Fic: Scholars And Amazons (Dean/Cas, PG-13)

[obstinatrix]

Title: Scholars and Amazons
Claim: Swiss Family Robinson, for dc_everafter
Pairing(s): Dean/Castiel
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~11,000
Warnings/Notes: I couldn't work out how on earth to manipulate this story into D/C without going the route of girl!Cas and [ ultimately girl!Dean]. (Anyone who's seen the film can probably guess what that spoiler is.) Also, all the truly awesome ridiculous bits of this fic are entirely the fault of Disney, and I refuse to take responsibility. *\o/* Title is an unwarranted abuse of Ransome's Swallows and Amazons.



The long beach was empty but for Castiel and Michael, the gaggle of pirates having retreated into a huddle beyond the rocks to debate some urgent question in hushed voices. Castiel's shoulders ached with the strain of their position, thrust forward to accommodate the length of bamboo to which her hands had been tied behind her back. Her newly shorn hair prickled strangely at the nape of her neck, and the old white trousers of Michael's pinched uncomfortably over her hips, just wider now than her brother's. Castiel couldn't imagine that it was much of a disguise, but their captors had addressed her as boy, handled her a little roughly, showing every sign of having been deceived by the hasty alterations. Castiel was grateful. Certainly, she had lived her sixteen years under rather sheltered conditions, but she was no fool. She knew well enough the fate Michael had feared would await her.

They had been here for hours now, the scene grimly unshifting, the air hot and still. When the change came, it happened in a flash, like the dazzle-dash of the sun across the waves. One moment, Castiel heard no sound but the rush of the sea and the hitching of her brother's breaths. The next, a firm hand had clamped itself over Castiel's open mouth, while a soft voice hissed near the nape of her neck: "Sssh - friends. We're gonna get you out of here." The hand shifted, revealing itself to be attached to a slim brown forearm, and then it was gone, leaving Castiel to inhale in ragged shock while the newcomer tugged at the knots in her bindings.

"Thank God," Michael breathed, to her left, eyes wide and grateful. Looking over at him, Castiel realised that there was not only one new arrival, but two - her own mysterious liberator, and a tall, lanky, shaggy-haired boy now fumbling with the ropes at Michael's wrists. Michael's smart lieutenant's tunic, Castiel noted sadly, was looking altogether the worse for wear, when only weeks ago he had been so proud to have passed the examination and earned the right to it. That was what had occasioned him to chance the trip out on one of the HMS Seraphim's smaller boats while the ship herself was in port at Jamaica: a celebratory excursion, before Michael left his sister with her governess for another six month term. The weather had been perfect, the sea as smooth and placid as a bowl of milk. There had not seemed to be any risks afoot. There had been no reports of pirates in the area since a lone incident of shipwreck, some months gone.

It had been just their luck, then, Castiel thought, to have sailed out on the very day the pirates chose to return.

They were turned away, now, still talking amongst themselves, but Castiel kept her eyes firmly on them as her rescuer worked at her hands, her pulse kicking up in her throat. "You'll have to be quick," she said. "They've got some idea of holding me to ransom, I think, and they won't - "

"I know," assured the voice from behind her left shoulder, warm with certainty. "It's all right. Me and Sam have gotten plenty used to stealth exercises recently; ain't that right, Sammy?"

The other boy, still tugging at Michael's knots, raised his head and smiled. "Not like we had much of a choice," he said, "what with Dad."

"That's not fair," said the first voice, in a tone Castiel recognised well as Authoritative Older Sibling. "We were washed up alone on this godforsaken chunk of nothing; if he hadn't gotten us organised, we'd probably be dead by now." A rough tug, and one of Castiel's wrists slipped free. She pulled it forward immediately, flexing her aching shoulder.

"Dean," Sam said, pointedly. "Untie now, argue later, all right? It's just that - "

"They're looking over," Michael cut in grimly, sitting up straighter in alarm. "They've seen us."

