Big Bang Fic: Oadriax (4/13)
Title: Oadriax (4/13)
Author: daksgirl
Artist: terrorinyertub
Fandom/Genre: Supernatural, au, sci fi, drama,
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Side pairings: Sam/Gabriel, past Sam/Jess
Rating: NC-17 (violence, adult situations, language)
Word Count: 80,668
Warnings: Graphic violence and warfare, adult themes including sex, canon character deaths, demon xenophobia, swearing, gore (in a war situation), PTSD and an attempted non-con situation.
[Fic Masterpost]
[Art Masterpost]
There was a rock in his boot. A big, painful, freaking boulder burrowing itself into the fleshy pad of his heel.
Dean growled to himself, giving his leg an infuriated shake for the hundredth time. He couldn’t tell exactly how long he had been tromping around after the angel, but was sore enough to know it had been a good few hours. He was tired, hungry, and had had enough of this stupid forest on this stupid planet.
“So you got a name?” A scaly winged insect bumped into Dean’s cheek, buzzing angrily, and he slapped it away with a yelp. The angel looked back at him irritably, and Dean smoothed his shirt down nonchalantly, desperately hoping the bug hadn’t been poisonous.
“Or should I just keep calling you ‘angel’?”
The angel snorted, merely folding his wings close against his back as he turned away, moving through the dense vegetation gracefully. Bastard looked perfectly at home, compared to Dean’s bumbling self. Sam was the clumsy one, not Dean. Dean was the suave, cooler older brother who could make any woman swoon. Not the flailing idiot.
He kept telling himself that, even as he tripped over a root and face planted into the damp leaves of the forest floor.
They trekked onwards, a tense silence stretching between them. The forest was alive around them; a troop of the strange monkey things swinging overhead with loud chatters. He spotted a few youngsters clinging to the backs of the adults, their huge eyes staring down at Dean curiously. He bet asking for a piggy back from his feathered companion was probably out of the question.
“Castiel,” the angel muttered suddenly, pushing aside a thick leafy shrub that promptly smacked Dean in the face when he let go. “I am called Castiel.”
Dean spat the plant out, glaring at the back of the angel’s head viciously as he collected himself. “Casteel? That’s a weird name.”
“Cast-iel,” the angel corrected. “And I would not judge, Dean.”
Dean hiked his legs over a fallen tree trunk, startling a rat thing that screeched alien expletives at him before scurrying back into the safety of the dim forest. “Dean is a perfectly normal name where I’m from. Distinguished even.”
Ok that was lie, but the alien pigeon man didn’t need to know that.
They reached a huge fallen tree, and the angel-Castiel- easily fluttered his wings once to get onto it. It took Dean slightly longer to scramble his very grounded human form on top of it, but he managed; ligaments snapping and joints creaking.
Panting harshly, he bent over as he reached the top of the log, resting his hands on his thighs. “Hey man, I gotta take a break. I’m wiped.”
Castiel turned towards him, eyes flashing. “We must continue. We cannot stay.”
Dean exhaled, straightening with a wince. His back twinged unhappily. “Yeah, well, you weren’t battling cat monsters and waterfalls. My shoulder got torn to hell which, by the way, seems suspiciously fine now.”
Ha, got him. Castiel looked uncomfortable, eyes darting away.
“We must continue,” he insisted again. “If we delay, then-”
Dean missed the last part. An arrow thunked hollowly into the thick bark only inches from his boot, and startled, Dean took a step back. He pinwheeled alarmingly as he teetered on the edge of the trunk, and though the angel lunged for him, he toppled over backwards. He slammed into the ground, ribs creaking as his spine groaned. Winded and stunned, he lay on his back, mouth opening and closing like a goldfish, struggling to breathe.
The ground rumbled beneath him and somehow, Dean rolled over onto his stomach, lungs burning as his fingers scrabbled against his boot to grab his knife.
Angels emerged from the trees around him, all with bows drawn. Some were mounted on strange armored creatures with way too many legs, far too similar to the cat monster that had tried to eat him. The creatures brayed to one another, and their riders reined them in, shouting.
Finally managing to get his bruised lungs cooperating, Dean tried to get to his feet but Castiel was suddenly there, pushing him back down with a firm hand. The angel’s wings were spread, fluttering warningly as he crouched over the human.
“Alar, gassagen! Alar!”
(Settle, people, settle!)
A scary looking angel with dull brown wings approached first, still mounted on his, steed? Horse thing? Just what the hell was that thing, seriously? The creature snorted down at Dean, four eyes glaring at him, but its rider ignored him, attention on Castiel.
“Ol’mozod, Castiel,” the scary angel shifted forward in his rope saddle to peer down at Dean with disgust. “Ol iolci toltorg ol nanaeel adohi.”
(Beloved, Castiel. You bring a creature of Earth to our tribe.)
Dean had no idea what was going on. Judging by how scary angel was glaring at him though, he wasn’t far away from being turned into an arrow pincushion. Dark skinned, the guy was built like a linebacker, thick and stocky with a bald head and angry scowl permanently etched onto his face. He was dressed like the other angels but with more elaborate wrist bands and a simple leather tong around his neck with some sort of bauble.
Castiel didn’t move from his crouched position.
“Oiad oi…zorge. Nostah oi niis Michael baltan.”
(He is a…friend. For Michael to judge.)
Castiel must have made a joke, because the angels circled around them broke into gruff chuckles, nudging one another with their wings. Scary angel’s scowl deepened.
