Fic: Strange Tilts of Fate [2/5]
Part Two
“Stick to yourself,” Chuck warns, eyes on the commotion up ahead where the usual crowd formed in center of the city square surges against the recruitment booths. “It’s better if they don’t pay any attention to us.”
Dean nods once, tearing off a piece of the cheese bun he’d lifted out of Becky’s kitchen this morning and stuffs it into his mouth as he follows Chuck’s attempts to skirt around the group gathered in the street. It’s the same song and dance as yesterday and the day before, but the sight of the mage mingling with other townspeople is one that’s never going to get old; he sticks out like a sore thumb and if anything, the mob of people is even more keen to avoid him than he is them.
After four days of dealing with the sideways glances and the awkward looks that spending time in public with Chuck entails, he’s kind of gotten used to the mage’s somewhat ungainly way of flinching through life and it’s starting to grow even a little endearing - though that’s not a fact that Dean would willingly admit on anything short of pain of death. Truthfully, without Sam it’s either Chuck or Becky, and that’s hardly even a decision to be made. Where Chuck might puff, pant and whine, Dean’s never seen anyone mope as hard as Becky when she’d found out that Sam was gone.
Dean pushes away the thought of his brother with an annoyed scowl. Sam’s probably made it to Whitefish by now. Probably had his meeting, been accepted as an apprentice. And fuck, it’s not like Dean’s not happy for him. After four days spent searching fruitlessly for dad, he’s just about ready to call it quits himself, at least in Limbus, anyway. But that doesn’t mean he’s not annoyed. And maybe a little bit jealous.
He shoves the last bite of bread into his mouth and is about to follow Chuck down a nearby alleyway when a heavy hand drops down onto his shoulder. He turns, half expecting to see Sam.
Only it’s just some guy. In armor. Great.
“Uh, can I help you?”
The man smiles at him and Dean watches, startled, as his pupils go completely black for a moment, shuttering just as suddenly back into a normal, almost boring hazel. A demon, then. Things sure are picking up this morning.
He jerks back, starting to pull away, but the hand against his shoulder holds fast.
“I think that maybe you can. Do you know who General Alastair is?”
Oh. Shit. The name does ring a bell. And not even just from conversation with Chuck and Becky, but farther back than that to half-exaggerated tales told at the Road House by hunters too drunk to remember the real details. Dean wouldn’t go so far as to say that every horrible thing told of the four paladins of Infernum are true, but the names are inarguable. Azazel. Lillith. Ruby... and Alastair. Yeah, this? Not good.
He decides to play it cool. As cool as can be expected when the only truths he’s got to go on aren’t really truths at all, but there’s no doubt in Dean’s mind what this guy wants from him. It’s the same thing all the demons in the city center are looking for: more fuel for the war machine. “Oh, yeah. General Alastair. I - uh - I’m reporting in to him. In the morning.” He can only assume that the knight’s working for Lucifer now, doesn’t remember hearing about any of the paladins arguing about the archangel’s takeover anyway.
The demon smiles broadly - Dean can only hope that his assumption was right - and steers him back the way he’d come towards one of the military tents set up in the middle of the square. Exactly the place Chuck had been so keen they avoid. And speaking of, where’d the mage get to, anyway? A fleeting, hurried glance around the crowd doesn’t yield any sign of him and Dean finds himself being dragged unwillingly into the tent.
“Name?”
There’s another soldier in here, manning a makeshift work desk and it’s to his scrutiny that Dean’s released, the demon moving off to the back of the tent somewhere.
“Uh - look - ”
“Please state your name and where you’re from.”
Dean blinks, eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness inside the canvas tent. He knows better than to give this guy any real information and he’s got half a mind to just turn around and head out the way he came in. Although probably a little faster on his feet. A cursory glance around says that he’s probably not going to make it very far though. The place is crawling with more demons and the swords they’re equipped with look pretty damn sharp. Not the kind of thing he’s eager to get on the other end of. “Walker,” he tries, going with the first thing that comes to mind. “Gordon Walker. And here. Limbus.”
“Oh?” The demon’s eyes shutter to an unsettling black just as the other one’s had and he looks Dean over from head to toe before they revert back to normal. “You don’t look it.”
“Nope, Limbus. All my life. Born and raised.” He wants to try taking a couple steps back, close the gap between here and the door, and now there’s some kind of commotion coming from corner of the tent he’s furthest from. And is that - is something burning?
One of the demons closest to the edge of the tent lets out a shout and suddenly the heavy canvas catches like tinder, flames racing up the sides and spreading to engulf it completely.
Dean doesn’t stop to worry about swords when the growing fire reaches the ceiling. His only thought is on getting out before the canvas doorway catches as well.
It looks even worse from the outside, given that it’s not the only tent currently in flames. The entire city square is ablaze, the same crowd that had been arguing over the tents earlier now squawking about putting them out. The one Dean’s just escaped from lets out a woosh of escaping air as the fire eats through one of the supporting poles and the entire thing crumples, the still-burning canvas outlining the silhouettes of those still trapped inside, struggling to get free.
He has half a mind to race forward and help, demons or not, but there’s Chuck, finally, waving his arms to get his attention.
“Dean!” The mage surges forward, breathing heavily as he grabs ahold of Dean’s arm, hauling him back away from the blaze. “I was worried that you were - ” He pauses to catch his breath and drops the arm, “You were inside one of them.”
“Well, I wa - Chuck, did you do this?”
The mage opens his mouth to answer, but then Becky’s joining them, her face streaked with soot from somewhere in the midst of the chaos. She’s clutching the spoils of her own trip into the marketplace and grabbing a hold of Chuck’s elbow before Dean can even push for an answer. “I’m so glad you two are alright! I was worried you might be in one of the tents - ”
“We should probably think about getting out of here,” Chuck cuts her off, eyes wary as he focuses on something behind them. Dean twists to see the arrival of the city guard and agrees with Chuck completely.
