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In Which Dean Frogs Up

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“I know I have an extra crown in here somewhere,” Charlie said, whipping the front flaps of her tent out of the way. “It’s buried in one of these chests. Give me a minute and I’ll find it.”

Dean followed his friend into her private tent, smiling to himself with one hand wrapped around the hilt of his foam sword. “I’m fine being a handmaiden,” he said, giving a shrug. Charlie tutted and started opening boxes anyway. “Really,” Dean insisted.

“Poppycock,” Charlie said, rooting around amongst costume offcuts and random bits of chainmail. “You’ll make an amazing princess. It’s your fifth time in Moondoor, and you’ve done a good job as a handmaiden. I think you deserve a promotion. Like Keira Knightly when she got to be Amidala for a bit. And I’m queen, so what I say goes, remember?”

Dean rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help but grin. “Any chance you’ll let me be a prince instead?”

“Oh, were you hoping to come out of this with your masculinity intact?” Charlie snickered, tucking her red hair behind her ears.

“Frankly? Yeah, a little.”

“Well, you can be a prince if you want, I’m not exactly gonna stop you.” Charlie shot Dean a cheeky grin, then started looking through a second trunk. “Oh... and talking about masculinity...”


Charlie cocked an eyebrow and stood up straight. “I saw you checking out that handsome knight over by the food tent,” she teased. She was baiting a reply, but Dean refused to bite.

“You saw nothing,” Dean said. “Because there was nothing to see.”

Dean lifted back part of the tent flap, and he peered out at the crowds of medieval-era LARPers who traversed the sunny field outside. Knights and commoners alike wandered between other tents, eating historic food and picking fights with other swordsmen.

Charlie came and stood beside Dean. She batted the tent flap out of his hand, and it fluttered closed. She looked him sternly in the eye and said, “Coming from someone who’s read every book in the Supernatural series, and knows you personally, trust me when I tell you I know what you look like when you’re checking someone out. Admit it, Dean: dear Knight Fletchley appealed to those, uh... masculine aesthetics of yours. Which you clearly value so much.”

“He was holding a cinnamon roll, I was looking at the cinnamon roll!” Dean argued, hearing the desperation in his own voice.

“Oh, you gave a cinnamon roll a six-foot up-and-down sexy nod, did you?”

“Yeah! C’mon, I’d think you would know me by now! I will give sexy nods to sexy food!”

Charlie scoffed, highly amused, and she turned away with a swoosh of her hair. “You don’t need to hide anything about who you are around me, Dean. This is a safe place. Moondoor protects its citizens.”

“I seem to recall a few people were murdered here a matter of months ago,” Dean said darkly.

Charlie huffed, digging her way back into the open trunk. She was quiet for a bit, and the only noises Dean heard included a muffled tinkering and bustling from outside, and the clanks and shuffles of Charlie looking for this elusive spare crown.

Dean sighed, then swallowed. He’d been here five times already, as Charlie said, but he wondered if this could be the first time he really – and he meant really – got into the spirit of things. Charlie was right; Moondoor was a safe space to let loose. Everyone here was comfortably eccentric, and many were comfortably queer – in all senses of the word.

Where was the harm, really? Sam wasn’t in Moondoor today, so he couldn’t act all over-accepting if Dean were to reveal his secret – and besides, Charlie probably already knew Dean swung exactly as many ways as a two-way screen door.

Dean fiddled with his sword, picking at the black duct tape that was unpeeling from the handle. “I, uh... I actually did think...”

Charlie perked her head up, looking expectant.

Dean shrugged a shoulder, eyes sliding towards the nearest display table. “I do think Knight Fletchley is kinda cute. But the cinnamon roll was a huge plus! It was definitely mostly the cinnamon roll I was looking at.”

Charlie beamed. “They do make good cinnamon rolls in the food tent.”

“I— I haven’t had the chance to try one yet,” Dean said, flustering, looking down at his muddy boots. “All my life I kinda... Like, I knew I liked cinnamon rolls, but I never had the guts to go out and get myself one. I never... asked one out to dinner, or bought ‘em a beer or anything. Y’know?” He looked hopefully at Charlie, who was standing there with a leather chestplate in her hands.

Charlie slowly lowered the chestplate back into the open storage trunk. “I getcha. Always giving them the sexy nod but never getting to lick the icing. So to speak.”

