Castiel is Tom Canty

After being arrested for trying to steal a loaf of bread (not sure if that's more Aladdin or Les Miserables) Castiel was brought before King Dean for his punishment. This is what happened next. A million thanks and praises to the original author. To give the reader a bit of grounding, I'm adding the last page of the original story. Otherwise one would be so completely lost!

The room Cas entered, was as big as the hut he and his sisters and brothers lived in. The furniture inside was the same expensive looking strong wood than the door was made of. There was a dresser on one side, overlooking a window to the courtyard. The bed was in the centre of the room with curtains on a rail around it, currently tied back. The bed itself could probably have fit four grown men on it, comfortably, It was draped with crimson coloured sheets and pillows which made a small sigh escape Castiel’s mouth. When was the last time he had laid a head on a soft surface? In the space between the dresser on the far right side and the centre, where the bed was, there was a recliner with a rug – also the same crimson colour. Beyond the bed, Castiel’s eyes bugged upon seeing a stage where sure enough King Dean was making his way to sit on the grandiose throne. Castiel swallowed. Scared was an understatement. His mouth was dry and he wished he would just melt into the floor. What had he deserved to be punished by the King himself?
“So thief, what were you trying to steal?”
Castiel’s heart galloped. The King was speaking to him. He was speaking to him. Panic was setting in, closing in and he thought he would die - but then a sharp command sliced through the fog in his head.
“Come here, kneel.”
He could do that. Castiel moved and found himself kneeling in front of the stage, facing the King but looking at his feet. “I’ll ask you again, and this time I require an answer.”
“Bread,” Cas whispered.
“Speak up, thief!” The King’s voice came out harsh, as if he was loosing patience. That was not good, the longer the King kept talking to him the further away his punishment would be. Castiel mustered as much courage as he could and spoke a decibel louder.
“Bread,” he uttered and watched as the King’s frown deepened. “I’m sorry,” he said, the apology tumbling out of his mouth without his consent.
“Just bread?”
…
Dean frowned, confused. Bread? Sure, stealing bread was a crime but people stole bread all the time. They were whipped by someone in the royal guard and that was the end of it. Why was he summoned to manage this particular thief?
“Just bread?” he inquired, leaning forward and watching the perplexity surround the boy.
“I-I-I, N-No, I m-mean, y-yes,” the boy stammered.
Dean raised an eyebrow at the boy and watched as once again the boy looked away. But now Dean was getting annoyed. Sam only came to visit a few times in the year and now this thief – whose only crime was to steal bread, probably judging by his figure, because he was hungry – had interrupted him and couldn’t even fess up without stammering. Dean decided a different tack, one he hoped would elicit some response from the boy.
“I’m going to punish you now, boy. Stealing won’t be tolerated in this Kingdom.” As predicted, the boy’s head shot up but instead of anger in his azure eyes, there were tears. But it was the first time the boy had looked directly at him and in his entire life, Dean had not felt so moved. A strangled sob shocked Dean out of his gaze and he remembered who the little boy really was. A thief – albeit just bread.
“No point in crying now. Take your punishment and we can forget this incident.” The boy’s whole body seemed to sag. That wasn’t acceptable. Punishment was a form of toughening up and strangely he almost wished that the boy had been tough enough to overthrow his captors and actually manage to steal the damn bread. Time to start the toughening act now. “Address me properly when I speak to you.” He barked out, and begin rising from his throne. Hoping that the boy wouldn’t disobey, but blessedly he heard a gasped ‘Yes, your majesty,’ in the space between him and the kneeling boy.
“Good,” he said smoothly and went to stand behind the boy. “I am glad that you are not a disobedient thief. One crime is bad enough.”
“Yes, your majesty,” a slight break in the voice.
“What is your name, thief”
“It is Castiel, your majesty”
Castiel. Strange name for a strange thief. Dean shook his head and resisted the sudden unsettling urge he had to envelope the boy in a soothing embrace.
“Stand up, Castiel. It is time for your punishment. A whipping should suffice.”
Dean moved back as Castiel began standing, the shaking of his limbs obvious and quite alarming.
In a manner very unlike that of a King, Dean reached out an arm and steadied the shaking boy. “Breathe. Easy now, its just a whipping. You’ve had worse, I’m sure.”
At that Castiel’s eyes met his and for a moment neither spoke. Then Castiel looked away, his shaking worsened as he replied, “No, your majesty, I have not.”
Once again, wrong footed and slightly unsettled, Dean replied in his normal authoritative voice.
“Well, there’s always a first time for everything.

Without prompting Castiel grabbed the edge of his tunic and pulled it over his head. Now bare-chested, he waited for directions from the king.
“Over the arms of the recliner, I suppose.”
Castiel nodded his head deeply, grateful he hadn't had to ask aloud.
King Dean delivered ten straight smooth strokes against the thief's back. No teasing, no questions, no words. Then he stepped back.
Sensing his punishment was over Castiel righted himself. He turned his head away, refusing to look the king in the face. “Forgive me, I have failed you.”
“How did you fail me? I'd say you bore that well.” The king replied immediately. Castiel did not respond. Indeed he gave no sign he had even heard the prince. He kept his sad eyes to the floor.
“Wait.” King Dean began, realization blooming. “Who are you talking about?” The thief shook his head in quick, jerking movements. Dean's sharp voice returned, although a little softer. “Castiel I insist upon being answered. Who are you apologizing to?”
“My sister, Adorabelle.” He raised his head, looking near the top Dean's chest. “She's sick. She is home. Alone. Sick.” Castiel applied force to every word. It was such a stark contrast to the soft, weak tones he'd used up tot hat point that for a moment the king stared at him, completely dumbfounded. “She needs me. Everything I do is for her. I can't help thinking it would have been kinder if you had thrown me in shackles. At least then I wouldn't have to face her.”
“The bread you were trying to steal, it was for her.”
Castiel did not answer, not verbally. Instead he looked his king directly in the eyes.
“Please you majesty, let me bring back *something* for her. I don't care what the cost, you can *whip* me again if you wish. How could I look her in the face knowing I had failed her?”
“Put your shirt back on, and sit by the stage.” The king ordered. He all but slammed a summoning bell with its hammer. When the servant rushed in, eyes forward, head titled down, she barely had time to curtsy before Dean barked his order. “A large, fine meal in 20 minutes. And a launderer's basket. Or better, a of hunters bag.” The servant girl bowed and withdrew.
Castiel sat beside the stage as instructed by his king, who it seemed was making a concentrated effort to ignore him. He was far too confused to speak.
The meal was delivered on a serving cart and for the first time in what seemed like hours, the King turned to look at his miscreant guest.
“Come here. Come.” He commanded sharply. Castiel hurriedly obeyed. Choose what you want.” Castiel pulled his hand over his mouth. Figuring he couldn't fault the man for his reaction, Dean began selecting fruits, various cuts of meat and at least 2 small loaves of bread from the table. Placing them in the hunters sacks he pulled from the underside of the cart.
“Here.” he held the sack full of food out to Castiel. “Take this to your sister. Share it with her. And don't let me catch you in the palace again unless it is as a guest.”
Castiel threw himself to his knees. He pulled took the king's hand and kissed it, three times. “Thank you your Majesty.” He cried, tears of joy rather than sorrow flowing down his cheeks. “By God thank you.”

Castiel knew the way home. He did his best not to run every step. He knew running would make him look like a thief. And who exactly could believe he hadn't stolen the food he now carried slung over his shoulder? He imagined his sisters face when he showed her what the prince had given them. And wondered if he could bring himself to tell her it was from the prince.