“Out of here would be good.” He’ll worry about who set the fire and just how close he’d been to being recruited himself when they’re safe away from both the blaze and the possibility of being arrested.
Becky leads the way in the opposite direction of the continuing inferno at a brisk and hopefully inconspicuous pace, since it brings them right past the guard. Fortunately they’re more concerned about the fire than the trio that’s casually walking away from it. Two winding streets and an alleyway later, and she’s deemed them far enough away to bid them farewell and promise to meet them both at home later before heading out to, Dean assumes, finish her shopping.
Her complete lack of reaction is kind of surreal and he watches her go wondering which of the two he should be more worried about. When his gaze finally returns to Chuck to ask about the blaze again, he realizes he’s missed something very, very important rounding the corner.
By the time he notices the knight - looks like a knight, anyway, and Dean can safely say that he gets a pretty good look - it’s too late and the heavy body of a man in armor collides with his own, sending him down with a grunt. They’ve scarcely touched the ground before the person is struggling to disentangle himself and Dean’s hands immediately go to the smaller man’s shoulders, pushing him off as he rises to his feet. His fingers close tightly around a silver-plated set of shoulder guards before the person pulls away completely.
Chuck, Dean is unsurprised to see, is no help at all. If the fire thing was his doing, it must have been a fluke.
“You okay there?”
The man, now on his feet, stares at Dean with wide eyes and, glancing past him, Dean can see why. There’s a huge dude in armor in pursuit.
“Excuse me,” the man who’d knocked him down is saying, voice rougher-sounding than his face suggests. He’s making as though to simply continue running through the alleyway, but Dean’s reflexes are faster and he can see a door in the alley about a foot to his left. It doesn’t take more than a heartbeat to grab the blue-eyed man and drag him in, slamming the door shut behind them with no regard for the building’s occupants or for Chuck, who’s been left unceremoniously outside.
Dean’s got no doubts that the big guy’s seen exactly where they disappeared off to, and he gestures to the flight of stairs only feet from the doorway. “You might want to get going.”
“You shouldn’t have done that,” the man answers, because apparently the “thank you” Dean had been expecting isn’t forthcoming. “He’s going to be after you as well, now.”
Perfect. “Well, maybe we’d better get going.” He takes off, leading the way up the set of stairs, ploughing through three flights of tenement building before reaching a doorway that comes out onto the roof. The door up here has a pretty secure looking lock on it and once the other man’s through, Dean throws it in place, latching it tight with a broad grin before taking off once more. It’s like a rough and tumble chase pulled straight out of his and Sam’s childhood, and while the unbidden memory of his brother sparks a twinge of annoyance in his chest, the thrill of being pursued is just enough to chase the thought away and he’s all for grabbing the other man’s wrist to tug him across the rooftop until they hit a dividing wall big enough for them to duck behind.
He’s panting as he crouches, back pressed into the wall, arms thrown around his stomach to support himself. It takes a minute, but when he’s regained his breath enough to speak, the heavy breathing turns into laughter. “Got yourself into a rough spot back there, huh? Hope I didn’t just rescue the wrong guy.”
The man peers at him and Dean finds himself taken with the thoughtful look on his face. “No,” there’s that rough voice again, “He was - never mind. I would like to think you’ve rescued the appropriate person.”
“You didn’t steal anything, did you?” Dean’s eyes focus on the silver shoulder guards he’d had his hands on earlier and now he recognizes the wings patterned into the spotless metal, the mark of Celestis. The other man follows his gaze and sobers.
“You think I’m a thief?”
“Just getting my facts straight before I get myself arrested for helping out a criminal, is all. What’s your name, anyway?”
“Castiel,” the knight - Dean still thinks of him as a knight, but having seen him up close without the part where he’s knocked to the ground, he’s willing to re-evaluate. The leather jerkin he’s got on under the shoulder guards doesn’t look like it offers a whole lot of protection - supplies, eyes bright as he peers back at him.
“Dean Winchester,” he replies, himself, holding out a hand.
Castiel peers at it in confusion, then takes it delicately between his fingers and ducks his head towards it. A kiss on the knuckles minus the part with any actual lip-on-hand action.
With a startled glance down at their hands and his face flushing, Dean tugs his palm away and shoves it hurriedly into his pocket, ignoring the way he can still feel the other’s soft, uncalloused fingers against his own. Yeah, probably not a knight. “Uh, so, you look kind of lost. Not from around here?” The question is asked with all the jaunty familiarity of someone who does in fact hail from Limbus, but the part where Dean doesn’t isn’t something Castiel needs to know and his gaze drops down now to the sword looped to the man’s belt.
It’s a spindly-looking thing, not the kind of weapon that the recruitment officers and soldiers around the city are carrying, but it’s one of the most carefully crafted things Dean’s ever seen. There’s actual jewels inlaid in the pommel, the hilt a bright gold that’s probably the result of actual gold. It makes the sling he’s carrying and the battered knife clipped to his forearm under his shirt sleeve seem an awful lot more inadequate.
“I saw you earlier today,” Castiel states, quietly. It seems that he’s noticed the focus of Dean’s gaze as well and subtly shifts the sword away. Dean can’t quite muster up the energy to be annoyed at the probability that he did so thinking he was the thief. “Around the recruitment tents. Are you planning on enlisting?”
Dean snorts and shakes his head. “No. Fuck, no. Probably couldn’t now even if I wanted to.” He wonders for a moment if they’ve had any success in putting out the fires yet, trying to ignore the thought that with the tents burnt to the ground, any recruitment records they might have held are gone, too. “I’m, uh, I’m actually looking for someone.”
