Splatter

17. The Outcast 2150

Castiel had smiled beatifically. Thereafter, Dean was to dream of that look the merman gave him every night and probably every waking hour too. The straightness of his back, the long lean lines of his legs etched out by the blustering wind, the sleuthing of the rain down his neck. The crowd had gone wild, throwing their heads back in a scream of song. The piercing sound harmonising into something rich and tonal, the pitch varying in great waves, washing over Dean like an insurmountable tide. Castiel was haloed by glare, the boom of flashlights capturing the abdication cast a heavenly glow over his features. His eyes looked like sapphires, no exaggeration, and there was so much joy and relief in them. He turned slowly to face Dean and wordlessly took Dean's hand. Dean was still in shock at what Castiel had done, when he realised that Castiel had sunk down to one knee. His lips when they pressed against Dean's fingers were wet and soft, his breath hot in contrast to the coldness of the rain. When Dean's hands fell to Castiel's shoulders automatically, Castiel rose up and surged against Dean. The kiss was anything but regal, messy and desperate and a little obscene. With a squeeze of Dean's fingers in his palm, Castiel yelled something over the noise of the stadium. Then he jumped off the stage in an easy leap, right into a cluster of his followers. Hannah was gesturing and Gadreel was shouting, Castiel kept smiling as he disappeared into their fold.

Everyone started to leave and when Dean saw Sam standing patiently at the bottom of the stage, thousands of empty seats behind him, he figured he should too.

* * *

Then things went back to normal. Of sorts. After a week of media speculation of the whereabouts of Castiel and the future of human and Mer relations the interest died down. The embassy remained open on skeleton staff, slowly pushing out paperwork. There was a lot of that going around, record numbers of the visitors who had attended the 'consummation' had decided to remain. The swamps were filled to the brim and every day more arrived at the seawall. About a fortnight later, Bobby called Dean up informing him that he had run out of 'special leave' and ought to return to work. The first day back on the job, Dean was near shaking when the wall opened for the morning rush. He had been so hopeful that Castiel might step in through the opening, a sly grin and a haughty expression on his face, bemused by Dean's shock. Of course, Castiel didn't. The arrivals never said anything to Dean about the fiasco of the Mer matings. Occasionally, Dean caught one or two taking long looks at him but they always averted their curious eyes when Dean acknowledged their interest. Dean was still asking around for information on Castiel, the new folk would answer him to the best of their ability and were always polite. There was something about the way they behaved around Dean though, a kind of distance verging on awe. Dean supposed having their paperwork stamped by the mated of the last Mer prince was a lot to take in for most Mer who stepped through custom clearance.

Dean rushed through his days in a haphazard fashion. He knew that this was the life Castiel had gifted to him by giving up on his claim to the throne. This normalcy was in Castiel's view worth sacrificing his crown. Not that Castiel ever told Dean the reason behind the abdication, Dean read it between the lines in their correspondence.

And such correspondence. Jack from the embassy had visited Dean in the aftermath, apparently on his mother Kelly's orders, though Dean suspected Castiel was checking up on him. Dean let Jack into his apartment. Jack looked around with great interest, marvelling at Dean's reading nook and diving into the great fishbowl of candy that Dean kept for guests.

"You sure you're not Mer?" Dean had asked as Jack nosed around, doing several laps of the compact space in the living room. At least he hadn't headed towards the sleeping zones, not like Castiel who had honed in on Dean's private space like a heat seeking missile.

"Don't think so," Jack had said. "My mom was a wildlife correspondent, sure, but she said she met my dad in a bar."

"Swim up bar?"