“Yeah,” Dean smirked, scratching the back of his head. “Bet these... cinnamon rolls... they’d taste awesome, if I actually worked up the courage.”

“Well, what’re you scared of?” Charlie asked, reasonably, while re-folding a tunic. “Nobody around here would bat an eyelid if two cinnamon rolls shacked up in a tent for an afternoon. We actually have a tent for that, there’s mattresses and everything. Hell, you could borrow this tent if you wanted privacy. Nobody’s judging.”

Dean shook his head vehemently, trying to look anywhere but Charlie. God, his face was burning. “I can’t— I can’t just do that,” he stammered. “Not so fast. Not so direct.”

Charlie looked thoughtful. “You could ask him to share a croissant with you. A real croissant, not a metaphorical one. I mean, while it’s potentially anachronistic, the food tent stocks excellent chocolate-filled ones. They’re delicious. Big enough to share.”

Dean huffed and lowered his chin to the chainmail on his sternum, smiling. “That’d be a good start.”

“Good start...?” Charlie seemed to get it, then. “Ohhh. You want something more permanent than a quick roll in the hay, huh?”

Dean shrugged and nodded at once. He wandered away from the opening of the tent, heading for the table with that day’s battle plan laid out, so he had something to fiddle with. “I think I want something long-term. Something that feels... ‘secure’, or whatever.” He caught Charlie’s eye and shook his head. “It’s impossible with the life me and Sam lead. So that’s basically why.”

“That’s why you never took a bite,” Charlie finished, setting the lid of the second trunk closed. “Aw, you poor baby!”

“Hey, watch it,” Dean said warningly, pointing a finger at Charlie, gripping a knave figurine in his fist. “You can call me by any pastry you want, but I’m no baby, all right? I’m a grown-ass man. I know I say this while dressed like a handmaiden, but FYI, I happen to like playing dress-up.” Dean finished speaking, and he cleared his throat as gruffly as he could.

Charlie came closer, plucking the tiny red figurine out of his hand and putting it back where it belonged on the map. She then bumped him gently in the arm. “You’ll get it,” she said. “Someday the right cinnamon roll will come along, and you’ll just eat him right up.”

“Yeah, all right, now it’s gettin’ creepy,” Dean complained, nudging Charlie away. “How about you just find me that crown so we can get outta here, and I can get back to following you around and doing your queenly bidding.”

“On it,” Charlie said, turning away. There were still several trunks she had to look through. She may have been queen around here, but somehow all the extra junk ended up in her space.

Dean took a deep breath, feeling lighter now he’d made his confession in real, out-loud words. That secret had been weighing on him for too many years.

That perfect cinnamon roll was out there. He was even more certain of that than Charlie was. But even though he craved and lusted and pined for that one perfect cinnamon roll, it saddened him that said cinnamon roll didn’t like him back, at least not the same way.

Why was he still thinking about cinnamon rolls? Men, he corrected. He liked men. He liked cinnamon rolls too, but that was beside the point.

Running a hand back through his spiky hair, Dean wandered from the table with the battle plan to the table beside it, which had a thick book laid out centrally on its surface. Its cover was red leather, with a bubbled relief like dragon skin over its spine and part of the front. It had a gold plate fastened to the middle, upon which the book’s title was engraved in calligraphy.

Ye Olde Magic Spells,” Dean read aloud, grinning. “Nice. Looks pretty realistic.”

“It is cool, isn’t it?” Charlie replied from another part of the tent, hidden behind a curtain. “I was actually hoping you’d take a look at that while you were here.”

“Well, I’m looking.” Dean thumbed through the first few pages, which were all tough and yellowed, but still flippable. The book landed open on an illustrated page: a tiny poem was bordered by hand-drawn florals, and behind that was a watercolour illustration of a frog on a lilypad, wearing a crown.

“Wow. Who made this book?” Dean asked, eyebrows up. “I’ve seen my share of real spellbooks but this is pretty impressive as a prop.” He grinned. “The spells practically rhyme and everything. Listen to this: For the prince with a heart full of love, But an empty feeling in his life, His longing shall continue whilst he is a frog, And only true love’s kiss will set him right.