Castiel starts, head whipping to look back in the direction they’ve just come from. “Your friend. You were with someone. He’s going to notice you’re gone, I shouldn’t keep you.”
“Call it an adventure,” Dean shrugs, rolling out his shoulders. “Besides, what happened to the whole “he’s going to come after you” thing? Come on, Cas, I just saved your ass, you’re not going to tell me what I saved it from?”
The blue-eyed man tilts his head, eyes bright. “Cas?”
“What, no one ever called you that before?”
He ducks his head and Dean wonders if that’s a blush, if the short form embarrasses him. “Only my brothers. There aren’t very many people who would be so openly familiar.”
“Right.” Dean nods and leans against the dividing wall they’re still crouched behind, listening for the sound of Castiel’s pursuer because any guy in as much armor as that dude had been wearing’s gotta be making enough noise for them to have an easy getaway. “So what you’re saying is, you’re not going to tell me.”
The other man is quiet for a moment, gathering his thoughts and Dean’s starting to get the impression that Cas is more of a thinker and less of a talker. “Are you aware that I’m an angel?”
It’s his turn to startle at this, gaze deepening as he looks Castiel over more thoroughly. He knows angels exist, of course he does. Hell, he’s been staring at them for the past four days, hoping to catch a glimpse of his father in their midst, but he’s never been so close to one. Definitely never spoken to one. “Yeah, I knew that.”
Castiel’s lips twitch and he ducks his head once more, this time masking a smile. “Things are not very easy for angels right now.”
“Yeah, well, things aren’t very easy for anyone right now.”
The angel nods and they fall into a companionable silence for a moment as he reaches into the leather pouch clipped to his belt. Inside, he’s got sweet cakes wrapped in cloth and he offers one over to Dean with a small smile.
Dean accepts the offered bread, unwrapping it carefully before wolfing it down, no mind for manners though he notices that Castiel eats more carefully, savoring each bite like it’s a last taste from home. Which, he figures, for an angel in Terra, might not be so far from the truth. “So, you hiding out from the war or something? Was that your commander back there?”
“No, I’m not - I’m not a knight.”
Dean’s eyes flick down to the sword once again. “Right.”
“But I - you wouldn’t know of an inn nearby, would you? I have coin, I can pay.”
Stuffing the leftover cloth into his pocket, Dean surveys the angel. “How long are you planning on staying?”
Castiel’s eyes narrow thoughtfully. “Just for a night. I have a message that must be delivered immediately.”
“Well, in that case, I know a place. It’s not great - kind of sucks, actually - but if you’re just trying to, I dunno, hide out, it’s not so bad.” He’s babbling, but Castiel’s listening so quietly, so intently, that he feels like every word that comes out of his mouth is important. It’s kind of nice to have someone around who actually listens to him for once. “Anyway, I know a place. But I’m hitting the road myself, in the morning.”
It’s time, he realizes. Any hope of finding dad in Limbus went up in smoke along with the recruitment tents. There’s no way now of knowing whether or not Gordon was even telling the truth when he said he’d seen him get recruited. It’s either forwards to the front lines on the same route that the soldiers are being shipped out on, or a long walk back to Lawrence.
But none of that’s Castiel’s problem. “One thing, though. That guy, he’s not going to tail us forever, is he?”
“Until he catches up.”
“Right, well, I might know someone who can do something about that.”
* * *
“Are you sure you actually know what you’re doing?”
Chuck blinks at him through reddened, bleary eyes and nods, surprisingly showing no signs of being affronted by Dean’s questioning of his abilities. He bends over the hearth and rubs his hands together, settling back on his knees to watch the dirt-filled floor of the fireplace. “It should protect you from being followed. Mask the trail. That kind of thing.” He stares intently at the pitiful fire he’s managed to build up on the hearth and doesn’t move for at least a minute.
“Should,” Dean watches with narrowed eyes as, next to him, Castiel seems mildly fascinated by the entire process. “Look, Chuck, I don’t think - ”
“There!” The mage sits up, dusting his hands off on his thighs and rising to his feet. “Done.”
Dean’s eyes travel from the dying smolder of the fire to Castiel. “Nothing happened.”
“Perhaps,” there’s something that looks like carefully veiled amusement playing on the corners of the angel’s mouth and he gives Dean a too-serious look. So serious that it can’t possibly be legit, right? “Perhaps the magical workings aren’t visible to our eyes, Dean.”
Yeah, or there were no “magical workings.” “Right. Well, good thing Chuck’s got magic eyeballs or we’d be screwed, right?” He turns to the mage, some of the amusement slipping. Having brought Castiel back with him, it had only seemed logical to ask Chuck if he knew any kind of warding spells. Dean hadn’t really expected him to say yes, but then, this is kind of serious after all, he’s really not keen on being followed. By anyone. “So you’re sure it worked, because we can go downstairs and ask Becky - ”
“It worked,” Chuck answers, irritably.
But a heavy knock on the front door of the shop seems to say otherwise.
Moments later, Chuck’s cramped little apartment is crowded with angels. Not just Castiel-style angels, either, but full-on battle-ready ones, led by the same big dude that Dean remembers running from. The floorboards creak ominously under the heavy clunking of the group, their plate mail clinking with every movement.
As the room continues to fill, forcing them into the back corner nearest the windows, Dean shoots Chuck an annoyed glance that would have been accompanied by a chuff upside the head if he’d been close enough. So much for the warding spell.
The mage shrugs helplessly, but before he can open his mouth to make an excuse, Castiel is stepping forward between them putting himself in front. Dean wants to reach for him, haul him back, and see if they can survive a jump from the second-storey window, but the angel doesn’t appear to be worried in the slightest.
“Hello, Uriel.” His voice is calm, conversational and the big dude nearest them is bending on one knee and... bowing?
