Super!Steam: 1/?

[h4ppy_fun_b4ll]

Title: Super!Steam
Author: h4ppy_fun_b4ll
Rating: PG-13 for now, will most likely change
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Eventual Dean/Cas, Sam/Jess, others to be announced.
Warning(s): A bit of language, a bit of violence.
Spoiler(s): Characters exist. Really that's all you need.
Word Count: 2,900 this chapter
Summary: Steampunk!AU. The Angel Project was put into motion to save humans from the threat of the Leviathan. When Castiel's wings break, he asks Dean to fix them. Dean's still trying to figure out how that drags him into a fight to save the world.
Beta: the awesome Michelle
Sometimes, Castiel thinks, it might just be better to let humanity get its ass kicked.

Humans are very resourceful when it comes to surviving and getting what they want. Castiel would know; he used to be one. The problem is, humanity doesn't always use their power responsibly. And by 'not always', he means 'never'. He supposed it must have happened since the very beginning. When the first humans evolved enough to make fire and keep predators away, Castiel imagined they were probably dicks about it, swinging torches at every random squirrel that crossed their path. There was a difference between surviving and power for power's sake.

Castiel was sure his superiors meant well. There was, after all, a very real threat looming over them: Leviathans. Biblically speaking, the great sea monster that would appear at the end of times. They differed a little from their original ancestors, the most important difference being the sheer number of them. And from what it seemed so far, their 'end bringing' definition was mostly truth. So Castiel could understand the need to protect. Not only were there powerful creatures out for them, but they had millions of people to think of, all living their daily lives. If they knew about this thing, if they knew what the Leviathans had planned, there would be chaos. And that would only give them the opportunity to strike in the confusion.

The Leviathan would destroy everyone on the planet, there was little doubt about that. They consumed humans and wore their identities, allowing them to move unseen through the rest of the world.

Humans weren't exactly at the top of the food chain anymore.

And so humanity did what humanity always does. When faced with conflict you can't overcome with strength, use cunning. A plan was hatched, using science and technology to overcome weaknesses in power and ability.

Castiel’s mental triade was cut short as something whizzed by his head, barely missing his temple.

Perhaps it was wiser to focus on the battle at hand, rather than wax philosophical about the flaws of humanity.

Out of the Angel Project, four were complete. Michael was the first to be created, and was the more experienced and mature of the group. Lucifer came shortly after, followed closely by Gabriel. Anna and Castiel were brought in at the same time, although Anna had refused the wings and the surgeries, instead managing to escape somehow. They hadn’t seen her since. The last Angel, Balthazar, was on the way, but still recovering from the surgeries that would give him his wings. This left Castiel, Gabriel and Michael, to deal with their wayward second- in- command. Lucifer hadn’t taken well to the experiments done by the engineers of the Project. He’d been changed by them, broken in the mind, no longer believing himself to be anything but the Angel they’d made him to be. He wasn’t going to fight for humanity. On the contrary, he seemed delighted that the Leviathan would take them out. He thought them unworthy of the planet they inhabited.

Lucifer had planned his escape with the help of his Demons. The few humans he tolerated, he called his children, Demons who would be spared when the humans were done away with, if Lucifer was to be believed. Castiel’s superiors had given the order to bring him back. He was far too dangerous to be left alone, and his assistants were to be dealt with as well. ‘Dealt with’ was left open- ended, although the implications were clear to all the Angels. The Demons were expendable, but Lucifer was to be brought back alive.

A harder task than Castiel first thought.

He and Gabriel were currently focused on the two women aiding his escape, while Michael, the most experienced Angel, fought to bring Lucifer in. The woman Castiel fought was dressed in blacks and deep purples, laughing as she fired shot after shot at the Angel’s wings, intent on bringing him to the ground. Meg, he’d heard her referred to as, while the woman in red, hacking at the air  as her blades danced with Gabriel’s, was Ruby. Two of Lucifer’s Demons.

Castiel dodged another bullet, missing a shot in the side in favor of it pinging off the metal planks of his artificial wings. Meg was an excellent shot, but Castiel was fast, weaving around a signpost to surprise her, making a grab for the gun.

He could hear blades slicing against one another beside him as Gabriel and Ruby continued to struggle in their own fight. He hadn’t caught sight of Michael or Lucifer since the brawl began, when the two elder Angels had taken to chasing each other high through the skies.

Meg shoved the muzzle of the gun forward suddenly, knocking into Castiel’s cheek. He felt the skin split against it, as well as the burn from the hot metal, but he ignored the pain in favor of ducking out of the way before she pulled the trigger again, intending to blow his face off.

Dropping into a crouch, he swept a leg out, catching Meg off guard and knocking her legs out from under her. She fell with a startled yelp, landing hard on her back. Castiel was up in an instant, his blade a threatening presence against her throat.