“Toltory oi nidali zorge ol helech!” he bellowed, cutting off the laughter around them.
(The earth creatures are no friends of ours!)
Castiel didn’t flinch like the others, slowly straightening from his protective crouch over Dean. His wings stayed arched, and Dean thought back to the posturing birds on Earth.
“Oiad oi impamis amiran ol balzizras,” Castiel growled, eyes flashing. “Plapli oiad ol Michael.”
(He is not yours to judge. Take us to Michael.)
Scary angel looked ready to explode, veins bulging and teeth grinding. Dean struggled into a sitting position, finally catching his breath. With an irritated growl, scary angel yanked the leather straps in his hand, forcing his mount to turn. That was the signal apparently, as two angels swept forward to grab Dean under the armpits, dragging him after.
“Hey!” Dean swore, feet kicking uselessly as he was pulled along like a sack of potatoes. “I can walk you know!”
The angels ignored him. What a surprise.
The Ne’gassagen really liked their trees.
Dean figured it must be because they were part bird or something. He gazed up in awe at the tree that stretched up towards the skyline in front of him. He estimated it must be at least a mile or two in circumference, and several more tall. As the angels dragged him closer, it grew even larger, looming over him like a goliath creature of old, probably as tall as the buildings in the Citadel.
The ancient tree was hollow inside, the Ne’gassagen living inside it like tiny insects, and Dean was the center of attention as they hustled him inside. The core of the tree was still intact, swirling upwards into several stories of what looked like living space. Angels peered down at him from above, mostly women and children. All the angels currently bringing Dean in were male, and they shoved one another with triumphant smiles. The air was warm and smoky, cooking fires lit and meat roasting. Children ran in-between the adults, eyes wide and little wings shivering with delight at their first glimpse of a human.
One brave little girl darted forward, chubby hand outstretched. She ducked underneath the warriors wings and prodded Dean hard in the side, before retreating with a giggle. What was presumably her mother pushed through the crowd, scolding the youngster harshly as she grabbed one small wing.
The angels finally let Dean go, shoving him forward onto his knees. The impact made his joints groan, and Dean glowered at the angels darkly, struggling back to his feet. Castiel appeared at his side, back rigid and wings oddly still.
In front of the tree was an assortment of angels that stood out from the rest.
Dean immediately recognized Gabriel, and opened his mouth to call to him, but the angel shook his head, eyes worried. Beside Gabriel stood a tall blonde angel, wings a shimmering dark grey. His arms were crossed, and judging by the glare he was giving Dean, he didn’t like humans much.
Castiel bowed low, arms out.
“Esiasch. Dorphal mirc ol lit nazarth.”
(Brother. I look upon you with gladness.)
He shot a pointed look sideways at Dean, and Dean copied the angel, bowing low. It would probably be in his best interests to not piss anyone off just yet.
“Uh…ditto.”
Blondie snorted, unfolding his arms to take a step forward. The guy was decked out in what must amount to angel bling, form fitting crème leather pants and intricately carved wooden bracelets.
“Castiel,” his voice was cold, and Dean felt his hackles rise. “Fif-”
“Enough.”
Sweet, blessed English. A female angel appeared from the stairs. She approached Blondie, touching his arm briefly as she glanced towards Castiel.
She was just as stern looking as the other angels, but also beautiful. Around her waist she wore a grass skirt of some kind, dyed various bright reds. She was gloriously topless, her bronze skin smooth and unblemished. Her dusky cinnamon wings were swept back behind her, some feathers adorned with colorful beads and leather thongs. Nestled in her long dark hair was a braided circlet like a crown, small bones and teeth woven into the leather.
Castiel stayed bowed low as she approached, his eyes downcast. The female looked at him for a moment, before turning her attention to Dean, who did everything in his power to keep his eyes carefully trained on her face.
The angels around them fell silent, a few wings fluttering as the female slowly circled him.
“It is not often we see your kind here, human,” her voice was heavily accented, but her English perfect.
Dean smiled weakly, wincing as she poked his side. “I’m not here to cause trouble.”
She pulled back to look at him, arms crossed. The many bracelets on her wrists jangled. “What are you called?”
“Uh, Dean,” his tongue felt like sandpaper, suddenly wilting at the number of eyes on him. “Dean Winchester.”
Voices suddenly clamored all around him, angels talking to one another excitedly. The female looked surprised, glancing back towards Blondie, whose eyes narrowed. Gabriel was grinning, taking delight in the chaos around him, but schooled his face back into an emotionless mask as a deep booming voice cracked across the crowd.
“BIEN!”
(Harken to my voice!)
The angels trailed back into silence, eyes wide as what was obviously their leader, appeared. He was tall like Blondie, but dark, his eyes a stormy grey as he glared out at the crowd. He wore a crown much like the female, nestled in wild dark hair a lot like Castiel’s.
Huh. So that must be Michael.
He stormed towards Dean, huge white wings agitated.
“The toltorg are forbidden here,” he hissed between clenched teeth. “I should kill you and be done with it.”
Well. At least they were talking to him in English. He’d get to hear some familiar vowels before he died.
The female rested her hand on Michael's arm, her chocolate brown eyes still trained on Dean’s face.
“Niisa, ol’mozod,” she murmured. “Niisa.”
(Be calm, beloved. Be calm.)
That seemed to calm him a little, and Michael stopped, wings flexing. Close up, Dean could see they weren’t a perfect white, the feathers dappled with a light grey. The crackling of the cooking fires seemed suddenly loud in the silence as the angel seemed to grapple with his temper.
