A/N: another story churned out by yours truly. Have to thank stelesandwands again for being my lovey beta, you were a huge, huge help! And of course, I'd be a terrible sister if I didn't thank Em, who's a potato head, but also a supportive reader.

One

Wood splintered. Horses cried out. People cheered.

Dean sat in front of the stables, watching from afar as Sir Gordan unhorsed another one of his opponents, earning three points. The dark-skinned man lifted his visor and waved to the excited crowd, smiling smugly.

Dean sneered. "Show-off."

"That Gordon's pretty good, Dean. He's beaten every guy he faced," came the amused voice of his squire.

"But you forget, Benny." Dean flashed a lip-splitting grin. "So have I."

Benny chuckled and returned, "Jus' don't let it get to your head."

Getting to his feet, Dean joined Benny in readying his horse. "Looking good, baby," he murmured to Impala. "You ready to kick ass?"

The black mare nickered softly, nuzzling her great, soft nose into Dean's hair. The blond ran his fingers through her fringe while Benny adjusted the straps on the saddle. Another wave of applause erupted from the stands. Dean and Benny looked to find Gordon standing in his stirrups, his arms raised in triumph. His rival remained writhing on the ground.

"What a dick," Dean concluded, eyeing Gordon with dislike.

"Yeah, he's definitely a piece of work," Benny replied. He turned to the other and nodded towards Impala. "Come on, it's your turn now."

"You know, now I really want to beat him, so I can get rid of that stupid smirk." Dean untied Impala's reins from the stand. He lead her out of the stable and towards the field where Gordon was settling down in his saddle, preparing for his next joust.

"Prince Dean Winchester of Ventoris against Sir Gordon Walker!"

The announcer, Chuck's, words were barely audible amongst the shouts Dean received when he stepped forward with his horse. Dean locked eyes with Gordon, smirking at him cockily. While Benny assembled the lances, the Winchester mounted Impala. Dean scanned the crowd, and caught his mother's eye.

Mary beamed at him. She gave a small poke to the young man at her right and when she pointed back at Dean, Sam gave an exaggerated thumbs-up.

"Ready?" Dean's gaze broke away from the stands. He looked down to Benny who was leaning against one of the lances.

"Course I am," came the other's reply. Dean took up the lance the squire had handed to him and quickly propped it up.

Benny chuckled, stepping aside. "Good luck."

Dean exhaled slowly just as Impala scuffed her hooves against the dusty ground. His breath condensed in front of him, reminding him just how chilly the end of September could get. When the trumpet blared, he clicked his tongue and pressed against the mare's sides.

Impala took off with a small jump, her feet pounding against the ground, thundering in Dean's stomach. Lance raised perfectly so it aimed for Gordon's chest or even better, his head, Dean set his jaw, gripped the saddle tightly and prepared for the impact.

It was a clean hit. Dean's lance knocked the helmet off, while Gordon's came crashing down against the other's chest. The vibrations shook through Dean's entire body, spreading the burning pain all over. He brought Impala to a steady halt at the other side of the field, where Benny was already waiting.

"Nice hit," the squire complimented. "Think you can do it again?"

This evoked a snort from Dean who pulled up the next lance.

The second round passed somewhat weaker than the first. Sir Gordon and Dean scored one point each, both lances having struck the torso. By the third round, Impala was breathing heavily, her legs dancing beneath Dean.

"One more run, sweetheart," Dean cooed. "One more run and we'll take a break."

The mare's start was as powerful as always. She arched her neck gracefully, ears flat against her head. A piercing neigh sounded when the lances collided. Dean couldn't help but chuckle as he watched the scene unfold before him.

Gordon soared from his saddle, his lance tumbling to the ground with a clatter. One satisfactory thud and a groan later, the joust was over.

"The winner; Prince Dean Winchester!" Chuck cried out.

Dean was laughing all the way back to Benny. The other shook his head, but the grin remained firmly on his face.

"It's a good morning," Dean told him as he patted Impala's neck. "So, who's next?"

The squire didn't reply. Instead, his gaze was focused on the other side of the field. Dean followed his example, his eyebrow quirking and jaw slacking faintly at the sight in front of him.

