Chapter Text
Once upon a time, in the hidden rise of the heavens, lived a young prince. Although his heart hadn’t been made to desire, he was endlessly intrigued by human nature, of the beauty and will to resist he had many times beheld.
Then, one night, an unexpected whisper came unbidden to his ears, cloaked in a veil of longing and artistry, with promises of what his heart desired the most.
As a gift, they offered the prince a single rose. And the prince fell to Earth. He fell for love and innocence, deceived by the words of an evil miscreant.
The appearance of kindness and hope soon melted to reveal the devil within, and their true purpose finally was bared to the prince.
The prince begged to return to the heavens, but it was too late. Stripped of his grace and eternal pureness, the prince was locked away in a castle, in the recesses of the forest, away from the humanity he had loved so much.
Days bled into years, and the prince, now but a hideous monster of legends, passed through generations as he grew lonely and bitter until there was no love left in his heart.
As time slipped away, he fell into despair and lost all hope, doomed to remain broken and plucked from the heavens for all time, certain that he would never find another that would blossom any love within ever again.
For who could ever learn to love a beast?
Present
“I’m not a kid, Bobby. I can handle a simple missing person case,” Dean grunted, gripping the wheel of his Baby tighter.
“Don’t talk t’me like that, boy. Y’know I think you’re a kickass hunter, but I still think being on your own ain’t always good for you.”
Snapping at the people he cared about was usually Dean’s go-to as a defensive mechanism. Still, he was being a jerk to Bobby. The older man had been more than a father to both him and Sam, and if it weren’t for him, their shitty childhood would have been even worse.
“Well, no one else gives a crap about Dad. He pissed off more hunters than I can count, and the ones he didn’t are either dead or unavailable. So, flying solo it is.”
Bobby gave a gruff hum in reply to Dean’s assessment of the situation. It wasn’t as if Dean was pooping rainbows out of his ass, but he was an okay kinda guy to work with. His father, on the other hand, could be a real piece of work, and most couldn’t care less where John might or might not have disappeared to.
“I still think y’should call your brother.”
“Sam made it very clear he wants nothing to do with us.”
“Dean—”
“I’ll find my father. On my own. I can do this, Bobby.”
“I know you can, son. Just be careful. Check the stuff I sent you and keep your ass outta trouble.”
“Yes, sir,” he teased and hung up before dropping his phone onto the leather seat of the Impala.
He couldn’t bring himself to be mad that Sam wasn’t here. After the life John had forced on them while they grew up, no wonder Sammy had bounced as soon as he saw a chance. In a way, Dean kinda preferred it like that. The fights between Sam and John had gotten so heated that Dean often had to step between them to stop them from throwing a punch at one another.
Sam didn’t understand why Dean kept defending their old man, but that was because he didn’t remember things the way Dean did. Dean had been old enough to see how their father was before the shitty events that had taken Mary Winchester’s life. Their family had been a happy one, and their father had been caring and patient instead of the bitter, vengeful man Mary’s death had made him become.
The ride to Angelville — what the hell kind of name was that, anyway? — was uneventful, the silence only broken by the deep rumble of his Baby cruising over the road and classic rock blasting through the radio. The amber waves of grain slowly gave way to a green, fertile land and low hills as Dean drove the seven hours from Kansas to Illinois. He only stopped for a couple of bathroom breaks, the fresh September air brushing against his face through the open window as he approached Angelville.
Sam had suggested taking a plane once to do this kind of work, but one — how would they get their weapons on the plane? And B, Dean would rather sell his left kidney than be stuck inside one of those flying metal death traps. Thank you very much. Besides, he knew he could always count on Baby to be a faithful companion.
The sky was turning lavender by the time Dean parked next to a run-of-the-mill diner, tentatively choosing a spot away from the bustling activity of patrons returning to their homes after a day’s work so that no asshole would dinge her spotless surface.
The sign announced fresh pie and the best coffee in town, and Dean thanked his lucky stars for that because he was in a pretty piss poor mood. The doorbell chimed overhead as he let himself in, barely holding down a chuckle as he made his way to the nearest empty table.