“Why do you come to us?” Michael finally asked, voice low and dangerous. Dean could see Gabriel from the corner of his eye, madly gesturing something Dean really couldn’t make out.
The Colonel’s words echoed in his head. We need a peaceful solution. If that fails…give me something to kill. The ghostly heavy weight of a demon pressed in close against his back, a taunting reminder of what was waiting for him back at base. If he didn’t deliver results, there was something far worse in store than a firm reprimand for him. This might be the exact opportunity to save his ass. Literally.
Dean squared his shoulders, hoping it wasn’t interpreted as a threat display or something. “I came to learn.”
The female arched a slim eyebrow as the angels around them began whispering again. “We have tried to teach other toltag. You are arrogant. Cowards. Preach to us of science, then shoot at us with guns.”
Dean gave a tiny shrug. “Yeah we are pretty sucky. If it helps, I suck at science. And I’m kind of …gunless.”
Wow, negotiating was definitely not his strong point. If only Sam were here, he’d know what to say, how to deal with these people. Dean was just bound to screw it up, say something to offend them.
Blondie stepped forward. “What are you then?” he demanded, wings fluffing. “If you are no scientist-”
“A marine,” Dean said truthfully. The angels all looked back at him blankly, clearly not understanding the word, and Dean rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “A…a warrior I guess.”
There were excited murmurs behind him, Castiel’s wings jerking once. The guy was still bowing, as if waiting permission to stand. Blondie didn’t look too impressed with that answer, his lip curling in a sneer as his feathers bristled.
“A warrior? I could kill him easily!”
Michael held up a hand, and everyone fell silent, Blondie included. Though he didn’t look too happy about it, wings jerking unhappily.
“You are the first warrior toltag we have seen,” Michael said slowly, eyeing Dean up and down. “Who comes unarmed, asking to learn.”
He looked over questioningly to the female at his side, and she gave him a small nod. Turning towards Castiel, she beckoned to him to rise. He did so slowly, wings tucked in close to his back.
“Castiel,” she said loudly, probably for the benefit of the other angels around them. “He wishes to learn. To be taught our ways, to speak and walk as we do. I give you this honor.”
The angels around them started whispering again, and the younger angel protested, wings jerking wildly. Dean felt almost offended for a minute.
“Ollog bagl-”
(But I-)
She raised her hand and Castiel trailed off, muttering darkly to himself.
“It is decided,” she continued smoothly, turning to look at Dean. “Learn well, Dean Winchester. And we shall see if your caosga, your insanity, can be cured.”
His new babysitter didn’t seem particularly impressed with his new role. Castiel had shoved him down by a cooking fire, handing him a wooden bowl filled with what looked like a meat broth. It didn’t taste too bad. Dean dug in hungrily, trying to ignore the fingers prodding him as angels gaggled around him. Feathers tickled his arms, and he stifled a sneeze as a little girl plopped herself into Dean’s lap, small beige wings brushing against his nose. Castiel looked thunderous and for a moment Dean thought he had done something wrong, but no screaming mother tackled him out of nowhere. The girl reached towards his face, patting his cheek and chirruping curiously.
Dean smiled uncertainly. “Uh…hi sweetheart.”
Castiel snorted to himself. “She has never seen a human.” The angel stretched out his wing to try and shoo the youngster away, but she stayed firm, growling kittenishly. Her little hands found Dean’s sore shoulder, and she crooned at it, stroking him.
“Hey,” Dean jostled the little angel in his lap, turning himself more fully towards Castiel. “You didn’t explain about my shoulder.”
Those dark wings twitched. Castiel shrugged, reaching for his own meal. The firelight cast his pale face in a warm glow, giving him an orange aura that seemed fitting for a creature referred to as ‘angel’.
“What of it?”
Dean winced as the girl stood on his thighs, little arms around his neck as she craned her face to look at his back.
“Dude, the jackal bit me good. But there are no marks, not even a scab. What gives?”
Castiel paused, eyes briefly darting towards the pink skin peeking out from Dean’s shirt.
“I healed you,” he said flatly, ladling more stew into his bowl. “It was…necessary. You were losing much blood.”
The girl, now satisfied with her exploration of Dean’s front, gracefully rolled off his lap to begin a careful examination of his back, little hands searching. It took Dean a moment to realize she was looking for wings. Castiel buffeted her a little harder this time, and she went with an irritated huff, leaving Dean unmolested for the time being.
“Well I uh…thanks. Again,” the stew burnt the roof of his mouth but Dean continued to gulp it down, body warming to the broth. “Didn’t know you guys could do that.”
Those bright eyes softened a little, a feather just barely brushing his shoulder.
“There is much you do not understand of us. Of our people. But, you will learn. I w-”
A dark shape loomed over them, and Dean flinched at the audible growl that rumbled behind him.
“You give him knowledge, Castiel,” a voice spat. “Nothing more.”
Oh. Scary angel. Even scarier close up.
Dude was just a brick wall of unmovable flesh and bone, wings flexing behind him. Dean tried to smile winningly up at him, aware that one smack with one of those wings would probably decapitate him, or brain damage him at the very least.
“My, but aren’t you angels just welcoming. Are you all this cheery?”
Scary angel looked ready to smack him, but was shoved aside by a familiar figure.
“Pretty much!” Gabriel chirped cheerfully, shouldering his way through the other angels to Dean’s side. “Uriel here is an exemplary specimen.”
Ah, so it had a name.