Dean watches as first the big angel bends in deference to, well, Castiel apparently, and the rest of the angels crowded into the shop follow suit. Dean’s conversation with Chuck yesterday about the youngest of Celestis’ princes suddenly comes racing back to mind and he cringes with the memory of it.
So. Castiel is a prince. Of Celestis.
Well, that explains some things.
“Castiel,” The big angel’s tone is chiding as he rises back to his feet, staring Cas down intently while the other angels remain kneeling. “You know better than to wander off without your escort.” Dean doesn’t miss the way that this Uriel guy is pointedly ignoring both him and Chuck, hasn’t missed the fact that the angel’s refusing to even look at them. But mostly he notes with some unease the lack of royal address. That’s not how you’re supposed to address a prince, he’s pretty sure.
Castiel doesn’t seem to be too concerned with the familiarity, though. In fact, he looks rather repentant, nodding quietly. “I came to the realization that nothing paints me as a greater target than being followed by a squadron of soldiers.”
“And nothing would protect you so well as the same.” Uriel’s voice is deep, deeper even than Cas’ and he moves forward to examine the wayward prince, concern etched into every line of his face. “The city square was set ablaze this afternoon, it could have been an attack on your life.”
“It wasn’t - ” Chuck jumps in, only to be silenced by a sharp look from the angel, who immediately continues his conversation with Castiel.
“Let me escort you to the safe house and the guard can be lessened after you have arrived safely.” He turns, beckoning for an angel to come forward. “Let Inias look you over and we can be on our way.”
A reedy looking younger angel moves forward at the summons, eyes bright as he approaches Castiel, but a gesture from the prince has him standing down.
“I’ve found someone else to escort me, thank you. I don’t believe that my brother would condone any sort of attack that may result in my death.” Dean doesn’t have to think very hard to figure out which brother he’s speaking of. “Your services are no longer necessary, Uriel.”
“I - what?” The fluster on the big angel’s face is priceless.
“You’re one of Michael’s most capable paladins. You’re needed more on the front lines. Dean Winchester has agreed to escort me.” The angel’s gaze has fallen on him and Dean gets the feeling that he’s totally screwed. “He’s a hunter.”
Oh. Great. Thanks, Cas.
“You’re a hunter?” And of course, now Uriel’s addressing him. “From where? I’ve never heard of you.”
Next to him, Chuck is shifting uneasily on his feet and Dean wonders how long before the mage cracks. How long before Castiel drops some other big one on them, makes claim that Chuck’s some kind of all-powerful shaman. Because based on the look on Uriel’s face, it’s going to take at least twice that much to get him to so much as consider considering taking a hike.
“I’m - uh - from Lawrence.” He decides to go with the truth, make the lie as simple as he can. For now ignoring the way that Castiel’s brow furrows at the answer.
“From Lawrence.” Apparently Uriel’s heard of it. And he doesn’t sound exactly impressed. “How quaint. Now, Castiel, you know we don’t have time to linger. Let’s go.”
“Shouldn’t you be addressing him by title?”
Dean flinches at the words, because that was Chuck again. The idiot didn’t even need Castiel to drag him back into the conversation, he just waltzed his way on in for no good reason at all.
Uriel stares at him once more, eyes hard, and Dean wonders for a moment if he should be worried about angels having some kind of eye power capable of searing through a person’s soul. At this point that doesn’t seem all that unlikely. Sure would explain a lot about the way Uriel’s looking at them.
“I’ve been charged with Castiel’s protection by the High Prince Michael of Celestis. This puts him as a subordinate to me and what I say where his safety is concerned is non-negotiable.” He’s reaching out now, got Castiel by the arm and Cas closes his eyes for a moment, then moves forward, twisting away from Uriel’s grip. There’s no defiance in the motion, though, just a reluctant acceptance.
“Thank you, Dean.” He’s looking back at him, eyes sad. “I appreciate your assistance, but it would appear that I am needed elsewhere.”
Chuck offers up a small, awkward wave and the angels close in around Castiel, boxing him in with their armor and shields like he’s little more than a prisoner, and then they’re off, out the door, down the stairs and into the Mage’s Quarter courtyard.
Only they don’t make it much farther than that.
* * *
Dean doesn’t remember much about the ensuing fray that takes place directly outside the apartment, but by the time everything is said and done, the only people left standing seem to be himself, Castiel, Chuck, three of the angels and Becky - who had turned up at some point midway through, no doubt drawn outside by the noise. There’s soot in her hair, dirt smudged into Castiel’s pale cheek and Dean’s got a burn on the outside edge of his thumb, but the worst of the damage rests with the smoldering ruins of both mage and potion shop.
“I’m sorry about your...uh...” Chuck is saying, hands out to gesture towards the ashy imprints of dark feathers against the cobbled street, all that’s left of the group of angels who had only minutes ago been surrounding Castiel, and Dean recognizes wide-eyed panic in the eyes of the three younger angels still with them.
It had come down to something suspiciously reminiscent of an ambush. One moment they’re tumbling out of Chuck’s untidy apartment to follow the group and the next, half the garrison of angels Uriel had brought with him, as well as Uriel himself have been disintegrated in a blast of light and a rumble that shakes the entire street as the building behind them bursts into flames. Becky races out just as it starts to seize outwards, spewing sparks and hunks of stone in every direction before crumbling entirely. The explosion had been so sudden, so unexpected, that Dean hadn’t been able to catch sight of whoever might have been behind it.
“Inias,” there’s a breathless quality to Castiel’s voice, but somehow despite the panic and the terror and the sheer suddenness of what’s just happened, the prince seems to be holding it together incredibly well. “Take Nisroc and Malchediel and return to the garrison outpost.” His brow is slightly furrowed, eyes perhaps a little wider than they’d been a few minutes before, but his tone holds steady as he confers with the three remaining angels. “You need to inform Michael what’s happened.”