The inside was honest to God, straight out of a bad 80s movie. It had pink and light-blue benches to match the blinds, old-looking ceiling fans, a checkered white and black floor, and white walls with fluorescent lights running across the middle.
At least it was distracting enough to keep his mind off the case for a few minutes while he took in the sight and waited for someone to take his order.
He had been on edge ever since Bobby had called a few days ago, telling him John had disappeared. It wasn’t unusual for the man to vanish for weeks on end without giving a rat’s ass about warning anyone. Once his father got the scent of a case, he wouldn’t let go until he was done with the job, which was why he was such a damn good hunter. But it didn’t make a lick of sense for him to show up in this town only to disappear and leave the case open the way he had.
Maybe someone who had a bone to pick with the Winchesters had gotten to him. If Sam were here, he would tell Dean not to worry about John, and it annoyed the hell out of Dean to wonder if maybe he would have been right, but he couldn’t just sit on his hands and do nothing. Besides, Sam wasn’t here, was he? No, he was a big-shot student living ‘the life’ at Stanford, and Dean hadn’t seen or heard from him in months.
Dean was so distracted with his thoughts that he almost jumped out of his skin when a waitress stopped beside his table. “What can I do for you?”
Looking up, Dean flashed her a grin, hoping to divert her attention from his edgy behavior. She was pretty — red, lush lips, big brown eyes, and long, wavy hair. Looking at her name tag, it read, Ava.
“You could do a lot of things for me,” he said, back to his cocky façade, one side of his mouth curling up when she blushed profusely and smiled, fluttering her eyes coyly at him. “But for now, black coffee and your best piece of blueberry pie, please.”
Nodding, she all but purred at him, “I’ll be right back.”
Dean did his best not to stare at her perfect, round ass as she walked away. As much as Ava was pretty, and it had been a hot minute since he had last fooled around with anyone, sadly, he wasn’t here to mingle with the locals. But flirting with people was in his blood — woman, man, he wasn’t picky. As long as someone struck his fancy and was willing, he was in. But for now, he guessed his jerk-off sessions in the shower would have to do.
With that in mind, he thanked Ava politely when she returned with his order but dialed down a notch on his flirty self. He needed to focus on the case, find his father, and maybe save some people in the process.
Dean wasn’t a big fan of research, but he was a bookworm. So, he typically took on the task of reading the lore books when research was needed and let Sam handle the computer stuff. Since Sam had left for college, Dean had to begrudgingly take on all aspects of research, but he was cool with it. He was a one-person research team now. So, opening his laptop, Dean read through what Bobby had emailed him again.
The case was like twelve kinds of not good. The town’s forest was reportedly crawling with monsters, but no one who came out of there alive could remember enough to pinpoint anything specific. Over the years, there were several disappearances, people getting lost or coming out of there weeks later completely half-baked and talking gibberish.
Most people steered clear of the forest altogether and were happy to pretend the whispers of monsters didn’t exist.
Closing his laptop and putting away all the reports he had printed, Dean sipped the last of his coffee and stared out the window.
The town was charming, with slate sidewalks, well-kept gardens, and picturesque houses. On any other occasion, he would have enjoyed seeing the sights, and as he sat there for a moment, he found himself following along when Whitney Houston started singing through the diner’s speakers. I wanna dance with somebody. I wanna feel the heat with somebody. Yeah, I wanna dance with somebody. With somebody who loves me.
Dean jerked himself out of his fever dream so sharply that he almost fell off the chair and landed on his ass. Jeez, Winchester, get a grip, he admonished himself.
What the hell was wrong with him? At this rate, he would be the one loopy before this case was over. Before he could do something equally stupid as burst into singing like a goddamn Disney princess, Dean drained the rest of his coffee and rose to his feet, leaving enough cash to cover his meal and a hefty tip before he took off.
The search was a bust. The next morning, Dean had gotten up early and immediately started knocking on people’s doors, but with no results. Most folks he interviewed were apprehensive when he showed them his fake FBI badge but soon softened to him after he managed to butter them up a bit, answering his questions with little fuss.