Uriel snarled down at Gabriel, eyes stormy. “You speak too much like them, Gabriel. You forget your iadnah.”
“And you forgot your sense of humor in the womb!” A slim blond appeared at Castiel’s side, batting away some of Dean’s admirers. “That stick up your ass is turning into a tree, Uriel. Watch out for splinters.”
Uriel looked ready to kill, teeth bared and wings shaking. Castiel stretched one wing towards him, touching his arm lightly.
“Niisa, Uriel.”
With a deep growl, Uriel stalked away around the fire. He chose a perfect glaring spot just across from the group, hunched and scowling like a giant, pissed off bird of prey.
Castiel turned to the blond at his side, glaring haughtily. “Balthazar, Uriel is the funniest of our tribe, you know this.”
Gabriel had stolen Dean’s discarded dinner, and choked on a mouthful, spluttering. Balthazar laughed loudly, drawing another scowl from the angel in question across the fire.
“Riiight,” he winked. “You keep telling yourself that little brother and maybe someday it might actually happen.”
The blonde had speckled downy brown wings, smaller and softer than Gabriel’s, and as Dean watched, he ruffled them against Castiel’s. The motion ruffled the feathers the wrong way, fluffing Castiel’s wings to the point where he looked like a fat crow.
It took Dean a moment to realize he was watching the angel equivalent of a noogie. Sam would probably want this documented for science.
“Balthazar,” Castiel spat, shoving his brother with his hands. “It is inappropriate to touch me thus.”
Thus? Even aliens had a better vocabulary than Dean. Great.
Balthazar looked shocked, wiping away fake tears.
“Oh woe, the day has come where one cannot even be playful with one’s brother,” he said dramatically, sniffing for effect.
Gabriel grinned, spooning more stew into Dean’s bowl from the steaming vat over the fire. “Chill little bro, your virtue is still Uriel’s for the plundering, I’m sure.”
Dean had been cautiously sipping on a sweet drink that reminded him a little of fruit juice, and suddenly found himself spitting, startling the angels around him. Gabriel looked unrepentant, thumping him helpfully on the back with one hand as Castiel flushed a deep red.
“I know,” Gabriel said sadly, still pounding Dean’s back. “We’re positively stuck in the stone age here.”
Dean managed to recover himself, only coughing slightly. Castiel wasn’t looking at him, face and chest tinged an embarrassed red. “You…he’s your…um…”
“You really don’t know anything do you?” Balthazar shook his head with mock sorrow. “For shame.”
Gabriel winked at Dean. “We don’t have gender roles like you do, Dean-o. Makes life more interesting.”
Balthazar nodded wisely, stealing a piece of fruit from a nearby angel. “But as members of…what do they call us again bro?”
“Baltoh,” Gabriel supplied helpfully, around a mouthful of stew. “Royal blood or whatever.”
“Right,” Balthazar bit into the fruit, juice coating his chin. “We usually have arranged matings. Gabe and I managed to escape that by being the worst bal, to ever toh.”
Gabriel waggled his eyebrows at Dean. “Too many lost virtues.”
Castiel had curled his wings around himself as if that would somehow block his brothers out. Balthazar leaned towards him to elbow his side.
“But Cassie here is reserved. Only the best for little bro. But the poor thing won’t wear his Hoath. Poor Uriel.”
“Will you desist!” Castiel hissed fiercely, slapping his brother away. His wings were fluffed, distressed.
Gabriel pouted, looking at Dean forlornly. “Aw, we embarrassed him.”
“Then our work here is done!” Balthazar cackled triumphantly. He rose with a flourish, snagging another piece of fruit. “Guess we’ll be seeing you in the morning, Dean. Gotta get you back to that complex of yours.”
Gabriel rose with him, Dean’s bowl still in his hands. He winked at the human. “Luckily, I know my way around.”
The two chuckled, disappearing back into the fray. Angels were beginning to wander off now, probably beginning to settle for the night. Castiel avoided Dean’s eyes, staring at the fire, face still red. His wings were jittery, puffed and anxious.
They sat in awkward silence for a while, Dean drawing random patterns along his leg. Finally, he looked back over at the angel.
“Hey, Cas,” the name just popped out of no-where, and Dean cringed. Angel’s probably were offended if you shortened their names or something. But Castiel didn’t try to kill him or anything. His wings jerked once, but then relaxed, feathers slowly smoothing back into place.
“Yes, Dean.”
The human shifted a little closer, boots scuffing the dirt. “What’s up with my name? You knew it before I even told you. And everyone reacted to it earlier.”
The angel was quiet, drawing his legs up towards chest, chin resting on his knees. He stared into the fire as if far away, wings still.
“Your mother,” he finally said quietly. “Mary. She…spoke of you and Sam often.”
It felt like a punch to the gut.
Dean stared at him, heart suddenly pounding. “My...my mom?”
Castiel nodded once. “She taught us English. She was…a friend.”
Abruptly the angel’s demeanor changed, and with a flap of his wings, he was standing.
“You should rest,” he said curtly. “Tomorrow I will help you return to your people.”
Dean had no choice but to follow him, despite the questions that clamored in his head. Pushing right now might not get him anywhere, but there was no way he was going to let that drop. His mom had actually spent time here?
Castiel led him further up into the tree, where woven hammocks were strung together in large groups on the tree tops, lashed to the branches with strips of leather. Other communal sleeping areas were structured into the leafy branches itself, and angels settled down to sleep in them, curled around each other. Really, if you looked at them closely, they were nests.
Freaking nests.
