#whathehelll

The stranger nods in return, and from his peripheries he sees Charlie trotting towards him, her sword out of the way. 

“You okay?” she asks, hovering over them now. “That was a major wipe out.”

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” Dean waves the now-gathered crowd away, rubbing at his temple. Shit, what a nightmare. A fucking mortifying, embarrassing as fuck nightmare. 

Charlie nods, and gives a thumbs up to everyone else. They all strut back into position, and she turns back to Dean with her shoulders squared. “Let’s get this battle started.”

“Yeah, yeah, Your Highness,” Dean says, dusting his ass off, and helps the hot stranger up, too. He did sort of knock the guy out with the back of his head to his chest, so it’s the least he can do. “See you out on the field, I guess.”

The stranger looks up and down at him, his lips barely a twitch of a smile as he turns away. “Good luck.”

Before Dean can respond, Charlie elbows him on the side with a hissed, “Stop making flirty eyes with the enemy and let’s go.”

“Enemy?” Dean echoes, and she’s right – the stranger is wearing blues, his Warrior of yesteryear origin crystal clear. “Ah, shit.”

Gotta say though, Dean hates to see him go but definitely likes watching him leave. Heh. 

Once everyone is in position, the horn blows and they’re charging at everyone else, swords blazing and chucking hex bags. Dean takes out a few Shadow Orcs here and Elves there, when he spots a scatter of red and green and black bodies fallen, one single man upholding his place as another charges at him. 

Hot and good. Dean is so screwed.

 As a real threat to his Queen, it gives him the perfect excuse to charge at him, clashing his sword against the stranger’s. 

“Not bad for a yesteryear,” Dean remarks as they exchange another blow.

The stranger’s eyes glint dangerously as he parries, and thrusts at Dean, which Dean dodges. “I could say the same to you, for someone who slips–” he goes for Dean’s shoulder, but Dean blocks that, “–on nothing.”

“It was the mud,” Dean grits, putting weights into his next blow going for his side. 

The stranger eyes the otherwise dry grassy land underneath them, and smiles knowingly. “Of course,” the stranger replies with grace, and Dean feels a blush creeping up to his cheeks again. “You fainted… straight into my arms–”

“I didn’t faint, I–”

“If you wanted my attention, you didn’t have to go to such extremes.”

Dean blinks, and almost forgets to dodge, quickly regaining his senses and turning the blow around to press the sword against him into kneeling. He doesn’t yield easily, though, stronger than he looks.

The guy breaks Dean’s hold on him with a push and strikes a blow, which he blocks, but ow, he definitely felt that one. He shakes his tingling hand off as they circle each other, sweat rolling off of their foreheads. it’s almost like the world zones in on only the man in front of him, nothing but the sound of their heavy breaths registering in Dean’s ears. 

There’s a moment of complete tense silence before they realize they’re both going for it. Dean gears himself up for the final blow, and they’re running at each other, and this is it, this will decide the winner, and–

The horn blows. 

Dean jolts out of it, and the guy looks equally disoriented by the signal of the end of battle. He looks around to find people getting back up from their deaths, and he’s left there standing in front of the hot stranger, who’s staring at Dean with intensity he can’t even fathom. Christ. 

“So,” Dean starts, swooshing his sword around so he has something to do with his hand. He suddenly remembers back to what the guy said, this smooth ass fucker, and he feels like a blushing mess all over again for almost falling for it. “Uh, good fight. You’re good.”

“You too,” the man replies, tucking his sword away for now, almost… sheepishly? It’s good to know Dean’s not alone on the feeling, at least. 

The thought puts a smile on his face, and Dean grins with an extended hand. “I’m Dean.”

The guy answers with a firm grip, a heavy weight in Dean’s hand and his blue eyes never leaving Dean’s. It’s good to know the whole intense thing isn’t just LARPing. “Castiel.”

He sees Charlie in the distance with a grin and double the thumbs up, then notices who he’s (still) holding hands with, and her grin widens. 

Dean slowly pries his hand off of Castiel’s, and clears his throat. “According to my Queen over there, seems like we won.” Castiel glances over at Charlie, and back to Dean with a quirk of an eyebrow. “So… as consolation prize, why don’t I treat you to a drink? Or you know, dinner, that could work too, if you want.”

Cas smiles with a duck of his head, and just as serious as before, says, “You’re no consolation prize, Dean.”

O-kay. Chalk up this moment where Dean imitates a goldfish in front of Cas for all of three seconds as the most embarrassing moment of his life. 

“Okay, then,” Dean squeaks, and yep, that one’s going up there too. Seems like with Cas around, Dean just tends to embarrass himself to oblivion.