A gleaming, dapple-grey horse strode onto the grounds, it's head lifted high and proud. A sky blue caparison was draped over its muscular body and its protective plates gleamed in the sunlight. On top sat the rider, clad in identical armor as his horse. It was so perfectly polished it almost seemed to be made of white gold. A helmet covered the rider's face, the visor already pulled down.

"And now, the tournament's final joust! Prince Dean Winchester of Ventoris," Chuck announced, "against Prince Castiel Angelis of Aether!"

"Benny, who is that?" Dean asked.

"That's the youngest prince of Aether. I take it you haven't watched any of his jousts," Benny returned. When Dean shook his head, he continued, his tone grave, "He's good."

"You said the same for Walker," Dean reminded his friend.

"No, Dean. This guy is really good, he unhorses at almost every first round. You have to be careful," Benny explained.

"When am I ever anything but careful?" Dean teased while Benny walked away.

To say that Prince Castiel was good turned out to be the understatement of the century. He had struck Dean's helmet in both the first and the second round, very nearly unsaddling him in the latter as well. The third round found Dean sporting a strained neck and a bruised ego.

"What's up with this guy?" he demanded as Benny prepared him for the final round.

"I told you to be careful," was all the other said, amusement evident in his voice.

Dean looked over to the other rider. He was being attended by his own squire, a blond with a smug grin and a deep V-shaped neckline. The Winchester squinted at the other Prince. During the entire joust, not once did he remove his helmet or even raise his visor.

"Dean, focus. Third round's about to start," Benny interrupted.

Dean pulled on his helmet again and alerted Impala. The poor mare seemed almost as tired as he was. "All right, baby. This is it now, we made it this far. Let's see if we can beat this asshat," he muttered into her ear.

When the trumpet was blown for the final time, Impala shook her head wildly as she took off across the field. Dean could hear her ragged breaths and feel the irregular spasms in her stomach. He focused on the horse across him, but it soon proved disastrous.

In a fit of bad luck, the sunlight glared upon Prince Castiel's armor, ricocheting at such an angle that it bounced straight into Dean's eyes. Dean flinched angrily and immediately pulled up his lance. He wouldn't risk striking blind; the lance could twist and harm one of the horses, or even his own arm. He held onto his saddle as best he could and waited for the blow. But it never came.

Dean opened his eyes as Impala suddenly stopped, and he turned in his seat. The other rider had also drawn back his lance, but the reason remained unknown to Dean. Knowing what would happen next, the Winchester sighed, handing the mare's reins to Benny while he slipped out of his saddle.

The crowd stayed silent as the princes stepped forward, each unsheathing his own sword. Everything was silent until Dean pulled his arms up and swung his sword. Castiel thrust his own blade out, perfectly defending himself. He retaliated, narrowly missing Dean's arm on account of the other dodging.

The people roared to life again as the two whirled around each other, striking and barricading and avoiding. Dean's own heavy breathing mixed in his ears with the clashing metal, his throat full of dust that had risen. He had long considered himself a good swordsman, easily beating any of his father's knights in training, but now his confidence was slowly fading. Castiel seemed to immediately recover from each blow, lashing back with equal force. For the briefest of moments, Dean was sure he would lose.

Suddenly, as Dean hit quite close to the other's neck, Castiel seemed to lean back too far and lose his balance. He fell, his head hitting the ground and helmet rolling off. Dean took the chance to lower himself and bring the hilt of his sword to Castiel's throat.

But the universe had lured Dean into a false sense of security. In a flash, Castiel took his sword up again and rolled to the side, leaving Dean bent over the ground. The former sat up and wrapped an arm around Dean's stomach, effectively flipping him over.

All of a sudden, Dean found his back against the ground, his opponent all but straddling him, and the edge of a blade at his throat. He felt his helmet get tugged off, and Dean angrily met the gaze of the man on top of him, only to be left speechless.

Cerulean eyes bore into his own, flaring with amusement. Their corners crinkled when Prince Castiel smiled shakily, still regaining his breath.

"Congratulations," he rasped in a gravelly voice. "For a moment, you almost had me."

Dean simply blinked as the young man pulled away and stood up. The Winchester was faintly aware of Benny helping him back to his feet, picking up his helmet and sheathing his sword for him. His teasing words hazily ran in and out of Dean's ears, but the prince couldn't make them out. He was still bemused by the most unusual man he had ever met.