There was a second's brittle, horrified pause, and then a sudden flurry of motion as Dean's hands worked faster at Castiel's remaining knots, picking at the rope and muttering irritably under his breath. Beside them, Sam was working, too, but Michael seemed to have been bound more skilfully, and the ropes showed no signs of budging. By the time Dean succeeded in freeing Castiel entirely, the pirates had turned as a man and were streaming down over the rocks, and Michael was still affixed to his pole, mouth set as he watched their approach.

"Knife's in my pack," Sam was muttering, voice tight and anxious. "Left it by the river - stupid, stupid; we could - "

"No," Michael cut in, in a voice that brooked no argument. "We don't have time. Can you get my - Cas out of here?"

All three of them paused stock-still at that, and Castiel felt her heart seize up, pained and disbelieving in her chest.

"No!" She struggled to her feet, leaning a little on Dean's supporting arm, but all her attention was on her brother. "Michael, I'm not leaving without you!"

"Cas," Michael said, and the pointed use of the nickname was elaboration enough, reminding her of what went unsaid. Michael was an officer of His Majesty's Royal Navy, and the pirates would be likely only to take him back to port and attempt to use him as a bargaining chip, for he had no money of his own. Pirates captured naval officers only for purposes of ransom. Castiel, though, if the pirates attempted to paw at her -

"Go, Cas," Michael said. "I'll be all right, just - get out of here, will you?"

The pirates were only yards away now, and moving fast. Castiel saw a moment's indecision flit across Dean's fine-featured face, the green eyes narrowing, but only for a moment. Michael could be very authoritative when he wished to be so, and Dean surely knew they couldn't attempt to fight.

"Got it," he said, gripping Castiel by the arm and tugging. "We'll see him safe, Lieutenant."

Dean was strong, and Sam, suddenly there at her other side, was stronger, so that before she knew what was happening, she found herself halfway up over the dune, heading for the forest. She craned her head, hoping to signal to Michael - or something - but the pirates were swarming around him, now, dragging him upright by the bamboo rod at his back, and he was no longer looking at her. Castiel turned away, unable to keep watching.

When they reached the forest, it became clear that there were plenty of other reasons why it wouldn't do to divide her attention. The forest floor was slippery, jungle-like, strewn with ferns and fronds that clutched at her ankles as they ran. The pirates, moreover, were seemingly not content with their lone naval officer - which, really, was unsurprising, as they presumably thought Castiel to be a midshipman, and two officers would always draw a higher ransom prize than one. Dean cursed at the sounds of movement behind them, and pulled at Castiel's arm.

"This way," he breathed, little more than a whisper, tugging her towards a clump of trees. Behind her, Sam was moving already, slipping soundless as a shadow into the darkness Dean indicated, a tiny space amidst a close-grown group of palms.

It was a tight fit, and Castiel's breath seemed very loud in her own ears, hitching with exertion and an edge of tears. Against her back, Sam's chest moved in and out with his own breaths, steady and sure. Castiel fought to quiet her own gasps, to match them to Sam's exhalations behind her, and Dean's soft puffs of air against her cheekbone. Dean had a hand on her shoulder, whether to steady her or himself, she couldn't tell, but the warmth of his palm through her jacket and shirt were a comfort, nevertheless.

The pirates, it seemed, were not the most intelligent of men. They streamed straight past the clump of palm trees, yelling indistinctly and waving their cutlasses, without even a moment's deviation from course. Dean laughed a little against Castiel's face as the last of the band passed them and Castiel smiled up at him, nervous but hopeful. Pressed close like this, Castiel found herself almost exactly eye-level with his mouth, the soft pink curve of it and the white flash of his teeth. It was the sort of mouth whose prettiness one couldn't help noticing, even when one was hiding in the trees from a band of cut-throats, and Castiel paused accordingly to look at it, one hand tentatively coming out to steady herself on Dean's waist.

"Are they gone?" she ventured, careful to keep her voice whisper-pitched. Dean smiled a little, right where she could see it, and then shifted slightly as if to look at Sam over her shoulder.

"We'll give it a minute," he said, "but I think we should be clear. You got your compass there, Sammy?"