They were still visibly shaken up about their friends’ or relatives’ disappearances. Some had been last seen entering the forest years ago, and there were zero hopes of ever getting them back. Dean was glad he always kept some tissues at hand because the mother of a missing teenager had all but wept on his shoulder.
It left a bitter taste in the back of his mouth to know that this was most probably related to supernatural causes like his father had seemed to believe. All these victims had probably met a gruesome end at the hands of this mysterious monster, and Dean knew better than to hope to get them back alive.
Besides that, no one seemed to have much to say about his dad. They remembered another FBI agent showing up on their doorstep a couple of weeks ago with a description that resembled John’s. And from everything Dean had seen so far, his father’s MO was all over the place.
But even though it was obvious that his old man had been in town, Dean still had little to go on.
One thing had caught his attention, though. Several relatives of the victims mentioned a castle that was said to be as old as time, set right in the middle of the forest. Old tales talked about a beast lurking in the depths of the massive building, its nature so ferocious that it slayed anyone who came into contact with it.
Dean was sure most of it was bedtime stories to scare the little kids, but it was still worth a shot. Maybe if he found this ‘beast’, he would not only gank the sucker terrorizing this town but also solve this case and maybe find a clue of his father’s whereabouts.
He spent all day checking new leads and interviewing everyone in the files Bobby had sent him, and only when the cold of the night was seeping through his suit did Dean call it quits.
He grabbed a burger and beer on the way to the motel, parked Baby close by, and entered his room, which he had booked the day before, sitting on the bed quietly as he ate and watched some crappy TV.
The warm shower offered a bit of solace but didn’t completely ease his mind. Dean went to bed that night with his muscles still straining, as if ready to flee at any moment. Something about this town, about the castle, called to him in a way Dean couldn’t quite wrap his brain around. No matter what he did, he couldn’t shake off the feeling that his father was in big trouble, and whatever monster was inside that forest was the answer to John’s disappearance.
Dean spent most of the night staring at the ceiling, the cheap fabric of the covers rustling against his skin as he tried to keep his body from tensing up.
No matter how much he tried to relax and fall asleep, his brain wouldn’t shut the hell up. Thoughts of his father came unbidden, as did memories from his childhood with Sammy and how much it had broken him when his brother had thrown in the towel and left four years ago.
Dean thought about his own life, always moving from place to place, always in search of the next case and the next evil to wipe out. He wondered if this was the case that would finally make him wise up and stop hunting. He knew most hunters didn’t make it past their thirties, and at twenty-six, that number was creeping up fast. And Dean was tired. He was sick and tired of never settling down in his own place with someone who gave him comfort instead of the nastiness this lousy hunter’s life always brought him.
He remembered dreaming of being a firefighter when he was a kid. Then that Yellow-Eyed Demon had happened, Mary had been ripped away from them, and the Winchesters spent the next few years chasing the son of a bitch that had killed her.
Since Dean’s life had been blown to pieces at four years old, the only life he’d known was avenging his mother’s death. Once that was done, he continued to follow the family motto — saving people, hunting things. Sometimes, he envied Sam for having the guts to walk away. Dean just hoped one day, he would also be brave enough to do something nice for himself.
Finally dozing off, it wasn’t yellow eyes filling his nightmares; instead, a much warmer blue soothed his dreams. Even in his sleep, something in him ached for that warmth, for that tenderness coaxing melting shivers down his spine, making his limbs mushy.
When he slipped away from his cozy dream, Dean had to force his mind out of those wide, blue eyes and the pleasant emotions they stirred within. He decided to wait for the cover of the night, contacting Bobby again to inform him he was on the move before stepping outside. His arms pricked with goosebumps as if some kind of foreboding as he stepped into the warm, gentle breeze of the approaching darkness and made his way to the Impala.
Finding the forest was easy when two-thirds of the town was surrounded by it. Dean had checked the path he should take when he had previously gone around town interviewing witnesses, so he knew where to lead his Baby and soon found himself delving into its depths.