Dean wonders what they’re going to say, because he’d kind of like to know himself.
The two angels that he recognizes as not being Inias - Nisroc and Malchediel, apparently - seem all too eager to return to the safety of wherever their outpost might be. And the younger one from before is quick to take charge of his companions. “You heard him.”
The pair exchange a glance and are gone in a heartbeat, chicken-shits the both of them. Letting the rest of your tiny army get massacred and then race off in an instant, leaving them all incredibly vulnerable? Pretty damn shameful. Especially to leave Castiel, who Dean can only assume the attack was targeting.
Although he had been right in the center of the group.
The blast and still-raging fire behind them are starting to draw gawkers and the group slips away in a hurry down one of the alleyways leading out of the Mage’s Quarter and down towards the marketplace, regrouping. That’s two major fires in one afternoon and Dean’s starting to wonder if maybe the one in the city square wasn’t related to Chuck at all.
Speaking of the mage, both he and Becky appear to be completely shell-shocked by the sudden destruction of their home and Dean can’t help but shoot them a pitying look. His own house went up in flames when Sam was just an infant, it’s a memory he’d rather forget.
“Inias,” Castiel begins once they’re far enough away that they can’t even see the flames anymore. He’s starting to sound weary but there’s something in the younger angel’s expression that says he will not be swayed.
“You’re on your own here, your highness, among humans. You should return to the garrison as well.”
“This kind of incident is exactly why I will not go to the garrison.”
Dean can see that he’s got a point. If someone were after him, he wouldn’t be exactly keen on heading straight for Lawrence where people he knows could get hurt. The thought of Sam in Whitefish, away from all of this, is the only thing that drives him to reach for Castiel’s shoulder, palm fitting neatly against the well-polished shoulder guards. “Castiel’s going to travel with me.”
A flash of irritation appears on Inias’ face, but the little angel is quick to shake his head. “You know as well as I do that that attack was caused by an angel. No other creature could so easily execute a number like ours.”
Castiel’s face softens and he steps forward to draw Inias away from the rest of the group, taking him aside and it leaves Dean with an opportunity to face Chuck and Becky for the first time since this whole thing went as far south as it could possibly go.
“Uh. Sorry about your house.”
Chuck’s face is drawn tight, a pressed, fidgety quality apparent around his lips as his gaze continues to travel back towards the alleyway leading into the Mage’s Quarter, a pillar of dark smoke rising past the houses that block the burning wreckage of his home from view. Becky only stares, and Dean’s glad, because her anger is something he really doesn’t want to experience. Neither says anything and, discomfited, Dean turns away just as Castiel returns to join them, nowhere to be seen.
“I need to find my brother,” the angel announces, not quite meeting Dean’s eyes. “Raphael.”
“Good luck,” Chuck murmurs quietly, a bit of a quaver to his voice. Dean expects him to lose it any second now.
But it’s not Chuck that Castiel’s looking at expectantly and Dean bites his lip. “That means you’re going all the way to the front lines, doesn’t it? In Infernum?”
The angel nods. “I know that you’re looking for your friend - ”
“My father,” Dean corrects.
“ - Yes. But if he is not here in Limbus, then his squadron’s set sail already. They’re shipping out reinforcements very quickly.” He makes no mention of which side of the war he’s referring to and Dean knows that it doesn’t matter. The true quarrel is between Michael and Lucifer, and the thousands of angels, demons and humans caught up in the middle don’t matter one bit. It’s a blood bath and it’s only going to continue until one of them caves or until there’s no one left to fuel the fight.
Dean scratches at the back of his neck, considering. With dad not here in Limbus, it’s difficult to say just far or how long it might be until he finds him, and that’s only if he’s been recruited. For all he knows, Gordon was lying all along and dad’s just off in the woods somewhere, walking back to Lawrence without the horse. Or worse, already dead.
And maybe they’ve been going about this the wrong way this whole time. Maybe it is better to return home to Sam, to hope that the war ends and that it’s over before it comes knocking on the Winchester’s door. To hope that someday dad’s just going to show up on the doorstep again.
... or maybe this really is his chance. He’s old enough now to make a life for himself. And sure, maybe he doesn’t know where he’s going to end up or if the path he chooses now is going to reunite him with dad again or even Sam. But the question now is does he move forward or backwards and when it’s phrased like that, there’s only one direction worth traveling in.
“Inias is returning to the garrison. He’ll provide some cover for my absence, it should prevent any immediate retaliation from whoever sought to attack us today.” The angel hesitates and Dean realizes he hasn’t really been paying attention to the words. “I won’t say that we’ll be safe, it’s a dangerous road, but it’s the only one I can foresee for myself.”
Dean swallows heavily and turns to Chuck. “If I give you a letter to pass on to Sam, you’ll make sure someone gets it to him, right?”
The mage blinks at him. “I guess I can pass if off to someone before we leave.”
“... we?”
“You ruined my house. I have nowhere else to go.”
“Look, Chuck - I can try and - I’m sure Cas wouldn’t mind giving you some money to - ”
Chuck doesn’t move and Dean decides that hell, maybe there’s worse things than having an extra set of hands around. Even if those hands belong to the most incompetent person he’s ever met.
“Well, then,” Becky’s looking between the two of them, hair still full of soot but her eyes unusually bright. "We're going to need a ship."
* * *
Finding a ship willing to take three ragged-looking civilians and a prince of Celestis straight into the war-torn regions of Infernum proves to be a lot more difficult than Dean had anticipated. Although he’s not exactly spreading around the fact that Cas is who he is, none of the merchant vessels harboured in the prosperous port city are especially eager to accept their money - and those who are, are looking for a much higher amount than they’re willing to pay. Or have.
