Revolution (AO3)

Summary: It seems that even love cannot conquer a class divide, but maybe there’s a little more to it than that? 1.8k

Written for the @writersofdestiel ‘Valentine’s Fic Exchange 2020′, for the wonderful @thunderthighsmish, who requested a historical AU.

The pounding on the oak door was sudden, loud, and showing no signs of stopping. The unrest within the city had left all of the aristocracy and nobility within Paris feeling uneasy, and the abrupt banging on the door only further served to leave an unsettled feeling in the stomachs of the residents of this particular household.

Vicomte  Castiel Novak exchanged equally distressed looks with his parents, before abandoning his dinner to answer the insistent knocking. He stopped their housekeeper, Ellen, as she made for the door, instead sending her back to her duties in the kitchen.

As he pulled open the door, Castiel’s heart skipped a beat as Dean stood before him. It had been almost a year since he’d last seen his childhood best friend and first love, and for a moment nothing but happiness enveloped him. He hadn’t changed much at all, really. Same green eyes, same countless freckles, same dirt smudges across his cheek—

Right. The reason Castiel hadn’t seen Dean in nearly a year came flooding back and his eyes widened as he glanced backwards into the house, to make sure his parents hadn’t seen him. After their fight on Valentine’s Day, after Dean had pushed him away, Castiel’s parents had vowed to have Dean arrested if he ever came near their family home again.

“What are you doing here?” He asked, trying to crowd Dean backwards so he could close the door behind them. Despite being recognised as an adult, Castiel was all too aware of what his parents thought of Dean, and had no intention of letting them see him. 

“They’re coming.” Dean’s face was defiant under all the dirt, but there was something very akin to fear in his eyes.

“Who’s coming?” Castiel sighed, feeling frustrated and unnerved by coming face-to-face with Dean without any prior warning. It left him with a whirlwind of emotion that he had yet to sort through. “What are you talking about?”

Fists grabbed the front of Castiel’s cravat, but the gesture was not an attack. Dean stared at him fiercely, and Castiel fell silent, knowing that this wasn’t some trick or play on Dean’s part. Something had happened, something that had brought Dean back to him after so long.

“Everyone is coming. The people. The revolution.”

“There is always a revolution.” Castiel froze, his shoulders locking with tension as he heard the reply come from behind him, recognised the authoritarian tone of his father, a  Comte  that was used to his every order being obeyed. “The people will fail and learn their place as they have always done before. You will release my son.”

Dean clenched his jaw in anger and opened his fist, letting Castiel’s cravat slip from his fingers. “They took the Bastille a little under an hour ago and freed the prisoners. Then they put the Governor’s head on a spike.”

Castiel’s father swore under his breath and opened the door wider. Castiel felt himself being tugged inside and he reached out blindly, hands finding Dean’s sleeve. He clung on tightly, refusing to let go, hauling Dean in with them.

“You’re sure?”

Dean nodded. “They’re coming here next. The victory has given them confidence. Not immediately, good men were lost and they plan to mourn. But your name was mentioned. They’re stopping all exits out of the city and then they’re coming. You don’t have long.”

“How do you know all this?” Castiel cringed as his mother joined them in the entry hall, having overheard every word of their conversation.

There was a moment of awkwardness, where Castiel could see Dean brace himself and knew the answer to the question before Dean even opened his mouth.

“You joined the revolution?”

“Of course I did,” Dean snapped. “You wouldn’t understand, living here with your titles and your money, you’ve never had to worry about where your next meal was coming from. But you’re judging me for joining a movement that promises me a better life?”

Anger flared inside Castiel, replacing the hurt that had risen at Dean’s poor opinion of him. “Of course not. You know I’ve never felt like that.”

Dean scoffed. “Could’ve fooled me, Cas. You—”

“Enough!” Castiel’s father thundered. “You’ve done your duty and informed us of the threat to our lives. We will take the appropriate action and you can be on your way. In the future, you would do well to remember yourself and treat my son with the respect he deserves.”

Beneath the dirt and freckles, Dean’s face turned an unflattering shade of puce. His lips mouthed the word ‘duty’, but no sound came out, as if he was fighting back a thousand responses before eventually settling on, “Oui,  Monsieur le Comte. My sincere apologies,  Monsieur le Vicomte,” he spat at Castiel, the words filled with poison and bitterness.