He was expecting the eerie vibe of a forest that was said to be rolling in monsters. He had the Impala’s arsenal of monster-ganking weapons prepped, and as the other half of his team, his Baby had never let him down before, so Dean wasn’t too worried about that.
What he hadn’t expected was for it to be snowing after the heat he had experienced back in town. The temperature seemed to plummet the more he penetrated the dense forest, the cold invading the interior of the car.
He followed the path to its interior, pausing at a fork in the road and turning in the opposite direction from the sign indicating the town's location.
Dean drove as far as he could until the vegetation had crept into the dirt road itself, and the snow had gotten so thick that he knew the tires of the Impala weren’t suitable for traversing the winding road.
Taking a deep breath, Dean clutched the steering wheel and stared out the window into the heavy tangle of vines and tree limbs. The Forgotten Forest, as it was called, had tree trunks so oversized and a canopy so compact and impenetrable that moonlight shone in only small shafts of radiance.
“Don’t worry, Baby, it’s just a bit of snow,” Dean murmured, pocketing his car keys and stepping outside. “On freaking September 18th. Not even officially Fall yet,” he added, not bothering to hide his sarcasm.
He tucked his gun into the waistband of his jeans, checked his pockets for matches, and then added a stake, a couple of knives, and a container of salt to his duffle. Just as he was ready to close the trunk, he reached back in and grabbed the demon cuffs, just in case.
The snowy forest appeared to be devoid of any signs of life. No birds were chirping, and there was no rustling of rabbits or other wild animals, nothing. It evoked an eerie chill down his spine that Dean tried to contain as he made his way through the undergrowth.
The snowflakes fluttered precariously around the snow-covered trees. The sickle moon and silvery stars offered some scant and spectral light through the thick treetops, casting the landscape in a spooky and gray world. The ground Dean stepped on was barely illuminated, forcing him to bring out his flashlight.
Something snapped to his side, and Dean swore it was the forest laughing. The dark shadows were filled with shrieks, terrifying in their strange happiness; the evil cackle in the air made the forest seem even more wild and merciless.
Dean had to wonder what the hell had happened here, step after step, getting deeper into the darkness that seeped into his very bones. An unsettling feeling crept in, the trees rustling and whispering as he kept going until the first glimpses of the castle were seen far ahead.
Another snap of a twig nearby, and Dean knew something animalistic was lurking beyond the snow-covered bushes before a blood-curdling growl filled the forest.
Dean stilled, slowly turning in the direction of the sound, blinking through frosty lashes as he stared into the depths of the shadows. The trees seemed to grow taller, looming as Dean remained there frozen, holding his breath before the source of the growl made itself visible.
A wolf, black and massive, followed by several more, was slowly closing in on Dean.
Dean exhaled sharply, equal parts relieved it wasn’t anything supernatural-related and worried about his current situation. He had enough bullets for a few of them but couldn’t take out an entire pack if they attacked as a unit.
Deciding the best plan was to take a hike, Dean took a step behind, then another and another, until he felt he was far enough away to turn and flee.
He ran as fast as his muscles could take him. The wolves were hot on his trail, their angry snarls and a chorus of howls echoing around him. Escaping was Dean’s only thought as he tried to avoid being surrounded. He slipped on a pile of wet leaves and almost fell on his face, righting his step just in time to leap over a fallen branch.
He couldn’t believe it had come to this, running for his life in a creepy ass forest. He, Dean Winchester, a freaking hunter, fleeing from wolves. It was not the way he expected to go out. The thought of Sam calling him an idiot for not bringing backup came against his will and immediately sobered Dean and made something inside him turn sadder.
He had to make it out of here, find his dad, and bring him back home. Then he was done, done with this gruesome life and the unhappiness it had always caused him.
Another turn and the forest opened up to reveal the castle, its decrepit granite outer walls covered in vines and moss. Dean saw the vast, rising gate and rushed to it. He didn’t even know what he would do when he reached it, but the adrenaline and growls of the wolves made him turn in that direction, nonetheless.