Meg only grinned. “Fancy footwork, there, Angel.”

Castiel’s glare was sharp, eyes narrowed. “Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you right now.”

Meg’s gaze shifted to his side, only for a moment but it was enough of a tell to tip him off, and he lunged away in time. A sharp dagger grazed his side instead of stabbing into his back as originally planned. Castiel heard the metallic crunch as his wings took the brunt of the damage and the clatter as a few feathers hit the ground.

Ruby twirled her twin blades, smirking at the remaining Angel. Gabriel was nowhere to be found.

Meg was on her feet by then, gun cocking as it aimed straight at him. She winked. “Ten second head start, sweetheart.”

Castiel knew he was outmatched. Angels had increased strength and healing abilities, but they weren’t immortal. A shot from this close of range would cause serious damage, and if he couldn’t heal himself, he wouldn’t make it. He couldn’t take that chance. His only hope was to fall back and regroup with the others. If any were left. He took a step backwards, eyes darting between the Demons and their weapons. His wings  flared out as he jerked his shoulders up, triggering the mechanism. They were already damaged from Ruby’s blades, he just hoped they were working well enough to get him back to Chuck for repairs. With any luck, Balthazar would be ready soon, so they could start searching for Michael and Gabriel, or to deal with Lucifer. Castiel hoped the other Angels were still alive.

He took off quickly, not wanting to test Meg’s promise of a head start. He turned once in the air, pushing forward to hurry back to the headquarters where the Angels were based. The more distance he put between himself and the Demons, the better. He heard the noise a split second before he felt something slam into his back, exploding in his wings. He yelled as the mechanics were all but shattered, small pieces raining around him.

And then the Angel fell.

oOoOo

“Fuck!”

Dean yanked his hand back, curling the arm against his chest. The wrench he’d been using clattered to the garage floor noisily. He glared at the motorcycle he’d been working on, its screws rusted stuck by years of neglect. His hand throbbed from where the wrench slid, slamming fingers against the back of the bike. He’d scraped his knuckles on the exhaust, even through his thick work gloves.

He sat back, tossing the gloves from his hands to inspect the damage. Sure enough, blood was welling from scraped patches of skin. The pain wasn’t even as bad as the annoyance at the stubborn screws.

Dean sighed, running his other hand through his short hair, adjusting the goggles across his head. He supposed that was a sign to call it a night. Getting to his feet, his back arched in a stretch that sent his joints popping. The garage was eerily quiet; everyone else had gone home hours ago. Sam and Adam had class early in the morning, and Jess had further to travel to get home than the boys. Even Bobby had gone for the night, tossing Dean the keys and telling him to lock up when he was done. He looked at the clock in the office. If he made good time getting home, he could get in a quick shower before grabbing some food and heading to bed. They had a ship coming in tomorrow morning, and the garage would need all the help it could get.

Dean had just finished locking up, pocketing the keys and throwing his bag over a shoulder. He headed towards his own bike when he heard a noise. Like an explosion, it sizzled through the evening sky. There was a flash of light, brightening the area like a fire. Dean looked up, trying to spot the cause.

What he did find was a large dot, shadowed by the sunset, flailing and getting larger as it fell. Whatever it was, it was falling towards the garage, and fast.

Dean took a step back, contemplating the odds of him catching the falling thing, or if he should steer clear. After watching for a few moments, it got close enough for Dean to make out the flailing limbs of a human.

Fuck.

Dropping his bag on the ground, he dashed forward, trying to figure out where the person would land so he could intercept them. When the other got closer, Dean could see where they were headed, keeping up to try and stay under them. If he could cushion the fall, he might be able to save this person. He didn’t know how high they’d fallen from, but from where he first caught sight of the decent, it wouldn’t be pretty if they hit the ground. Hell, there were no guarantees even WITH Dean’s help. But he couldn’t just do nothing, and he didn’t have anything else to cushion the fall.

The man- because once he was close enough, Dean could tell it was a man that was crashing down- fell limply. Right before he hit the ground, Dean jumped as high as he could, reaching out and gathering the other in his arms. He hoped he could decrease enough of the force to ease the landing and not kill them both. It worked well enough, thankfully, although Dean still crashed to the ground when they landed. His knees hit the dirt, and he took care to keep upright as much as possible. He’d just saved the guy, the last thing he wanted was to crush him.

Dean got to his feet slowly, wincing at the pain in his knees. The guy was heavier than he looked. Probably because he was rolled up in a heap of scrap metal. There were sheets of steel, most of them in pieces, as well as wires and gears, hanging haphazardly. Some of the pieces had scattered around the ground after the man had fallen. Confused, Dean kept his hold on the guy, moving back towards the garage. After a quick juggle with his human baggage so he could get his keys, the door was unlocked. Dean set the unconscious man on the old couch where Dean slept when he stayed too late working. Bobby had dragged it in from his house after one too many mornings of coming in to find Dean passed out on the floor of his office.