“Stop that.” Castiel wanted to take hold of Dean by the shoulders and shake him, to rattle him until he saw signs of the boy he’d fallen in love with. This cold man before him, this angry person was not the kind-hearted boy he’d grown up with. “Stop that, Dean. There have never been titles between us.”

Dean shook his head, his anger fading as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by a resigned sadness. His eyes were averted, and he seemed to be avoiding Castiel’s attempts to catch his eye. “You’re wasting time. And you’ll never make it out of the city without me. I’ve arranged passage out of Paris, from there you’re on your own.”

Castiel felt the breath knocked from his lungs at the finality and dismissal of Dean’s tone. He stared numbly, struck with the knowledge that life as he knew it was over. But he would not mourn for that. Instead, he would mourn for a childhood love that had been doomed to failure.

It seemed that even love could not conquer a class divide.

The  Comtesse  placed her gloved hand on Castiel’s shoulder in a gesture of comfort. “My son, make your farewells. We must prepare.”

“Maman,” Castiel whispered, his eyes closing in a desperate attempt to block out that last expression on Dean’s face. He wanted to remember the happier times they had together. “Please forgive me. I can’t go with you.”

“Castiel—”

Her objection was lost as Dean’s eyes once again turned to him, surprise clouding his expression. “Don’t be an idiot, Cas. You’ll be killed if you stay here.”

“But if I go, I’ll never see you again.”

“You were never going to see me again anyway,” Dean sighed. “We’re not the same, Cas. You’re a fool if you think it didn’t matter that you’re a  Vicomte. Of course it matters.”

“To  you,” Castiel burst out. “Not to me. I  loved you. I’ve always loved you. It wasn’t me that decided it wasn’t worth it, Dean. It wasn’t me that abandoned you. I’ve always been right here.”

Dean clenched his jaw and said nothing, just stared directly through Castiel as if he wasn’t even there.

“He was undesirable,” Castiel’s father spoke up. “An unsuitable match for a future  Comte. I knew his brother was sick and he needed medicine. We gave him money and told him not to come back.”

And that answered every question Castiel had. Why Dean had argued with him, told him that Castiel was just another stuck up aristocrat, that he never wanted to see him again. While it didn’t surprise him that his parents had taken steps to remove Dean from his life—they’d never made a secret of their feelings towards him—it was like a blade to the chest to hear that Dean had let them. That he’d been party to it.

Castiel buried his face in his hands and tried to compose himself, trying to hide tears that stung his eyes, even though he couldn’t stop them falling. Then hands were encircling his wrists, pulling his arms down and away from his face, a familiar, almost tender touch that just made the ache in his chest worse.

“I’m so sorry,” Dean whispered, and there was a soft kiss pressed to his knuckles. “Sam was sick, we didn’t think he was going to make it through the winter. I had to, Cas. I’m so sorry. It was the worst choice I ever had to make.”

“You could have told me.” Castiel pulled his hands away from Dean and dried his eyes. “Instead you made me believe that this was all my fault.”

Dean swiped at his own eyes, taking Castiel’s hands again, refusing to give up now that everything was out in the open. “It was the only way you’d believe me. The only way you’d let it go.”

The years fell away between them as they stepped towards each other. There were no signals, or words spoken, but in unison they fell into each other’s arms.

“I love you,” Dean whispered, and Castiel kissed him. It was a brief moment of understanding and devotion, but it was all theirs and nothing could take that away from there.

“As I love you.”

The  Comte  cleared his throat, stepping forward. “Castiel, we can talk about this later, but we have to go.”

Castiel straightened to his full height and turned his reddened, but furious eyes on his parents. “Then go.”

“Castiel, you cannot stay here—” His mother began desperately, but Castiel cut her off.

“I can, and I will. I never needed any of this to be happy. I just needed Dean.” His icy blue eyes turned on his father. “You interfered with that once before, but you will never do so again. Leave. Take my mother and never come back.”

“There’s a carriage out the back that will take you as far as Lille. It will be a long journey. From there you should cross the border.” Dean told them, quietly. “Good luck.”

Castiel watched expressionlessly as his parents listened for the first time, rushing up the stairs to pack whatever they could carry.

Dean’s fingers laced with his own, drawing his attention. Castiel squeezed lightly. “You’re not going to make me go with them?” 

“Never. But you should pack too, but light. Is there anything you can’t live without?”

Castiel looked at Dean, observing his beautiful green eyes. His freckles. The dirt smudges that were still smeared across his cheek. “Yes,” he said eventually. “But it’s right here.”

Masterpost