Fumbling, then, at her back. Sam's big hands knuckled her spine as he attempted to extricate the compass on its chain from inside his shirt, and Castiel made herself be calm. It wasn't as if he would be able to tell from contact with her back, after all, that she was a girl.

"River should be that way," Sam said after a moment, pointing with a long arm. Dean nodded, and leaned a little closer to peer over Castiel's shoulder in the direction indicated.

"We found our way here along the river," he explained, for Castiel's benefit, "so we'll go back that way. We have a camp back there, but our parents thought it might be a good idea if me and Sam scouted out the island a little, you know - make sure it actually is uninhabited all the way round, see if we could find help - stuff like that." He snorted. "So much for that."

"Your parents?" Castiel fought a little for space enough to look up at Dean properly, at the arches of his eyebrows and the long-lashed green eyes. From this distance, she saw that there were freckles spattered over the bridge of his fine-cut nose, and the part of her that had no sense of decorum found itself suddenly fascinated by this fact. She cleared her throat and made herself look away, at the forest floor, at anything but Dean's quite unfairly beautiful face. She had never seen a face like that on a boy, and something about it made the pit of her stomach flutter.

"We've been here a few months," Sam explained from behind her. "The ship we were on was chased into a storm by pirates." He huffed an indignant breath. "Those pirates, we think. It was wrecked on the rocks. The crew mostly got away, or were drowned, but Mom and Dad and Dean and I - " He shrugged; Castiel felt the rise and fall of his chest moving against her shoulderblades. "We built a place to live, worked out how to catch food, but we're damn lucky Dad's good with his hands, and always taught me and Dean how to be. Otherwise..."

"Ain't no otherwise," Dean cut in, gruffly. "We do what we have to, and we survive. That's the Winchester way, right?" He winked at Castiel. "And that's what's gonna happen here. Come on - I think we can go on down to the river now."

He had a soothing voice, Castiel thought: reassuring. The actual pitch of it, despite the gruff intonations, was rather high, light and boyish. This, combined with the delicacy of his face, made it somewhat difficult to pinpoint his age, since he was so evidently the older of the brothers, but Sam was the taller, and Castiel would not have thought him less than her own age. Dean did not have quite the carriage or bearing of a man close to twenty, but everything in him was strong and certain, making him an obvious leader. When he turned and began to beat a rough path through the undergrowth, both Castiel and Sam followed without question.

It took them an hour's slow going before they relocated the river. There was a beach of sorts at its bank, a shallow sandy place where a pack could be seen, stowed behind a rock. Dean let out a cry when he saw it, and turned to blaze a grin at his followers. "Got it! I thought we might have veered sideways a little, but there's our stuff, Sammy - look." And he pointed in the direction of the pack. Castiel felt immediately and obscurely rather proud of having spotted it before Sam had.

The next moment, though, all vestiges of that warm feeling had fled. She wasn't sure exactly what she had expected, but it certainly had not been for Dean and Sam both to begin undressing, skinning out of their overlarge shirts and fumbling for their belts. She stood quite still, eyes fixed on the narrow dip at the base of Dean's back, and stared in unashamed horror.

It was Sam who noticed her paralysis as he turned to fetch the pack, stuffing his discarded shirt into the top of it. He smiled at her encouragingly. The muscles in his arms stood out under the skin. The overall effect was not terribly calming.

"Just till we get over the other side," Sam explained, when Castiel did not move. "It's not far, and it's a hell of a lot better than having to walk the rest of the way in wet clothes, honestly." He was going for his belt, now, still entirely unsuspecting, and Castiel felt a protest rising in her throat, but remembering Michael, could not quite bring herself to release it.

"I can't swim," she gabbled, stupidly. "I mean, I'll just - "

"You won't have to swim," Dean said, craning over his shoulder. "It's not that deep." His hands went to the waistband of his trousers.

"I can't," Castiel jerked out desperately. "I, um - "

And then Sam's face, abruptly, changed with a dawning understanding. The sick feeling in Castiel's stomach warred with a sense of relief, a gratitude that vanished when he said, "You're not worried about Dean, are you? Any ounce of modesty she ever had's long gone, I promise."