He had to set the man on his stomach, until he could get him out of that trash heap. He’d tried to shake it off while he carried the other, but it wouldn’t budge. Now, with his hands free, he found that the collection of gears and mechanics had stabbed through the guy’s back, and was stuck tight. Panicking, Dean looked over the wound. There was no blood, and the guy wasn’t dead- he was still breathing, Dean had checked that first- but the debris wasn’t moving, even when Dean gave it a tentative pull.

Closer inspection resulted in only more questions. The mechanism was stuck on purpose, it seemed. There was a neat hole cut in both the man’s vest and shirt to allow the metal to be attached. The holes in his back where the metal was stuck was lined with brass, seemingly fused to the skin.

Dean sat back, running a hand through his hair and adjusting his goggles once again. He let out a low whistle. “Buddy, what the hell are you?”

He didn’t know what to do with the wings for now, and even if they were broken, they didn’t seem to cause the man any pain. So Dean let them be for the moment, instead looking the guy over. He was dressed nice enough, something like Sammy or Adam would wear to their classes. It would’ve looked pretty classy, if there hadn’t been small rips and tears in them, or if the guy’s dark brown hair hadn’t been a windswept mess. Freefalling from wherever he’d fallen from would have that effect.

Dean wondered where the hell he HAD come from. At first he’d figured the guy had fallen from a crossing airship, but now he wasn’t so sure. He didn’t remember any passing by, and with the garage’s tracking gear, he would’ve known. Did he really manage to fly with those metal wings?

Confused, he figured it’d be the first thing he’d ask when the man woke up. He continued his study of the patient currently resting on his sofa. There was a splotch of red on the guy’s side, and a bullet-shaped hole through his clothes. Dean worried for a moment that he’d been shot, but when he untucked the shirt and peeked under it, there was no wound.

There was something seriously weird going on here, and this was AFTER the already unbelievable situation of a man with metal wings falling from the sky.

Other than a few fading bruises, the guy seemed uninjured as far as Dean could tell. He didn’t really know how to get the other’s shirt off around the wings to check in detail. Dean looked at the man’s face. He figured if the other was in any pain, his face would show discomfort. But his face was even and relaxed, like he’d just taken a nap, rather than taken a leap through the sky.

The guy was easy on the eyes, Dean wasn’t afraid to admit that. Lean, athletic build and one hell of a case of sex hair, Dean could appreciate that.

He reached up, twirling a lock of the guy’s hair around his finger thoughtfully. He wondered if anyone was looking for the man. He was dressed nice enough, surely someone was missing him.

Dean lost his train of thought as something circled his wrist and squeezed, hard. He hissed, his hand dropping from the man’s hair. The guy’s fingers gripped his wrist harder and Dean felt the bones grinding. He tried to tug it away, staring at his face. The man’s eyes opened to a bright blue, glaring hard.

“Just what do you think you’re doing?” he croaked, and whoa, his voice was a lot deeper than Dean thought it would be. It sent a chill down his spine. Or maybe that was the feel of his wrist slowly breaking.

“You fell out of the sky. I caught you. You’re at the Singer Airship Garage. And if you break my wrist, I’m gonna be really pissed and out of a job.”

The man studied his face for a moment, as if judging his honesty. Then finally, he let Dean go. The mechanic cradled his arm to his chest, rubbing at the wrist. There was sure to be a bruise there later.

“My apologies,” the man replied in an even, gruff tone. “I was in battle when I lost consciousness. I wasn’t sure if you were with them or not.”

Dean sat back on his heels. “In battle? Like, on a ship or something?”

He looked confused for a moment. “No, on the ground. I took flight to escape, but I was shot down.”

“So those hunks of scrap metal on your back really are wings?” He blinked. “Or WERE at any rate.”

The man frowned again, twisting his head to get a glance at his back. He took in what he could of the wings, broken gears, hanging wires and metal feathers in shattered pieces.

“They’re ruined,” he breathed out, momentarily stunned.

“Whatever hit you, looks like it went for the wings. Probably saved your life in the long run. If it did that much damage to metal, I’d hate to see what your face would’ve looked like.”

He shook his head. “My face would have healed. These...” he trailed off, looking like someone kicked his puppy for a moment before his face hardened. He looked at Dean. “You’re a mechanic, correct?”

Dean frowned a bit at the sudden subject change. “Yeah. Dean Winchester, head mechanic of Singer Garage.”

He nodded once. “My name is Castiel. I’m an Angel. And I have work for you.”