Sam was going to have a field day.
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| Next>>
Author: daksgirl
Artist: terrorinyertub
Fandom/Genre: Supernatural, au, sci fi, drama,
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Side pairings: Sam/Gabriel, past Sam/Jess
Rating: NC-17 (violence, adult situations, language)
Word Count: 80,668
Warnings: Graphic violence and warfare, adult themes including sex, canon character deaths, demon xenophobia, swearing, gore (in a war situation), PTSD and an attempted non-con situation.
[Fic Masterpost]
[Art Masterpost]
There was a rock in his boot. A big, painful, freaking boulder burrowing itself into the fleshy pad of his heel.
Dean growled to himself, giving his leg an infuriated shake for the hundredth time. He couldn’t tell exactly how long he had been tromping around after the angel, but was sore enough to know it had been a good few hours. He was tired, hungry, and had had enough of this stupid forest on this stupid planet.
“So you got a name?” A scaly winged insect bumped into Dean’s cheek, buzzing angrily, and he slapped it away with a yelp. The angel looked back at him irritably, and Dean smoothed his shirt down nonchalantly, desperately hoping the bug hadn’t been poisonous.
“Or should I just keep calling you ‘angel’?”
The angel snorted, merely folding his wings close against his back as he turned away, moving through the dense vegetation gracefully. Bastard looked perfectly at home, compared to Dean’s bumbling self. Sam was the clumsy one, not Dean. Dean was the suave, cooler older brother who could make any woman swoon. Not the flailing idiot.
He kept telling himself that, even as he tripped over a root and face planted into the damp leaves of the forest floor.
They trekked onwards, a tense silence stretching between them. The forest was alive around them; a troop of the strange monkey things swinging overhead with loud chatters. He spotted a few youngsters clinging to the backs of the adults, their huge eyes staring down at Dean curiously. He bet asking for a piggy back from his feathered companion was probably out of the question.
“Castiel,” the angel muttered suddenly, pushing aside a thick leafy shrub that promptly smacked Dean in the face when he let go. “I am called Castiel.”
Dean spat the plant out, glaring at the back of the angel’s head viciously as he collected himself. “Casteel? That’s a weird name.”
“Cast-iel,” the angel corrected. “And I would not judge, Dean.”
Dean hiked his legs over a fallen tree trunk, startling a rat thing that screeched alien expletives at him before scurrying back into the safety of the dim forest. “Dean is a perfectly normal name where I’m from. Distinguished even.”
Ok that was lie, but the alien pigeon man didn’t need to know that.
They reached a huge fallen tree, and the angel-Castiel- easily fluttered his wings once to get onto it. It took Dean slightly longer to scramble his very grounded human form on top of it, but he managed; ligaments snapping and joints creaking.
Panting harshly, he bent over as he reached the top of the log, resting his hands on his thighs. “Hey man, I gotta take a break. I’m wiped.”
Castiel turned towards him, eyes flashing. “We must continue. We cannot stay.”
Dean exhaled, straightening with a wince. His back twinged unhappily. “Yeah, well, you weren’t battling cat monsters and waterfalls. My shoulder got torn to hell which, by the way, seems suspiciously fine now.”
Ha, got him. Castiel looked uncomfortable, eyes darting away.
“We must continue,” he insisted again. “If we delay, then-”
Dean missed the last part. An arrow thunked hollowly into the thick bark only inches from his boot, and startled, Dean took a step back. He pinwheeled alarmingly as he teetered on the edge of the trunk, and though the angel lunged for him, he toppled over backwards. He slammed into the ground, ribs creaking as his spine groaned. Winded and stunned, he lay on his back, mouth opening and closing like a goldfish, struggling to breathe.
The ground rumbled beneath him and somehow, Dean rolled over onto his stomach, lungs burning as his fingers scrabbled against his boot to grab his knife.
Angels emerged from the trees around him, all with bows drawn. Some were mounted on strange armored creatures with way too many legs, far too similar to the cat monster that had tried to eat him. The creatures brayed to one another, and their riders reined them in, shouting.
Finally managing to get his bruised lungs cooperating, Dean tried to get to his feet but Castiel was suddenly there, pushing him back down with a firm hand. The angel’s wings were spread, fluttering warningly as he crouched over the human.
“Alar, gassagen! Alar!”
(Settle, people, settle!)
A scary looking angel with dull brown wings approached first, still mounted on his, steed? Horse thing? Just what the hell was that thing, seriously? The creature snorted down at Dean, four eyes glaring at him, but its rider ignored him, attention on Castiel.
“Ol’mozod, Castiel,” the scary angel shifted forward in his rope saddle to peer down at Dean with disgust. “Ol iolci toltorg ol nanaeel adohi.”
(Beloved, Castiel. You bring a creature of Earth to our tribe.)
Dean had no idea what was going on. Judging by how scary angel was glaring at him though, he wasn’t far away from being turned into an arrow pincushion. Dark skinned, the guy was built like a linebacker, thick and stocky with a bald head and angry scowl permanently etched onto his face. He was dressed like the other angels but with more elaborate wrist bands and a simple leather tong around his neck with some sort of bauble.
Castiel didn’t move from his crouched position.
“Oiad oi…zorge. Nostah oi niis Michael baltan.”
(He is a…friend. For Michael to judge.)
Castiel must have made a joke, because the angels circled around them broke into gruff chuckles, nudging one another with their wings. Scary angel’s scowl deepened.
“Toltory oi nidali zorge ol helech!” he bellowed, cutting off the laughter around them.