“That’s how they all go,” Charlie said, edging out from behind the curtain and sidling closer to Dean. “Short and sweet. Would you believe I picked this doozy up at a garage sale? Eight bucks!”

Dean frowned. “Wait, I thought one of your Moondoor people made it.”

“Nope.” Charlie glanced at Dean. “I was going to ask you if you thought it was real. Looks pretty real to me.”

Dean stared at Charlie, feeling his stomach flipping. “I thought it was a prop.”

Charlie shook her head.

Dean felt a tingle under his skin. The tingle became an itch, which became a flush of colour in his eyes, and Charlie started growing bigger.

“Oh,” Dean said, and then he was a frog.

Charlie gasped and knelt down in the grass, rummaging through Dean’s clothing. “Dean. Dean!”

She discarded his chainmail and his undershirt, and once she got inside his pants – ugh, still warm – she found a pair of pink, satiny panties. There was a wriggling lump inside.


Dean – now a medium-sized garden frog – lifted up the waistband of his panties, peering out at Charlie.

Charlie sat back on her heels. “Crap.”

⟡ ⟡ ⟡  ☾ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡

“I’m here!” Sam announced, separating the two flaps of the tent with both hands. He looked jovial in his Moondoor costume, complete with a brown capelet and tied-back hair. “You summoned me, O Queen?”

Charlie looked up from where she was perched on a leather stool, over by the battle table. “I emailed you an hour ago! I said we had a problem!”

Sam stood in the centre of the tent, in the exact spot Dean had first become a frog. “But you were so unspecific! I thought you meant you needed help fighting a Moondoor battle!”

Charlie sighed and stood up, holding a large golden cup in her hands. “Well, you’re here now. To be honest with you, I’m not sure how serious this problem is...”

She went forward, showing Sam the goblet. He was confused at first, and he took it from her to examine – but then he looked inside and almost dropped it.

“Gaah!” Sam said, holding the goblet at arm’s length. “There’s a—” he jabbed a finger at the goblet, “There’s a thing in there. It’s swimming.”

Charlie looked unimpressed. “That’s Dean.”

Sam relaxed, hesitating before pulling the goblet closer. “That’s...”

“Dean,” Charlie repeated. “He read a spell out loud and it actually worked.”

Sam’s mouth opened slowly. “Crap.”

“That’s what I said. Well, at least now I know the book is genuine. Got more than my money’s worth, for sure.”

Sam let out a breath, his gaze dancing around the tent until he saw the spellbook laid open, resting on a table which was draped with a white cloth. Sam carried the goblet over, watching the frog swim in bounces from one side to the other, pushing off the gold each time.

“This is what he read?” Sam asked, running a hand over the illustration.

“Yep,” Charlie said, standing beside Sam, arms wrapped around her middle. “Don’t read it aloud.”

Sam read it in his head, then screwed up his lips. “Did you try kissing him?”

“Me?!” Charlie looked flabberghasted. “I’m gay!”

Sam huffed. “But Dean loves you.”

“But not like that, jeez.”

“Well, as far as I know, there isn’t anyone he loves like that,” Sam shrugged. “I know he gets around, but since Cassie, I don’t think he’s fallen for anyone.”

“Cassie,” Charlie repeated, eyes drifting away. “Oh, she was in one of the first Supernatural books that came out. Route 666?”

“That’s the one,” Sam nodded. “But he last saw her, what, seven years ago? Eight? I’d take a guess and say Dean still cares about her but I don’t think he’s still in love.”

“I never got the impression that was true love, either,” Charlie said, rolling her eyes. “I mean, racist truck? I know people who won’t even count that book as canon.”

Sam gaped. “But it... happened.”

“Not according to some,” Charlie remarked. “Let’s focus on the facts, though. Cassie’s probably not the one. Who else?”

Sam shrugged, pulling an over-exaggerated ‘I have no idea’ expression. Then he stood straight and peered into the goblet, watching the green blob stretch out his legs for another swim across the surface. “I feel like this shouldn’t be so hard. Dean has a lot of love in him, you know?”

“Like the spell says,” Charlie nodded. “Yeah, I know.”

Sam hesitated, then lifted a hand and dipped his fingers into the water in the goblet, catching the frog on his hand and lifting him out. “I can’t believe this is my brother I’m holding.”

“Well, you’d better believe it, because he’s staying that way until we can fix this.”