Castiel's brain was still stalled and frozen, uncomprehending, when Dean turned to lob a balled-up shirt in the direction of Sam's head.

"Shut up, jerk," Dean said, casually skinning out of trousers and underwear in one smooth motion. Sam grinned and stowed the shirt in the pack with his own, although he shot a belated exasperated look in Dean's direction afterwards. Dean, an expanse of unblemished naked gold, merely shrugged her shoulders in response and her small, round breasts shifted a little, following the motion.

Castiel could do nothing for the longest time but stare.

"Dude," Sam said, eventually, eyebrows drawing together. "That's my sister. I know I said don't worry, but come on."

Dean, beside him, only laughed a little and indicated the river. "I think Cas is just shy, Sam. Sheltered life, huh?"

"No," Castiel broke in eventually, her voice coming short and a little hoarse. "It's just that - you're - " She opened and closed her mouth for a second, soundlessly. Sam chose to take off his pants in the interim, which didn't exactly bolster her confidence. In the end, she simply closed her eyes and got out, "Dean's a girl?"

The Winchesters burst out laughing in perfect unison. "That, or she's missing something really important," Sam said, hoisting the pack up in his arms with complete unconcern.

Castiel exhaled slow and shaking, and uncrossed her arms from her chest. "No, it's just - well - " She bit her lip. "Well, so am I. Castiel."

Sam immediately looked horror-stricken, and relocated the pack so that it hid his groin.

Dean, beside him, appeared not to notice, but her eyebrows drew together thoughtfully. "Your brother dressed you up so they'd keep you together," she guessed, slowly. There was no surprise in her voice so much as satisfaction, as if she had suspected something of the sort all along, as Sam quite clearly had not.. "And he told you to keep up the lie no matter what happened, case you got raped."

Castiel flushed a little at Dean's blunt phrasing, but nodded, nevertheless. Dean nodded back, slow and pensive, and then shrugged again. "Well, keep your shirt and underwear on, if you're shy, although you can probably see we're not. I'd stick your pants and jacket in the pack, though. Sammy'll carry it over his head when we cross, so's it won't get wet. You'll want to have something dry to put on on the other side - it's a couple days walk back to the camp."

So saying, she turned and waded unhesitatingly into the river. Sam, however, made no move, and Castiel recognised momentarily that he was waiting for her clothes. She had no doubt, as she fumbled out of the jacket and trousers, that her face was the colour of a beet, but Sam was blushing, too, pink and embarrassed across his cheekbones, and for some reason it helped to know that she wasn't the only one flustered.

The river was not cold, as she had half-expected it to be, but it became deep with surprising swiftness. Castiel had not gone six feet before it was up to her armpits, and Dean, a few steps ahead of her, was submerged almost to her shoulders. Castiel remembered that Dean was several inches taller than her, and felt immediately uneasy.

Beside them, though, Sam seemed to be having no such problems. He moved carefully, picking his way through the slippery mud of the river bed, but the pack remained easily safe where he held it over his head, far out of the water's reach. When he reached Dean, the waterline still below his nipples, he paused to stick out his tongue, to which Dean responded with a scathing look and a warning splash of water. Castiel was so engaged in watching them, half-smiling, that she didn't notice the overhanging branch until she had already walked into it, nor the small green lizard until it crouched mere inches from her face.

She hadn't meant to scream. She had seen these lizards before, after all, living in the Caribbean for the greater part of the year, and moreover, she had no wish to have the Winchesters think of her as a coward. Dean, she had no doubt, would never have screamed. But she was uncertain already, and the shock took hold of her before she could stop it, and Dean had turned back towards her before she could apologise.

"It's okay," Dean said, reaching a hand out to take hold of Castiel's shoulder. She squeezed a little, firm, soothing grip, and Castiel did feel better, smiling at Dean as she inched away from the branch.