(The earth creatures are no friends of ours!)
Castiel didn’t flinch like the others, slowly straightening from his protective crouch over Dean. His wings stayed arched, and Dean thought back to the posturing birds on Earth.
“Oiad oi impamis amiran ol balzizras,” Castiel growled, eyes flashing. “Plapli oiad ol Michael.”
(He is not yours to judge. Take us to Michael.)
Scary angel looked ready to explode, veins bulging and teeth grinding. Dean struggled into a sitting position, finally catching his breath. With an irritated growl, scary angel yanked the leather straps in his hand, forcing his mount to turn. That was the signal apparently, as two angels swept forward to grab Dean under the armpits, dragging him after.
“Hey!” Dean swore, feet kicking uselessly as he was pulled along like a sack of potatoes. “I can walk you know!”
The angels ignored him. What a surprise.
The Ne’gassagen really liked their trees.
Dean figured it must be because they were part bird or something. He gazed up in awe at the tree that stretched up towards the skyline in front of him. He estimated it must be at least a mile or two in circumference, and several more tall. As the angels dragged him closer, it grew even larger, looming over him like a goliath creature of old, probably as tall as the buildings in the Citadel.
The ancient tree was hollow inside, the Ne’gassagen living inside it like tiny insects, and Dean was the center of attention as they hustled him inside. The core of the tree was still intact, swirling upwards into several stories of what looked like living space. Angels peered down at him from above, mostly women and children. All the angels currently bringing Dean in were male, and they shoved one another with triumphant smiles. The air was warm and smoky, cooking fires lit and meat roasting. Children ran in-between the adults, eyes wide and little wings shivering with delight at their first glimpse of a human.
One brave little girl darted forward, chubby hand outstretched. She ducked underneath the warriors wings and prodded Dean hard in the side, before retreating with a giggle. What was presumably her mother pushed through the crowd, scolding the youngster harshly as she grabbed one small wing.
The angels finally let Dean go, shoving him forward onto his knees. The impact made his joints groan, and Dean glowered at the angels darkly, struggling back to his feet. Castiel appeared at his side, back rigid and wings oddly still.
In front of the tree was an assortment of angels that stood out from the rest.
Dean immediately recognized Gabriel, and opened his mouth to call to him, but the angel shook his head, eyes worried. Beside Gabriel stood a tall blonde angel, wings a shimmering dark grey. His arms were crossed, and judging by the glare he was giving Dean, he didn’t like humans much.
Castiel bowed low, arms out.
“Esiasch. Dorphal mirc ol lit nazarth.”
(Brother. I look upon you with gladness.)
He shot a pointed look sideways at Dean, and Dean copied the angel, bowing low. It would probably be in his best interests to not piss anyone off just yet.
“Uh…ditto.”
Blondie snorted, unfolding his arms to take a step forward. The guy was decked out in what must amount to angel bling, form fitting crème leather pants and intricately carved wooden bracelets.
“Castiel,” his voice was cold, and Dean felt his hackles rise. “Fif-”
“Enough.”
Sweet, blessed English. A female angel appeared from the stairs. She approached Blondie, touching his arm briefly as she glanced towards Castiel.
She was just as stern looking as the other angels, but also beautiful. Around her waist she wore a grass skirt of some kind, dyed various bright reds. She was gloriously topless, her bronze skin smooth and unblemished. Her dusky cinnamon wings were swept back behind her, some feathers adorned with colorful beads and leather thongs. Nestled in her long dark hair was a braided circlet like a crown, small bones and teeth woven into the leather.
Castiel stayed bowed low as she approached, his eyes downcast. The female looked at him for a moment, before turning her attention to Dean, who did everything in his power to keep his eyes carefully trained on her face.
The angels around them fell silent, a few wings fluttering as the female slowly circled him.
“It is not often we see your kind here, human,” her voice was heavily accented, but her English perfect.
Dean smiled weakly, wincing as she poked his side. “I’m not here to cause trouble.”
She pulled back to look at him, arms crossed. The many bracelets on her wrists jangled. “What are you called?”
“Uh, Dean,” his tongue felt like sandpaper, suddenly wilting at the number of eyes on him. “Dean Winchester.”
Voices suddenly clamored all around him, angels talking to one another excitedly. The female looked surprised, glancing back towards Blondie, whose eyes narrowed. Gabriel was grinning, taking delight in the chaos around him, but schooled his face back into an emotionless mask as a deep booming voice cracked across the crowd.
“BIEN!”
(Harken to my voice!)
The angels trailed back into silence, eyes wide as what was obviously their leader, appeared. He was tall like Blondie, but dark, his eyes a stormy grey as he glared out at the crowd. He wore a crown much like the female, nestled in wild dark hair a lot like Castiel’s.
Huh. So that must be Michael.
He stormed towards Dean, huge white wings agitated.
“The toltorg are forbidden here,” he hissed between clenched teeth. “I should kill you and be done with it.”
Well. At least they were talking to him in English. He’d get to hear some familiar vowels before he died.
The female rested her hand on Michael's arm, her chocolate brown eyes still trained on Dean’s face.
“Niisa, ol’mozod,” she murmured. “Niisa.”
(Be calm, beloved. Be calm.)
That seemed to calm him a little, and Michael stopped, wings flexing. Close up, Dean could see they weren’t a perfect white, the feathers dappled with a light grey. The crackling of the cooking fires seemed suddenly loud in the silence as the angel seemed to grapple with his temper.