Dean ribbited, adjusting his sticky feet on Sam’s palm. Sam offered the frog to Charlie. “Kissy-kissy?”

“Ew,” Charlie laughed, waving Sam’s hand away. But then she paused, and her laughter faded. “You really think it could work?”

“If it’s not you, then it’s me,” Sam shrugged. “You first.”

Charlie gave Sam a cold, yet amused look, then she leaned close to his hand and gave Dean a gentle smack on his head with pursed lips. She immediately darted back, wiping her mouth with her hand. “Ew-ew-ew, gross. He’s all cold and slimy.”

“Kinda squishy too,” Sam smiled. He sighed when nothing happened. “Well, my turn, I guess.”

He screwed up his face and inched closer, resisting for as long as he could before he gave Dean a kiss on the top of his froggy green head.

Dean croaked and leapt away, landing on the spellbook. Charlie startled at his movement, and Sam grabbed for him, but Dean leapt further away, out of Sam’s reach. He turned around on his flexible, slightly wobbly legs, and he croaked again, giving his brother a hearty stinkeye.

“Don’t look at me like that, I had to kiss you,” Sam said. “Believe me, if I could’ve avoided that, I would’ve.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “You’d better not give us salmonella poisoning.”

Dean ribbited something wholly impolite. Sam didn’t understand, but that was probably for the best.

Sam’s expression cleared, and his mouth pressed straight. “Now what?”

“How about Cas?” Charlie asked.

Sam’s eyes brightened. “Oh! Maybe he could reverse the spell with angel magic.”

Charlie blinked. “Sure. That’s totally what I meant.”

“The dude doesn’t answer my prayers, but I have his number,” Sam said, sliding a hand into his breast pocket.

“Hey! No futuristic crap in my tent! Out! Out, out!” Charlie flapped at Sam until he left, huffing and making irritated noises. “Go call him from the tech tent!”

Sam rolled his eyes. “And you wonder why it took me so long to get here.”

“Hey, I take the Moondoor thing seriously,” Charlie said. “Now go fetch!”

⟡ ⟡ ⟡  ☾ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡

By the time Sam had made his call and returned to Charlie’s private tent, Castiel had already arrived.

“Talk about angelic efficiency,” Sam muttered, patting Castiel on the back. “You’d better change into costume, Cas. Charlie isn’t a big fan of suits and trenchcoats wandering around her Medieval fantasy.”

“I was told as much.” Castiel gestured towards a draped curtain, from behind which came a rustle. “Charlie’s promised me a knight’s armour.” He then looked towards the curtain, frowning. “Forgive me for rushing you, um... your highness – but shouldn’t we be focusing on the situation at hand? Sam told me Dean is in trouble. He was... chuckling at the time, so I’m not sure how serious this trouble is. Where is Dean, by the way?”

Charlie emerged from behind the curtain, holding up a brown leather chestplate in one hand and a set of chaps and a tunic in the other. She handed it all to Castiel, beaming. “Dean’s in no immediate danger,” she assured him. “As soon as you’re in the appropriate gear, I’ll let you see him.”

Castiel squinted at the clothes he held. He seemed pleased. He glanced up at Charlie and asked, “Do you have a shield I can borrow, too?”

Charlie winked at him. “As a matter of fact, I have just the thing.”

⟡ ⟡ ⟡  ☾ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡

Sam’s jaw dropped as Castiel emerged from behind the curtain. He was suited up mostly in brown, but he wore a sash of cobalt blue under his chestplate. His shield was painted white, with a blue crown front and centre.

“Do I look okay?” Castiel asked. He seemed shy, but still fiercely angelic.

“You look... dashing,” Charlie said. Then she glanced towards Sam. “Don’t you think he looks dashing?”

“Sure do,” Sam said, forcing enthusiasm. “Can we go and fix Dean now?”

“One minute, one minute,” Charlie insisted, hurrying to an open trunk. “Let me just... One last finishing touch...”

She rummaged about, tossing things out onto the dry grass. A few extra tunics and a gold medallion landed behind her, and Sam wondered how long it would be until the trunk was empty. At last Charlie stood up, singing triumphantly. “Ta-daaa!”

“Is that a crown?” Sam said, watching Charlie carry it over to Castiel. “Why does he need a crown?”