It was with a breath of relief that Dean saw the gate open just as he ran to its front. The breach was barely wide enough to allow him through, but it was plenty for him to sprint past it. The alpha wolf almost bit into his calves as Dean hurriedly wedged through the gap and landed on the other side of the property with a grunt.
As he lay there panting, Dean lifted his head to find that the gate had closed behind him, preventing the wolves from making their way inside. With a sigh, he dropped his head to the ground, staring at the sky, his chest heaving, his legs shaking from the rush of adrenaline and the sudden cardio.
“I’m too old for this crap,” he groaned and closed his eyes.
Fast steps approaching made Dean reach for his gun again before he saw a man rushing toward him.
“What the hell are you doing here?” the stranger yelled.
Wary of whatever mess he had gotten himself into and his vulnerable position, Dean slowly got to his feet, his eyes shifting from the man to look around. As soon as he concluded there was no one else close by, Dean’s eyes landed on the guy again, trying not to let his guard down.
The man seemed harmless. He was shorter than Dean and leaner, with shaggy, dirty-blonde hair and eyes flashing so brightly under the moon they seemed almost golden.
“Hey to you too, pal,” Dean said cautiously.
“Who are you? How did you get in?” the man asked accusingly.
“Through the front gate,” he said in an ‘isn’t it obvious’ tone. “What's with the third degree?”
“No, that shouldn’t be possible! What are you doing here? Haven't you seen all the monsters out there? Do you have a death wish?”
Speaking of monsters, Dean had, in fact, not seen a single one. Huh. Because he felt his life was still on the line, only this time it was a different type of predator before him, Dean chose to keep that piece of info for himself. “I'm here to save—”
“You're not saving anyone, buddy,” the guy interrupted. “You just fell into a trap. Maybe there’s still time. If you got in, maybe we can still get you outta here before—”
“I'm not going anywhere without my father!”
That made the man pause, a line deep between his brows. “Your—”
“Are you behind these monsters scaring people shitless in town? Who the hell are you people?”
“I don't owe you any explanation,” the man said coldly, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Yeah? Think again.” Raising his gun, Dean pointed it at the guy, who only smiled in return, his eyes gleaming even more golden and with something dangerous. “You have five seconds to tell me who you are before I start shooting.”
Feeling a sudden rush of air against his hair, Dean turned to the sky to see a figure drawing shadows against the moonlight before the specter descended at high speed. Dean could only stare, mouth agape, as the dark figure with broad wings made its way to the ground.
“You're gonna regret that one,” the shaggy-haired man said, but Dean barely heard him, his eyes trained on the figure landing in front of them.
The creature was almost Dean’s height, male by the looks of it, wearing jeans and a white tunic that hugged broad shoulders and a lean body filled with muscles. Dark brown hair framed an almost angelic face and eyes the brightest blue Dean had ever seen, even under the moon’s pale light.
The being could've fooled anyone into believing it was human if it weren't for those two massive wings on its back covered in thick, dark feathers, which were unfurled and on full display as the creature conveyed its intentions to Dean — that it was not to be messed with.
Dean knew that hunting was often based on a wing and a prayer, and he had executed more than his share of bad ideas. So, without much thought, he aimed his gun at the winged being and fired.
Bullet after bullet dug into the monster’s chest, and the thing barely flinched as they hit it. Dean released a breath, reaching behind his back for his knife just as the creature crossed the space separating them, a furious growl making its eyes glow even bluer. The beast reached Dean just as he took hold of the knife and swung forward, burying it right above where he assumed the monster’s heart would be.
The creature smiled, and in the back of his screwed-up mind, Dean thought it was beautiful — one of the most beautiful people he had ever seen. Only this being wasn’t human, was it? It was one of the things Dean had hunted all his life, probably the monster terrorizing Angelville.
And as the beast reached forward, utterly unbothered by the knife buried in its chest, and touched two fingers to Dean’s forehead, Dean was reminded of just that. The light emanating from its eyes cast a halo in Dean’s vision, making the face only inches from his even more breathtaking. Before Dean could berate himself for such stupid thoughts, something inside him turned mellow, and moments later, Dean’s world was enveloped in darkness, and he passed out.