“Why do you come to us?” Michael finally asked, voice low and dangerous. Dean could see Gabriel from the corner of his eye, madly gesturing something Dean really couldn’t make out.
The Colonel’s words echoed in his head. We need a peaceful solution. If that fails…give me something to kill. The ghostly heavy weight of a demon pressed in close against his back, a taunting reminder of what was waiting for him back at base. If he didn’t deliver results, there was something far worse in store than a firm reprimand for him. This might be the exact opportunity to save his ass. Literally.
Dean squared his shoulders, hoping it wasn’t interpreted as a threat display or something. “I came to learn.”
The female arched a slim eyebrow as the angels around them began whispering again. “We have tried to teach other toltag. You are arrogant. Cowards. Preach to us of science, then shoot at us with guns.”
Dean gave a tiny shrug. “Yeah we are pretty sucky. If it helps, I suck at science. And I’m kind of …gunless.”
Wow, negotiating was definitely not his strong point. If only Sam were here, he’d know what to say, how to deal with these people. Dean was just bound to screw it up, say something to offend them.
Blondie stepped forward. “What are you then?” he demanded, wings fluffing. “If you are no scientist-”
“A marine,” Dean said truthfully. The angels all looked back at him blankly, clearly not understanding the word, and Dean rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “A…a warrior I guess.”
There were excited murmurs behind him, Castiel’s wings jerking once. The guy was still bowing, as if waiting permission to stand. Blondie didn’t look too impressed with that answer, his lip curling in a sneer as his feathers bristled.
“A warrior? I could kill him easily!”
Michael held up a hand, and everyone fell silent, Blondie included. Though he didn’t look too happy about it, wings jerking unhappily.
“You are the first warrior toltag we have seen,” Michael said slowly, eyeing Dean up and down. “Who comes unarmed, asking to learn.”
He looked over questioningly to the female at his side, and she gave him a small nod. Turning towards Castiel, she beckoned to him to rise. He did so slowly, wings tucked in close to his back.
“Castiel,” she said loudly, probably for the benefit of the other angels around them. “He wishes to learn. To be taught our ways, to speak and walk as we do. I give you this honor.”
The angels around them started whispering again, and the younger angel protested, wings jerking wildly. Dean felt almost offended for a minute.
“Ollog bagl-”
(But I-)
She raised her hand and Castiel trailed off, muttering darkly to himself.
“It is decided,” she continued smoothly, turning to look at Dean. “Learn well, Dean Winchester. And we shall see if your caosga, your insanity, can be cured.”
His new babysitter didn’t seem particularly impressed with his new role. Castiel had shoved him down by a cooking fire, handing him a wooden bowl filled with what looked like a meat broth. It didn’t taste too bad. Dean dug in hungrily, trying to ignore the fingers prodding him as angels gaggled around him. Feathers tickled his arms, and he stifled a sneeze as a little girl plopped herself into Dean’s lap, small beige wings brushing against his nose. Castiel looked thunderous and for a moment Dean thought he had done something wrong, but no screaming mother tackled him out of nowhere. The girl reached towards his face, patting his cheek and chirruping curiously.
Dean smiled uncertainly. “Uh…hi sweetheart.”
Castiel snorted to himself. “She has never seen a human.” The angel stretched out his wing to try and shoo the youngster away, but she stayed firm, growling kittenishly. Her little hands found Dean’s sore shoulder, and she crooned at it, stroking him.
“Hey,” Dean jostled the little angel in his lap, turning himself more fully towards Castiel. “You didn’t explain about my shoulder.”
Those dark wings twitched. Castiel shrugged, reaching for his own meal. The firelight cast his pale face in a warm glow, giving him an orange aura that seemed fitting for a creature referred to as ‘angel’.
“What of it?”
Dean winced as the girl stood on his thighs, little arms around his neck as she craned her face to look at his back.
“Dude, the jackal bit me good. But there are no marks, not even a scab. What gives?”
Castiel paused, eyes briefly darting towards the pink skin peeking out from Dean’s shirt.
“I healed you,” he said flatly, ladling more stew into his bowl. “It was…necessary. You were losing much blood.”
The girl, now satisfied with her exploration of Dean’s front, gracefully rolled off his lap to begin a careful examination of his back, little hands searching. It took Dean a moment to realize she was looking for wings. Castiel buffeted her a little harder this time, and she went with an irritated huff, leaving Dean unmolested for the time being.
“Well I uh…thanks. Again,” the stew burnt the roof of his mouth but Dean continued to gulp it down, body warming to the broth. “Didn’t know you guys could do that.”
Those bright eyes softened a little, a feather just barely brushing his shoulder.
“There is much you do not understand of us. Of our people. But, you will learn. I w-”
A dark shape loomed over them, and Dean flinched at the audible growl that rumbled behind him.
“You give him knowledge, Castiel,” a voice spat. “Nothing more.”
Oh. Scary angel. Even scarier close up.
Dude was just a brick wall of unmovable flesh and bone, wings flexing behind him. Dean tried to smile winningly up at him, aware that one smack with one of those wings would probably decapitate him, or brain damage him at the very least.
“My, but aren’t you angels just welcoming. Are you all this cheery?”
Scary angel looked ready to smack him, but was shoved aside by a familiar figure.
“Pretty much!” Gabriel chirped cheerfully, shouldering his way through the other angels to Dean’s side. “Uriel here is an exemplary specimen.”
Ah, so it had a name.
Uriel snarled down at Gabriel, eyes stormy. “You speak too much like them, Gabriel. You forget your iadnah.”