“Because he’s a prince,” Charlie said. Castiel bent his knees so Charlie could reach his head, and she set the crown neatly on his dark, tufty hair. “I dub thee: Prince Castiel, of the Nether Regions.”

Sam scoffed. Castiel didn’t seem to get the joke; his eyes shone proudly.

“Thank you, Charlie, Queen of Moondoor,” Castiel said, and he meant it.

“All right, Cas is a prince. Long live the Queen. Now can we get Dean?” Sam whined.

“Patience, warrior,” Charlie said. “Dean’s right here.”

She went to the table with the book, and she picked up a big golden bowl. Water sloshed over the side, so she did her best to compensate for the odd movement.

Charlie grinned. “See, Cas? Dean says hi.”

Castiel hunched forward to see into the bowl, and his eyes widened.

“He got bored of swimming in the goblet,” Charlie said, transferring the bowl into Castiel’s arms and making him drop his shield. “We’d better fix this soon, or he’ll start getting hungry. I think he had his heart set on something sweet from the food tent for dinner, so he’s not going to be happy eating bugs.”

Castiel glanced at her, thoroughly concerned. “How did this happen?”

Sam tapped his finger on the illustratration of a frog. “Accidental spellwork. Apparently he went and read the one spell that actually applied to him.”

Castiel leaned closer to read the spell, muttering under his breath. “True love’s kiss,” he said, mulling the words over. “Did you two both try and kiss him?”

“Didn’t work,” Charlie said. “And it was completely gross. We were hoping you...” She met Castiel’s eyes and gave him a significant look.

Sam cleared his throat and finished Charlie’s sentence. “You have some angel power that could fix this, right?”

Castiel put the bowl down on the table, looking carefully at Sam. “I suppose. But why not reverse the spell the way it’s designed to be reversed?”

Sam smiled gently, almost sadly. “We don’t have any idea who Dean loves, Cas. The three living people he cares about most are standing in this room right now, and neither me or Charlie made any difference when we kissed him.”

Castiel blinked a few times, lowering his eyes. “Wh... Um. What about me?”

Sam thought about it. “It’s worth a shot, I guess. You did pull him out of Hell, I guess that’s gotta leave a mark.” He chuckled, and added, “In more way than one.”

Castiel glanced at Sam gratefully, then reached for the bowl to lift Dean out of the water. Dean beeped, taking offence to the touch on his belly. He leapt out of Castiel’s hand and smacked a wet puddle down onto the open book.

“Dean—” Castiel reached for Dean again, but Dean bounced himself off the table and onto the grass.

Sam and Charlie scrambled back, afraid they might step on Dean if he got any closer to their boots. Dean bounced and bounced, heading for the flaps on the tent.

“Don’t let him escape!” Charlie shouted, grabbing the nearest tunic and readying it to throw. Castiel snatched it out of her hands and leapt forward, dropping his weight onto the grass and covering Dean with the cloth. His crown slipped halfway off, but stayed on his head.

“Got you,” Castiel said, cupping a hand over the wriggling lump. “It’s okay, Dean, I won’t hurt you.”

He turned around to face Sam and Charlie, now sitting on the grass. Taking great care not to do any harm, he unfolded the creature from the cloth, and he set Dean comfortably into his hands. He prevented Dean from moving with one hand, and with his other hand he stroked Dean’s sleek back, soothing him.

“You have nothing to fear,” Castiel said to Dean, looking him in the eye. Castiel smiled, and the smile turned into a grin. “You know, this form isn’t a bad look on you,” he muttered, crossing his legs, still caressing the lump in his hands. “Green is definitely your colour.”

Dean ribbited quietly, flattered by the compliment.

Castiel smiled, glad to see Dean had calmed down. “Are you ready? I only need kiss your head, I think. Will you allow me to kiss you?”

Dean blinked, his long tongue snapping out for a split second to boop Castiel’s nose.

Castiel chuckled, eyes gleaming happily. “All right,” he said. “I think that was a yes. I hope that was a yes.” He took a breath. “Here goes.”

He leaned close, eyes sliding shut. He pressed his lips to Dean’s smooth head, softly and gently. Dean swelled in Castiel’s hand, giving a silent ribbit.

Castiel gasped and broke the kiss, suddenly feeling Dean was doing more than swelling: he was growing heavier, and warmer, and bigger.

