Please be happy

Chapter 1: Prequel: Eight Years Earlier

"Hey!"

Castiel froze, dropping the stolen apple. It bore the mark of a bite, its pale yellow flesh still juicy and sweet on Castiel's tongue and plainly visible as an ugly crevasse on the otherwise smooth, scarlet skin of the fruit. He tried to shrink into the shrubbery, but alas, a ten year old in off-white robes in the dark forest would be noticeable to the naked eye a mile away. Least of all, the eyes of a Lycan.

He shivered; he wasn't cold- far from it, in fact. He was sweating heavily under his robes, and he badly wanted to strip them off. They were stifling, oppressive things, and he once upon a time would protest against wearing them. For his efforts, he received punishments in the form of no dinner or some such similar treatment that left him miserable and resentful. The servants would practically manhandle him into the robes, under the cold and watchful eye of his mother. When his mother had passed on, Michael hired a frigid governess who could have passed for his mother to take her place. She was worse than his mother, actually; she struck him when he protested against her instructions, and threatened his silence with the promise of more than a simple slap. So when his brothers questioned his bruises, his cut lip, he lied about being clumsy. They scoffed and scolded, but Castiel had long since grown resistant and immune to the icy group of people that passed itself off as Castiel's family.

Not family, Castiel gritted his teeth and shook his head violently as if he could physically dislodge the thought. Never family.

Family didn't use your secondary gender as a bargaining chip, a means to advance their military and social standing. They didn't plan to preserve your virginity and sell it to the highest bidder.

Castiel was so caught up in the bitter reminiscing that he forgot where he was, and what situation he was in.

So when he heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps nearing, the crunch of leaves and undergrowth growing louder with every passing heartbeat, he couldn't help but whimper.

The sound stopped, and an unruly mop of tufty sandy-brown hair appeared through the shrubbery. It was followed by the rest of a young boy who was maybe a little older than Castiel himself, his eyes wide as he took in the sight of Castiel huddled in the bushes. Unlike Castiel, who wore beautifully embroidered robes made from imported fabrics, this boy was wearing a simple T-shirt and pants. He had a leather jacket that was maybe two sizes too big for him, and faded freckles were scattered across his nose bridge like sand.

And his eyes... Castiel marvelled in some inconspicuous part at the back of his mind. As a Prince, Castiel had met more people than he cared to, and he had never seen eyes like this boy's. He'd seen eyes that were simple brown, blue, grey and even gold, but never eyes so beautifully green. They looked like the emeralds Michael had in his crown, or the newest leaves of spring. Castiel preferred the latter: anything associated with Michael was too cold and too bitter to think about.

This boy's eyes were a rich green like the moss Castiel's bum was currently squashing, warm and curious and bright.

"Who are you?" C astiel found his voice first, and it was laden with accusation and mistrust.

The boy opened his mouth to reply, thick brows a shade darker than his hair drawing together in a frown. "I'm-"

"Son!" a much deeper, authoritative voice rang out, and Castiel instinctively shrank back. "You find anything over there?"

The boy hesitated. Castiel stared back at him defiantly, as if daring him to do his worst. A thick, uncomfortable moment of silence passed. "No."

Castiel gaped at him.

"There's nothing on this side!" the boy called over his shoulder, keeping one eye on Castiel.

They stared each other down, one waiting for the other to make a move.

"What are you doing here?" the boy's voice was hushed, and Castiel thought his voice sounded a lot like Gabriel's had when he was going through the Shift. Uneven, breaking on certain words, sounding like he was having a cold on others. "This is private property."

Castiel scowled, but didn't reply.

"Look, you don't want to talk, I get it," the boy whispered. "But you gotta get out of here, okay? My dad's men will be circling back around, and you wouldn't want to meet them when they're in work mode."

He looked genuinely concerned, and Castiel wanted to cry. No one had ever looked at him like that. No one. Not even his own mother.

"Come on," the boy extended his hand. It was calloused and there was a tiny scar running along the bottom of his thumb. It was nothing like Castiel's hands, which were pampered and still as soft as the day he'd been born. It reminded him, however, of his older brothers Michael's and Lucifer's and Raphael's hands. They were the hands of a warrior. But this boy was barely older than Castiel himself, what battles could he possibly have seen? "Let's get you out of here."

"How do I know I can trust you?" Castiel shirked away from his outstretched hand.

The boy startled, like he hadn't considered the possibility of himself coming across as untrustworthy. His forehead wrinkled, a tiny dent forming between his two eyebrows, and his lower lip jutted out in an uncharacteristically adorable pout that made Castiel stifle a giggle.

He exhaled suddenly, and nodded as if deciding something of great importance. He reached up and pulled off a necklace: the pendant was a burnished gold, crafted in the shape of a head of a humanoid being with horns and clearly of tribal origins. It hung form a black leather cord.

"My brother gave it to me," the boy smiled fondly, as if remembering something sweet. Castiel yearned to be able to have that kind of smile, that kind of memory to be happy about. All he had was cold, and brutal and unloving. Nothing to smile about. "I've never taken it off before now but... here."

He held it out towards Castiel. Castiel, who had more jewellery and gold than he cared for.

"You said you wanted a symbol of trust, right?" the boy scowled when Castiel made no move to take it. "This is my most prized possession."

Castiel shakily reached out for it: it was still warm from the body heat it had absorbed from the boy, and it was a solid weight in his palm. He had seen finer crafts, more delicate sculptures, but somehow, he had never seen anything more beautiful or more meaningful.

"Okay," Castiel whispered, looking up at the boy with eyes like the palace garden lawn in spring. He took the boy's hand. "Okay."

The boy smiled at him, a brilliant, toothy grin that lit up his face. And Castiel knew right there and then, with the necklace resting between his breasts, a reassuring proof, that he was in love with this boy whose name he didn't know.