To increase their chances, they split off into two groups, Chuck with Becky and Dean with Castiel, but at day’s end when the last of whatever vessels are heading out have already gone, the group reconvenes near the harbor’s gated main entrance. The tide’s gone out and there won’t be any chance of leaving until it comes back in the following morning.
“Well,” Chuck begins and Dean’s quick to silence him with a glance.
“We can head out on foot. It’ll take longer, but - ”
“Now, I don’t think that’s going to be necessary, boys.”
Heads whip to the side to identify the speaker, not one of their number, and Dean’s immediately on his guard when his eyes fall on the shorter, well built man peering at them curiously, eyes bright with intelligence. His clothes are functioningly elegant, but the cut of the cloth and the type of fabric screams money - but it also says something else and it’s Chuck who cautiously breathes out the word “pirate.”
“A corsair, actually. But let’s not get technical.” The man’s smiling pleasantly enough, hand held out for Dean to take. “Name of Crowley, by the way. I’ve heard tell around the harbor that you boys are looking for a ship and as it just so happens, I have one.”
Next to him, Castiel’s shoulders are tense and it’s with reluctance that Dean grabs the hand and shakes it firmly, before dropping it quickly and gesturing out to the harbor. “Which one?”
“Which one?” The man’s eyes seem to darken and he scans the horizon for a moment, hand shooting out, finger locked on one of the numerous vessels in port. “The pretty one.”
And now Dean realizes as he struggles to follow the gesture that could be pointing to any number of ships that he’s still no closer to knowing whether or not the man is trustworthy. Some skill-testing question that had been.
Crowley’s not exactly blind to their hesitance, however, unsurprising since none of them are being especially forward in a show of good faith towards the newcomer. “John Winchester’s boy through and through, aren’t you?” The smile turns into a self indulgent sneer and the man crosses his arms casually at the stunned expressions on Dean and his friends’ faces. “Yes, yes, I know all about you. Wandering through Limbus bleating about in search of your father, hassling every hard-working recruiter from one end of the city to the other.” His voice drops and he leans in, “Tell me, Dean, any luck so far?”
The quiet words have Dean flinching out of reflex and he’s taking a step back before he knows it, colliding with Castiel.
“What is it that you’re looking for in exchange for safe passage?” The prince asks, much more tactfully than Dean could have managed. But given Castiel’s track record thus far for poise and tact, it’s probably a lucky coincidence that he seems to know how to deal with this Crowley character.
“Nothing much. I’m looking to get back into Infernum myself. A home-coming, if you will.”
Dean half expects to see the man’s eyes turn a solid, clipped black the way that Infernum’s demons so often do when they choose to reveal themselves, but they remain as human as ever, a friendly light brown. “What do you say? I scratch your back, you scratch mine?”
Castiel doesn’t answer, head tilted in Dean’s direction, clearly deferring the decision to him.
“Have you seen my father?”
Crowley smiles. “Ferried him to Infernum myself.”
“If you have the ship, then what do you need us for?”
“Ah, well, as I’m sure you’ve heard before now, the waters between here and home sweet home aren’t exactly the friendliest of seas. You haven’t been able to find someone to take you, I haven’t got someone to take. Preferably someone with a sword.” The man’s eyes drift to the expensive weapon clipped to Castiel’s hip and Dean catches the angel shifting uncomfortably under the gaze.
“That’s it? You take us across, we fight any baddies who think it’s a good idea to board us?”
The smile broadens. “There’s the one. But don’t feel like we have to shake on it now, ship’s not going anywhere.” He gestures to the nearby wooden rail, stretching across the harbor’s sea wall from the gate. “Tomorrow morning, when the tide’s back in, you can meet me here and we’ll go. No motley crew of father-seeking adventurers? My loss.”
Castiel’s nodding slightly along with this and Dean takes that as a good enough sign to agree as anything else. “Fine. Tomorrow morning. Right here.”
“I look forward to it.” Crowley’s turning away from them, smile still in place, nothing about his business-like demeanor at all changed now that the tentative deal’s been made and Dean hopes that’s a good sign. “Now, I need to go alert my boys to the change in plan and you’d better be finding yourself a place to stay for the night. I hear the mage - and that’s a term I use very loosely - is without a roof to house you any longer.”
With that, he’s gone, leaving Dean and Castiel to exchange a glance and Chuck to flush deeply at the insult. Dean wishes he’d thought to press the man more about his father’s whereabouts, but if he really is offering his ship, then he’ll have plenty of time for that later.
For now, they have more immediate problems to worry about. Finding an inn proves to be much less difficult than finding a ship had been, or maybe the two are on par, because the group ends up coming upon a place to stay for the evening in much the same way as they’d found themselves a ship.
They’re just crossing the square to head into the nearest place that looks both affordable and at least somewhat reputable, when Castiel freezes in the middle of the road, head snapping to the right just in time to look directly into the face of a blond stranger that Dean doesn’t recognize.
And Dean’s kind of getting tired of strangers.
He’s about to push his way between them - Cas is a prince, after all, doesn’t anyone know about personal space? - when the angel holds out a hand for him to freeze.
“Dean, this is Balthazar. He was a member of my private guard.” There’s something about the way he says “private guard” that makes Dean’s eyes narrow as he looks the stranger up and down. He’s certainly not dressed the way the last members of a private guard he saw were. There doesn’t appear to be a single piece of actual armor anywhere on him, just a well-stitched dark jacket that Dean’s immediately jealous of and a comfortable-looking pair of trousers. The entire get-up is simple, exactly the right thing to blend into a crowd with and Dean wonders if this guy hasn’t been following them this whole time.
A corner of the man’s mouth quirks up and he smiles at Dean, who can’t help but wonder if the sneer he’s seeing instead is real or imagined. “How do you do.” The words are quick, rushed and in no way a question, and then he’s turning back to focus on Castiel. “You’re alone.”