Castiel was forced to lean back on his hands as Dean’s tiny body dropped onto his stomach, getting larger and more weighty. Now Dean was pink – and in only a matter of seconds, the human Dean lay naked on Castiel’s belly, his hands gripping Castiel’s shoulders, his bowed legs splayed out over the grass.

Their eyes locked onto each other, and both felt their breath leave them.

True love...?

“Oh,” Dean said.

Castiel’s hand slid to hold Dean’s hip, steadying him as he helped him sit back in a kneeling position. “Are you all right?” Castiel asked, his whisper becoming a rasp.

“I— I— I’m,” Dean managed, before he glanced down, hands flying to his crotch. “I’m naked.”

“Oh, shoot!” Charlie shouted. She scurried away, and came back a few seconds later with Dean’s Moondoor costume in her hands.

Dean coloured even more brightly when he saw his satin panties were folded neatly on top. He snatched the pile of clothes and turned it upside down, hiding his second most embarrassing secret against his bare skin. “Everyone out,” he commanded, hearing his voice break. “I mean it! Out!”

Sam was the first to leave, and he didn’t even look back. Charlie hesitated, but followed a moment later with a whispered word of apology.

Castiel lingered, his eyes set on Dean’s. He looked at him calmly and affectionately.

Dean gritted his teeth, making a muscle in his jaw flinch. “You too, Cas. Just get out. Leave me alone.”

Castiel got to his feet, but he waited before he turned to leave. He touched Dean ever so gently on the back of his neck, a warm hand against cold skin. Dean shut his eyes, frowning as he curled away, too fragile to accept comfort.

Castiel made sure the curtain closed completely as he left. Dean was grateful.

⟡ ⟡ ⟡  ☾ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡

“So,” Charlie said, attempting to eradicate a chilly air which had formed over the group, the kind that no amount of sunshine could defrost. The three of them stood by the food tent, Sam and Charlie holding a cream bun each.

Castiel shuffled his feet, looking down at his boots while he fiddled with his shield. “So,” he said too.

Sam bit into his cream bun, chewed, then swallowed. “So! Dean’s in love with you,” he said to Castiel, as offhandedly as he could. “That’s... pretty cool, huh?”

Castiel smiled, but he was unable to meet Sam’s eye at first. “Are you really that surprised?” he asked, gaze flicking up to Sam’s. “After all he and I have been through together... after everything I’ve done for the two of you, for him... You really didn’t know?”

Sam shook his head. He licked icing sugar off his lips. “Now you say it... the way you two act around each other makes sense all of a sudden,” he said, staring blankly ahead.

“All the staring,” Charlie said, swaying one way. “All the personal space issues,” she added, swaying the other way. “All the times they almost gave their lives for each other... practically devoted themselves to each other... their ‘profound bond’—”

“Okay, okay I get it, stop swaying,” Sam snapped, putting a hand on Charlie’s shoulder. “I’ll admit I thought they had some kind of bromance brewing between them, but true love?”

Charlie snickered and bit into her cream bun, squinting happily at Castiel. Castiel smiled back, glad at least one person had been paying attention while reading the stories of their lives.

Sam sighed, taking a big bite of his food and tonguing it into the side of his cheek. “I cahn’p bleev I mished dish. Ih wosh sho obvious.”

“To be fair,” Charlie said, waving her cream bun, “I don’t think Dean knew either. He was telling me he wanted a long-term relationship, but he seemed totally adamant there was nobody out there for him.”

Castiel’s shoulders sank by an inch. “He didn’t know?” His gaze drifted away, and he stared at a patch of grass in the middle-distance, watching other Moondoor citizens enjoying themselves. Castiel swallowed. “I suspect he thought I wasn’t interested because I never told him outright.” He looked Sam in the eye, then Charlie. “But what if he still doesn’t know? What if he thinks the spell only broke because he loves me?”

Charlie and Sam stared. Castiel blinked, staring back.

“Dude,” Charlie said. “You have to tell him! Like, today.”

Castiel looked vaguely around him for a moment, eyes unfocused. “I... I will.” He gained some semblance of courage, and with great determination, he looked straight at Charlie and nodded. “I will!”

Charlie jumped for joy. “Yeah! You do that, Cas! Go give him the big ol’ love confession he deserves!”

