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The two, still trailed by a comatose Sam, who'd been transferred to a sheet, went up several flights of stairs, past numerous bedrooms, courtrooms, and a library so big that it took up an entire floor, until they reached the healing wing.

The wing, while luxurious, was much more understated than the rest of the castle, with white stone walls, many washbasins, and perfectly ordered, pressed white sheets over cot-like beds.

Once Sam was laid down, Castiel calls for one of his doctors, whom he tells Dean is the best available in the entire kingdom, with some pride.

"Healer Poratiory," he said, "We apologize for the lateness of the hour, but Mr. Winchester's brother is very sick."

The healer, a gray-haired man with a trimmed beard and kind eyes, turned to Dean, "What are his symptoms?"

"Fever, coughing, sneezing, nausea," Dean listed off, "And of course, faintness. Do you know what's wrong with him?"

"I will very shortly," the doctor replied confidently.

And sure enough, not five minutes later, he had a prognosis for Sam.

"While he's unconscious, it's very hard to tell what's wrong with him, but I'm fairly confident that he just has a very severe cold of some sort, and those are treated similarly. You were right to bring him to me this quickly; it could've gotten more serious than it already was. For right now, I'm prescribing sleep, warmth, good food, and medicine. Good night, Mr. Winchester, Sire," with a quick bow, the doctor was gone.

Castiel looked after him sympathetically, "Poor man; someone's always waking him up at all hours of the night. Never gets much sleep, I daresay, but he's had a lot more time than most to perfect his practice."

Dean hummed noncommittally, clearing his throat before, very unwillingly, saying his thanks.

"It's no issue at all," Castiel replied, leading him out of the room, "I was glad to help. Now, I'll see if one of the maids is awake to show you to a room."

They walked in silence until Castiel asked Dean what he and his brother did for a living.

"In the summertime Sam and I usually sell game at the market," Dean answered.

Something clicked. If he weren't so good at schooling his features into a mask of indifference, Castiel's mouth would've been hanging open.

That was why the two were so different than the rest; he'd met them before! The memory flooded back into his mind in a whirlwind:

He'd been with Gabriel that day, a few years ago. They'd gone out, tired of the castle, and wanting to see some fun. It'd been blisteringly hot that day, and tempers were running high, as evidenced by the number of fights he'd seen, though most of it was just enraged bluster; it was too hot for proper fighting. They'd been prowling the market nearest the castle, where most stands sold petty trinkets: jewelry, pottery, and the like.

One of them had been very different, and, in comparison to the other stalls, very busy. It was a game stall, full of furs and meats, from what he'd been able to decipher, as there was a large crowd about the area, which obstructed his view. Most had been women, but there were also a few men clustered about it, most of them tittering and laughing, highly unusual for a game stall, as those were usually a controlled mess of blood and organs.

"Let's see what that's all about," Gabriel had suggested, nodding his head in the direction of the business, always ready to see something unusual.

Castiel had acquiesced, and the pair began walking in the direction of the tent. The sight had been shocking, for a castle-dweller anyway, where propriety was expected at each and every turn in each of the elegantly decorated passageways.

Two young men, both tall, were working away busily. The taller of the two was carefully cutting some part of a deer, brows narrowed in concentration as his fingers worked the knife with impressive skill.

The blood on his hands should've been disgusting enough for many eyes to draw away, but many of the crowd still congregated around the young man, asking questions in flirtatious tones, which he answered with a wide smile and a flash of sparkling brown eyes. When buyers, both male and female, tried to haggle with him, as was expected at markets, his face fell and those eyes grew wide. Every time, the buyer agreed to his price, buying nearly exorbitant sums of his wares at high, but, from what he could tell, fair, prices.

The other man was much more… overt. He was working with furs, and had his own method to attract a crowd. It seemed impossible, at least to Castiel, to sell furs of all things on a hot, humid day like this, yet the man managed.

Of course, Castiel thought, eyes involuntarily drifting downwards, the fact that he'd stripped down to just a white shirt, which, due to the heat, emphasized a toned torso, helped.

Castiel had been about to move on, but, altogether suddenly, a pair of bright green eyes met his, coupled with a smirk and almost filthy wink, like the man had known that he'd been about to leave, and Castiel had been struck motionless.

"See something you like?" the man gestured to his wares, but the smirk widened.

Castiel fought the red he was sure was staining his cheeks, thoughts a jumbled mess of logical thought, where he knew that the man had used that line a million times, and attraction, where no coherent words could be formed.

He aimed to speak coolly, completely unaffectedly, with a definite, resounding no, because furs in the summertime were a ridiculous idea and he already had a multitude of them anyway.

However, only a stuttered, "Y-Yes, how much is that one?" came out.

The man held up a soft-looking white fur, "The rabbit, sir?"

He'd look silly if he responded negatively now, wouldn't he? "Yes. How much is it?"

"This one's the prize of the hunt, see what as pristine, snowy white it is? Can't find anything like that anywhere," the man said proudly, "I couldn't ask less than… forty."

The rational part of Castiel's mind was scandalized. Forty was obscenely high, even if it was the best. But as Castiel raised his head from looking at the fur to tell the vendor so, he was struck by those green eyes again, raised questioningly.

"I'll take it," he'd said, handing over the money.

The green-eyed man had grinned at him, "Thank you very much, sir. You won't be disappointed with that one come wintertime!"

Even as he'd dragged his brother away, who seemed preoccupied with the other vendor and was holding a rather large package of venison, he hadn't been able to get those green eyes out of his head.

And it was true; Castiel hadn't been disappointed with the fur.

Castiel, however, made no mention of his realization, "That's nice. My brother Gabriel and I usually go to the there, too; my other brothers are usually abroad doing something or the other, so it's usually just us at home. Oh!" he spotted a maid, "Miss Marioff, would you show my dear friend to a guest room? The East Wing, if you would."

The blonde maid's blue eyes widened from their sleepy haze, "The East Wing, Sire?"

Castiel nodded his head firmly. "Yes. Is that an issue?" the steely note came back to his voice.

"Not at all!" she protested quickly, shaking her head.

"Good." He turned to Dean, "Very well, I shall see you in the morning. Any concerns or requests may be directed to any of my staff, but in the meantime, goodnight."

"Goodnight," Dean replied, and, in a flash, the man was gone.

Sincerely begging for reviews. Seriously, guys! This is a rewrite, so most of the reviews are from before-don't believe the number, it lies! I need honest feedback on the rewrite because it's incredibly different from the original. So, please, review! I'll give you your choice of chocolates :D

xoxo

Brenda