The prince’s brow furrows and he shakes his head. “I’m with Dean.”
Chuck and Becky exchange a glance and Dean tries not to feel too bad for them.
“Where are Uriel and the rest of your guard?”
“I - ”
The angel, because Dean knows he can’t be anything other than that, throws a look over his shoulder and makes a gesture before moving forward into the crowd. “Follow me.”
As it turns out, Castiel’s old angel-buddy has a villa of his own right in the very heart of one of Limbus’ nicer districts. Nice enough that even Becky has the social grace to feel uncomfortable as they cross through the gated threshold of the community, only Castiel and Balthazar seeming wholly unaffected by the sudden change in atmosphere from the poorly paved, dirty streets of the harbor to the white tiled roadway leading up through the area.
It’s a nice place the angel’s got, Dean will admit to that. The ground floor is at least the combined size of half the cottages back in Lawrence, if not more than that. Which, when you take the second floor into consideration, really just means that this whole place is the size of the entire village. The homestead itself could probably fit into the servant’s quarters this place has got.
Dean didn’t know that deserting your duty could lead to so much wealth.
That’s the story anyway, as it’s explained in bits and pieces on the way from the harbor to the mansion. Once transferred away from his position with the prince’s private guard - probably because of the inappropriate way Dean’s caught him looking at Cas, more than once - to the front lines, Balthazar had simply abandoned ship and taken up residence here in Limbus, reappearing only when he recognized that Castiel was here as well.
Seems like he missed the whole “Uriel-and-the-other-angels-getting-blown-up” thing, though, which makes Dean more than a little suspicious.
He’s been holed up away with Cas in some private study off the main floor for some time now and while Dean hasn’t heard any raised voices, he suspects - hopes, rather - that they’re arguing. With Becky and Chuck off enjoying the bedrooms they’d been shown to upon their arrival, Dean’s got nothing to do but wait or retire to bed himself.
And he’s more than fine with waiting.
When Castiel re-emerges, alone, his face is passive as ever and he announces that Balthazar will be accompanying them in the morning.
Dean is not especially impressed.
Or happy.
But who’s he to care, anyway? He only met Castiel this morning. Strange how it seems like longer than that now.
* * *
Castiel has never been on a boat before. Dean can tell. The wind whipping at the angel’s dark, rough-and-tumble hair has put a smile on the prince’s face that’s so broad Dean just knows he hasn’t experienced a whole lot of this in whatever sheltered kind of life he’s been living up to now. And Dean would know, he’s never been on a boat before either.
The salty spray of sea breeze is light on their faces and Dean turns to grin at him. “We don’t have anything like this in Lawrence.” No body of water bigger than the small fishing hole he and Sam had grown up swimming in, anyway, and you couldn’t fit even half of Crowley’s ship in that.
A cutter, one of the crew had called it, clearly nowhere near as impressed as Dean and the rest of his party had been. “It’s like flying,” the prince confides, smiling.
Dean glances at him sideways, gaze falling immediately on the silver shoulder guards. He’s heard the stories of the angels from the north just as often as demons to the south. Folks back home had thrived off of tales of their exotic neighbors and their doings and while Dean would like to think everyone’s a person, the fact remains that as much as they might look it, not everyone is a human. Castiel included.
“Do you do that a lot, then? Fly?”
Castiel’s gaze skims over to him with a calm kind of serenity and he nods. “All the time.”
“So, uh, excuse my ignorance or whatever, but how?” Those stories had always gone on about an angel’s wings, but the only thing towards that effect that Dean can see is the symbol emblazoned on Castiel’s shoulder guards. No other feathers in sight. Even the other angels had been completely feather-free until they were nothing but smoldering ash on the cobbled streets.
The look that the angel shoots him in return is perplexed and it makes Dean more than a little uncomfortable. “You’ve never seen a Pegasus before?”
Oh. Oh. Flying horses. Right. “Oh, well, yeah. I mean, I’ve never seen one. But I know about Pegasus Knights.” Everyone knows about Pegasus Knights. For years, Dean had even grown up wanting to be one, dad had been quick to squash that particular dream, though.
“Every angel has a Pegasus, whether they are a knight or not.”
Dean nods, trying to keep up. If every angel has one, that still doesn’t explain why he hasn’t actually seen one yet. Shouldn’t the Celestis recruiting officers have had them too? “Alright, so no actual wings then. Got it. Does that mean every demon has a dragon?”
He half expects that look again, but Castiel seems to be enduringly patient. “Wyvern,” he corrects, “Demons prefer the use of wyverns over dragons.” Like Dean knows the difference. “And no, not all demons possess one.”
“Where’s yours?”
“I’m an angel, I don’t - “
“No, your Pegasus.”
A faraway look comes into Castiel’s face then and Dean almost regrets asking the question. “Home. Away. We aren’t trained for that style of fighting, it’s safer in Celestis, away from the violence.”
And aren’t you? Dean wants to ask as the angel turns back to face the water. He’s starting to realize that the higher-ups over in Celestis have a pretty backwards way of handling things. He gestures instead to where Balthazar has appeared up on deck from where he ostensibly was asleep below. Dean hasn’t taken much time to explore below decks, but the rest of his friends had made a bee-line for the hammocks stretched out for their benefit. It had been an early start this morning. “Is his back home, too?”
Castiel doesn’t even bother looking up, but with only two angels on board it’s not unlikely that he’s figured out who Dean’s referring to. “No...” The answer is slow, the word drawn out. “Balthazar’s mount was killed years ago. An angel without his wings is something of an outcast, I’m afraid.”
“But you guys seem pretty close.”
“We were. Once.” The prince seems reluctant to expand on this thought and Dean watches from the corner of his eye as Balthazar moves to the ship’s rail for a glance below and then crosses down to the stern without, apparently, noticing them.