“And you forgot your sense of humor in the womb!” A slim blond appeared at Castiel’s side, batting away some of Dean’s admirers. “That stick up your ass is turning into a tree, Uriel. Watch out for splinters.”
Uriel looked ready to kill, teeth bared and wings shaking. Castiel stretched one wing towards him, touching his arm lightly.
“Niisa, Uriel.”
With a deep growl, Uriel stalked away around the fire. He chose a perfect glaring spot just across from the group, hunched and scowling like a giant, pissed off bird of prey.
Castiel turned to the blond at his side, glaring haughtily. “Balthazar, Uriel is the funniest of our tribe, you know this.”
Gabriel had stolen Dean’s discarded dinner, and choked on a mouthful, spluttering. Balthazar laughed loudly, drawing another scowl from the angel in question across the fire.
“Riiight,” he winked. “You keep telling yourself that little brother and maybe someday it might actually happen.”
The blonde had speckled downy brown wings, smaller and softer than Gabriel’s, and as Dean watched, he ruffled them against Castiel’s. The motion ruffled the feathers the wrong way, fluffing Castiel’s wings to the point where he looked like a fat crow.
It took Dean a moment to realize he was watching the angel equivalent of a noogie. Sam would probably want this documented for science.
“Balthazar,” Castiel spat, shoving his brother with his hands. “It is inappropriate to touch me thus.”
Thus? Even aliens had a better vocabulary than Dean. Great.
Balthazar looked shocked, wiping away fake tears.
“Oh woe, the day has come where one cannot even be playful with one’s brother,” he said dramatically, sniffing for effect.
Gabriel grinned, spooning more stew into Dean’s bowl from the steaming vat over the fire. “Chill little bro, your virtue is still Uriel’s for the plundering, I’m sure.”
Dean had been cautiously sipping on a sweet drink that reminded him a little of fruit juice, and suddenly found himself spitting, startling the angels around him. Gabriel looked unrepentant, thumping him helpfully on the back with one hand as Castiel flushed a deep red.
“I know,” Gabriel said sadly, still pounding Dean’s back. “We’re positively stuck in the stone age here.”
Dean managed to recover himself, only coughing slightly. Castiel wasn’t looking at him, face and chest tinged an embarrassed red. “You…he’s your…um…”
“You really don’t know anything do you?” Balthazar shook his head with mock sorrow. “For shame.”
Gabriel winked at Dean. “We don’t have gender roles like you do, Dean-o. Makes life more interesting.”
Balthazar nodded wisely, stealing a piece of fruit from a nearby angel. “But as members of…what do they call us again bro?”
“Baltoh,” Gabriel supplied helpfully, around a mouthful of stew. “Royal blood or whatever.”
“Right,” Balthazar bit into the fruit, juice coating his chin. “We usually have arranged matings. Gabe and I managed to escape that by being the worst bal, to ever toh.”
Gabriel waggled his eyebrows at Dean. “Too many lost virtues.”
Castiel had curled his wings around himself as if that would somehow block his brothers out. Balthazar leaned towards him to elbow his side.
“But Cassie here is reserved. Only the best for little bro. But the poor thing won’t wear his Hoath. Poor Uriel.”
“Will you desist!” Castiel hissed fiercely, slapping his brother away. His wings were fluffed, distressed.
Gabriel pouted, looking at Dean forlornly. “Aw, we embarrassed him.”
“Then our work here is done!” Balthazar cackled triumphantly. He rose with a flourish, snagging another piece of fruit. “Guess we’ll be seeing you in the morning, Dean. Gotta get you back to that complex of yours.”
Gabriel rose with him, Dean’s bowl still in his hands. He winked at the human. “Luckily, I know my way around.”
The two chuckled, disappearing back into the fray. Angels were beginning to wander off now, probably beginning to settle for the night. Castiel avoided Dean’s eyes, staring at the fire, face still red. His wings were jittery, puffed and anxious.
They sat in awkward silence for a while, Dean drawing random patterns along his leg. Finally, he looked back over at the angel.
“Hey, Cas,” the name just popped out of no-where, and Dean cringed. Angel’s probably were offended if you shortened their names or something. But Castiel didn’t try to kill him or anything. His wings jerked once, but then relaxed, feathers slowly smoothing back into place.
“Yes, Dean.”
The human shifted a little closer, boots scuffing the dirt. “What’s up with my name? You knew it before I even told you. And everyone reacted to it earlier.”
The angel was quiet, drawing his legs up towards chest, chin resting on his knees. He stared into the fire as if far away, wings still.
“Your mother,” he finally said quietly. “Mary. She…spoke of you and Sam often.”
It felt like a punch to the gut.
Dean stared at him, heart suddenly pounding. “My...my mom?”
Castiel nodded once. “She taught us English. She was…a friend.”
Abruptly the angel’s demeanor changed, and with a flap of his wings, he was standing.
“You should rest,” he said curtly. “Tomorrow I will help you return to your people.”
Dean had no choice but to follow him, despite the questions that clamored in his head. Pushing right now might not get him anywhere, but there was no way he was going to let that drop. His mom had actually spent time here?
Castiel led him further up into the tree, where woven hammocks were strung together in large groups on the tree tops, lashed to the branches with strips of leather. Other communal sleeping areas were structured into the leafy branches itself, and angels settled down to sleep in them, curled around each other. Really, if you looked at them closely, they were nests.
Freaking nests.
Sam was going to have a field day.
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