Sam was bewildered for all of two seconds, then he grinned and patted his friend on the shoulder. “As Dean would say... Go get him, tiger.”

Castiel smiled, gripping Sam’s hand. “Thank you.”

And with that, he turned his back and made his way back to Charlie’s tent.

⟡ ⟡ ⟡  ☾ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡

Dean sat glumly beside Moondoor’s forest pond, tossing pebbles into the water to watch it ripple. The trees on the opposite bank gushed and groaned in the afternoon breeze, while birds sang and squirrels jittered from the branches.

Dean sighed, brushing sand off his palms once he ran out of pebbles. He then leaned back on the log he was perched on, tipping his head up so he could look at the deep blue sky through the leafy boughs of the trees.

He heard a twig snap behind him, and his head whipped around – Castiel was approaching, a crown set jauntily on his head, the rest of him clad in that tight-fitting armour he’d borrowed. He blended into the Moondoor aesthetic so well it seemed as though he belonged here.

“Cas,” Dean breathed. “You followed me down here?”

“A knight who introduced himself as Fletchley told me he saw you heading this way,” Castiel said, making his way to Dean’s log. He paused at the root of it, where new branches were still producing leaves. “May I sit?”

Dean nodded half-heartedly, and he shuffled along a bit. He clasped his hands together, wringing his fingers between his thighs. Castiel sat beside him, and Dean felt his warmth through both his and Castiel’s suede pants.

“Y-You, uh...” Dean cleared his throat. “You look kinda good in leather.” Dean then promptly bit his lip in shame.

“Thank you,” Castiel said, taking it as a real compliment. “And you; likewise. I meant what I said earlier, too: you look good in green.”

Dean laughed, head down. “Thanks. I guess.”

“I love you, Dean.”

Dean’s eyes snapped up to Castiel’s. “What?”

Castiel blinked slowly, like a happy cat. His blue eyes held Dean’s, and he said the words again, enunciating, so Dean had time to process them. “I’m in love with you.”

Dean’s breath left him all at once. “What?

Castiel tilted his head. “Why do you think the spell broke?”

“I— I thought—” Dean’s lips moved on words he struggled to spit out. “Sam and Charlie were all squeamish about it! Sure, they love me, or whatever, but they were like, ‘ew, a gross, slimy frog’! They could’ve loved me more than anyone in the world – and God help me, I love them both too – but you can’t force a true love’s kiss, man. I didn’t wanna get planted with a reluctant smooch any more than they wanted to give it. Why’d you think I hopped away before you got your hands on me, huh? I was just expecting more of the same.”

Castiel gazed at Dean with a patient smile on his lips, which only became kinder as the seconds passed, and it put more of a sparkle in his eyes. “Dean,” he began, “I would’ve kissed you, willingly, even if you’d become the most horrific creature in creation. I still would. As is,” he hummed a tiny laugh, “you made an adorable frog.”

Dean snorted in disbelief, staring at his friend.

“I mean it, Dean,” Castiel said, nodding once. “I’ve loved you from the moment I met you. It was always so obvious to me; it never occurred to me you hadn’t noticed.”

Dean frowned, looking down at the shore of the pond. “Oh.”

Castiel shuffled a few inches closer on the log, so his thigh was completely pressed against Dean’s. He didn’t say anything, but he reached up and took his crown off, then put it on Dean’s head.

Dean glanced up, then back to Castiel. “What’s that for?”

“I was under the impression that when one kisses a cursed frog, it becomes a prince,” Castiel said simply.

“And that’s me?” Dean smirked.

Castiel nodded. “That’s you.”

Dean grinned, then sighed, slumping lower until his elbows on his thighs were all that kept him from sliding off the log and flopping face-first into the sand. “Man, I’ve had a really weird day.”

“I’m sure it could be improved by a pastry or two,” Castiel said, giving Dean a nudge. “I saw the menu board – I think there’s chocolate croissants. I don’t require sustenance but some part of me does feel a strange... craving. Although, I don’t suppose I could eat a whole one. Would you perhaps be interested in sharing one?”

Dean smiled at him, feeling all warm and schmoopy inside. The perfect cinnamon bun was totally asking him out right now, and Dean could only answer, “Hell yes.”

Castiel beamed, and seemed ready to stand up. But he paused, and he thought for a moment. Then he looked across at Dean, meeting his eyes.

