupts from the rough movements. He needed to get rid of those anyway. Taking a deep breath, he casts one last look where Cas and Gabriel disappeared to, hating the little flicker that tickles his chest and stalks back towards the trees, using each step to erase every little detail of Cas in his mind, though it’s completely futile.