“And you, Dean?” Castiel is watching him once more, leaning stiffly against the rail as the wind drags at his already messy hair. “In Celestis, they paint humans as farmers. Merchants, if they are lucky. All with vile habits and a tendency towards violence and greed.” There’s something in the way he says it that tells Dean whether true or not, Castiel doesn’t believe it.
“My family, we’re hunters. Well, my dad, mostly. But I’ve killed a few things myself.” He’s not too sure that Cas is exactly impressed by this, but continues anyway. “Ghosts, werewolves. The odd vamp or so. Black Dogs.”
“A noble vocation. You’ve seen much of the world, then.”
“Something like that,” he lies and Castiel doesn’t call him on it.
“This is my first time away from home.”
“And?”
“It’s been a very... educational experience.”
Dean grins and jostles his elbow against Castiel’s, letting out a yawn. “Well, I’m gonna call it a morning. Crowley says we’ll hit Infernum’s shores by this time tomorrow.” Since leaving Limbus, the vessel has remained close to the shoreline, the dark cliffs hedging their passage on the port side fairly ominous, but they haven’t reached the southern continent yet. The people in fishing boats along the coast are still all human, with smaller human ports and villages dotting the shoreline. For now, the fact that they seem to be the only thing in the water bigger than one of those small fishing craft isn’t quite so obvious.
“About Crowley, Dean - ” Castiel begins and Dean realizes he’s never actually asked the angel’s opinion on their mysterious benefactor. “It’s in my kind’s nature to distrust demons of any form. But I think he may have done us a very large favor.”
“Yeah,” Dean answers as he heads for the ladder leading into the bowels of the ship. “I think so, too.”
* * *
When Dean awakens in the early evening after a day spent sleeping in the hold, it’s to a quiet room. The other hammocks stretched across the small space are empty and there isn’t a single one of his friends in sight. The result is almost eerie when the ship groans and shudders in the water and there’s something just a little bit off about the way it’s swaying. He’s only been on board for a few hours, but his body’s long since grown accustomed to the way the vessel cuts through the waves and that doesn’t seem to be what it’s doing now.
The ladder bites into his hands as he ascends up to the deck, and the eeriness is only worse up here. He’s found his companions, at least, but they’re standing almost huddled together, silent. The ship’s no longer moving.
He recognizes Crowley’s back immediately, where the demon is standing within a few feet of both Chuck and Balthazar and he heads straight for him. “What’s going on?”
The words sound abnormally loud in the otherwise still night air.
Every head turns immediately to focus on him and Dean feels uncomfortably out of place as Crowley shoots him a heavy look, tilting his chin in the direction of the dark mass of land off the starboard side. It’s different, wild and in totally the wrong direction to be either Terra or Infernum.
“There’s worse things in the water than military ships,” the demon states, voice low, eyes on the horizon line of Purgatory as their vessel begins to slowly move past it, cautious.
“Why are we going so slow, then?” Chuck’s voice quavers slightly and Dean glances at him. The mage is standing as close to Becky as possible, their shoulders rubbing.
“Can’t you feel it?” Crowley’s gaze turns on him briefly, contemptuously, before he’s staring at the water once more. “No wind.”
For a tense half hour, Dean stands with his friends on deck as the vessel slowly moves past the dark mass of Purgatory. It’s with false starts and barest stirrings of wind, but the shoreline starts to become recognizably different as they begin to put some distance behind them. The stories Dean’s heard about the island are few, not enough people having been and returned to tell the tale, but it doesn’t take much to know that it’s a savage, wild land. The kind of place you don’t want to travel to.
When the wind begins to pick up a little - and Dean’s not at all sure that the lack of it had anything do with their proximity to the island, but he has his suspicions - he moves closer to where Castiel is standing alone, off to the side. Where the rest of his companions have been watching in tense silence, the prince seems merely contemplative.
“You got plans to visit?” Dean asks quietly as he moves into place next to him.
“No. That would be an ill-advised venture if ever there was one. But there are wild things that no one has seen in - ” The angel is cut off short by a shout from one of Crowley’s three crewmen, and suddenly the pirate’s pushing between them, striding forward.
“Alright, boys, moment of truth,” he’s shouting as he moves towards his sailors. “Man your stations.”
Dean follows the demon’s movements and freezes. There is a tentacle on the deck.
Not one of the spindly, suction-cup covered things that they fry up as a delicacy in Limbus, either, but an inky black, perfectly smooth tentacle that winds its way up out of the water and around the mizzenmast, curling against the wood and snapping it easily in two. The wooden post comes crashing down and Dean jumps to the side, dodging the tangle of ropes and sail that comes down with it as it splits through the top deck of the vessel.
It happens so quickly that he’s scarcely conscious of it beyond the sharp cracking sound of the wood breaking and he grabs Castiel around the waist in a hurry, jerking him roughly to the side so that they avoid the crashing mast together.
One of Crowley’s crewmen isn’t quite so lucky and Dean can hear the dying man’s shouts from where he lies pinned under the fallen mast. But then there’s a second tentacle joining the first, this one slimmer as it rises gracefully out of the water, surging forwards to snag another crewman around the waist, dragging him away from the boat and down deep into the black maw of the dark water.
“Leviathan,” he hears Castiel mumble, but to be honest, he doesn’t really care what the damn thing is, only that they get away from it as quickly as possible.
Another shout goes up from the stern as the groan of wood splitting rises up from the belly of the ship where another tentacle, unseen, is butchering the hull. “Abandon ship!”
Dean doesn’t have to be told twice. With his arms snug around Castiel’s waist, he throws them both overboard at the opposite end of the ship from the monster. Terra’s dark shoreline isn’t so far, they can make it.
It’s his last thought before a flying bit of debris strikes him in the head, knocking him out cold.
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