“What?” Dean asked, seeing a look in Castiel’s eyes he’d never seen before.

Castiel wet his lips with the tip of his tongue. “I like your underwear,” he said.

Dean’s eyebrows shot up. “Excuse me?”

“The—” Castiel gestured to Dean’s crotch. “I don’t know. They were pink. And—”

“Satiny,” Dean finished. He started to grin, feeling a heated blush creep up from his shoulders. “You being serious?”

Castiel nodded. He appeared to be blushing too, as bizarre as that was to witness. He averted his eyes after a matter of moments, for what Dean was sure was the first time ever.

Dean exhaled, now feeling a little less anxious about going back to the rest of the group. Minus Cas, that was one less person to judge him.

“Um,” Castiel said. He smiled, eyes on the pond ahead. “I’m going to... go... now.”

“‘Kay,” Dean said.

Castiel stood halfway up before Dean said, “Cas, hang on—”

He grabbed Castiel’s blue sash and he pulled him back down, and he kissed him right on the lips. Dean didn’t know what the hell he was doing. Cas’ eyes were still open, and Dean had forgotten where he’d put his hands – but then he felt Castiel’s stubble under his palms so he knew he was holding Cas’ face... and then Castiel put his hands on Dean’s waist...

Dean gasped, eyes still shut.

Castiel chuckled against Dean’s lips, putting another warm kiss there. “I love you too.”

“I know,” Dean said, opening his eyes. “You already said.”

“There a crime in saying it twice?”

“No,” Dean breathed. “Did I say it yet?”

“You don’t need to until you’re ready,” Castiel said, easing away, giving Dean a friendly bump under his chin with his fingers. “That spell rather forced a confession out of you, and that wasn’t fair. But you are what I’ve always known to be: you’re the prince with a heart full of love, but an empty feeling in your life.” Castiel put another kiss on Dean’s lips, and recited, “Your longing continued while you were a frog... and, in the end, only true love’s kiss set you right.” Castiel said it with a playful squint and a smirk, but every word was still spoken with complete sincerity.

Dean trembled ever so slightly, feeling the warmth of another kiss flood his system like he’d been covered with affectionate touches.

“True love,” Dean muttered, still somewhat dazed. “Who’da thought it, huh?”

Castiel smiled, eyes crinkling at the sides. His hand slid away from Dean’s jaw, and he held it in front of Dean instead, waiting for Dean to take it.

“Pastries await, my prince,” Castiel said, in his deepest, most seductive voice. Dean didn’t know he even had that voice. Okay, he’d admit it: that voice did things to him.

Dean took Castiel’s hand, and they stood up. Unexpectedly, Castiel leaned in gave Dean a hug. Dean was taken by surprise, but he hugged back – and he kissed Castiel’s neck since he had the chance.

“Can I have the bigger half of that croissant?” Dean asked, sliding out of Castiel’s embrace. “I’m kinda hungry.”

“It was all that swimming,” Castiel said, leading Dean away from the pond. “I’m not surprised you worked up an appetite.”

“Oh, I could work up an appetite doing almost nothing, believe me,” Dean laughed, slipping his hand back into Castiel’s without really noticing.

Castiel noticed. He didn’t say anything, however – he was just glad that Dean could be this comfortable around him, especially after so much between them had changed in such a short space of time.

They went on talking, mostly about food, but also about frogs. Their voices folded into the trees, fading more the further from the pond they got, and their happy chuckles were shared with nobody except the woodland animals who watched them leave.

Dean and Castiel headed back to the fields with the tents and the costumed crowds, and once they arrived, Dean allowed Charlie and Sam see him holding Castiel’s hand, and he only turned slightly red. (They got their croissants. Castiel did not like his croissant. He ate the chocolate filling and gave the rest to Dean. Dean had zero problems with this.)

They left Moondoor that evening, covered in mud from the battlefield, exhilarated beyond compare. Dean had worn his princess crown the whole time, but he insisted to anyone who asked that it was a prince’s crown. It was just, y’know, on the dainty side. Like his panties.


So, Dean and Castiel got through their weird day. It turned out okay in the end. In the way of their favourite fairy tales, they lived happily ever after from that day hence.

Well, up until they broke the world again. But... close enough.

{ the end }