"Sorry," Castiel said, sheepishly. "I know it won't hurt me, I just - "

"Got a shock," Sam said, materialising suddenly a few feet ahead of them. "It happens." He held out a hand, and Castiel became suddenly aware that the pack had disappeared. A cursory glance revealed it lying a few yards away, firmly on the opposite river bank. They were almost across, then, and there had been no need to swim. Castiel let out a slow breath of relief, and took hold of Sam's hand.

She had just touched fingers to firm ground when a loud yell shattered the air, a muffled shout of surprise followed up immediately by "Sam!"

Sam removed his hand from hers immediately, muttering, "Get out of the water, quick!" Then he was gone - pulling himself up past her, she realised, in a flash of wet skin, and then leaping back into the water, something from the pack glittering in his hand. It wasn't until Castiel had hauled herself up onto the bank that she saw what had happened; saw Dean thrashing in the river, kicking and squirming against some serpentine thing as thick as a man's thigh.

"Get its head!" Dean yelled; then closed her mouth abruptly as the snake ducked her down beneath the surface. Sam hesitated a moment - Castiel judged him to be waiting to be sure of hitting only the snake, and not his sister - and then hacked, and Castiel saw that the object in his hand was a knife. What it made contact with, however, was evidently not the snake's head, for it only kicked out still more wildly, sending Dean spinning up to the surface again, gasping for breath. Sam's arm went around her waist, steadying, and Dean clutched at him a moment before snatching the knife from his hand and lunging forward in a sudden, jerking motion. The snake turned; Dean turned with it; the knife flashed, and Castiel looked away, heart thundering. Then Dean was laughing nervously, and a great splashing signalled their hasty retreat to the bank, the water behind them still churning as the snake shuddered and torqued.

"Incoming!" Dean yelled, and Sam laughed behind her as Castiel dutifully shifted out of the way. Dean threw herself up out of the water in only a couple of seconds, and Castiel sighed a little, remembering her own painstaking ascent. Sam, behind her, was even faster. Castiel told herself that the adrenaline rush must have helped.

"Does that often happen around here?" Castiel asked, weakly. Dean laughed, flopping onto her back and throwing her arms up over her head.

"Rivers are full of the bastards," she said airily. "But we can pretty much handle 'em, huh, Sammy?"

Sam flashed her a smile, but he showed none of his sister's languid nonchalance, pulling the pack towards himself and flipping it open immediately. "Sure can," he agreed, for Castiel's benefit, and then looked pointedly away. "Ladies wear clothes, Deanna."

"Not a lady," Dean retorted, snorting. She stretched, popping the bones of her spine. Her thighs were loose, turned a little outward, showing a shadowed place between, and Castiel hastily tore her eyes from it, taking the hot pulse between her own legs as warning and blushing accordingly.

"Castiel is a lady," Sam pointed out, wriggling damply into his trousers. He pulled out Dean's shirt and tossed it at her, still looking away. "Get dressed."

"You're not the boss of me," Dean threw back, but she sat up anyway, struggling into the shirt and then reaching for her pants. The feeling in Castiel's stomach was relief, Castiel thought, as she tried not to watch Dean's fingers moving on her buttons. The shock of the snake attack had shaken her up, and now she was settling again, that was it. The way the feeling jumped when Dean smiled at her, all bright-eyed and smirking, was quite immaterial.

The scenery along the riverbank was green and unchanging, the movement of the sun in the sky the only evidence that they were travelling any distance at all. Castiel understood now the importance Sam placed upon his compass, for without the guideline of the river, one could all too easily get lost out here. When they came, eventually, to a point of difference, a clearing among the trees, it was almost dark, the sun hanging low in the sky.

"Stop here," Dean announced, abruptly, swinging the pack down. He and Sam had alternated carrying it for the past stretch, but both had been moving more slowly as the evening drew in. Castiel, too, was tired, beyond tired, and she was greatly relieved to be asked to stop.

"Time for sleep," Dean elaborated, and sank down where she stood. "We'll need to get a fire going, but then we should catch a few hours. We'll feel better for it."

"Sleep," Sam quipped, smiling, "that knits up the ravelled sleeve of care. The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath." He sat down, too, and began rummaging for matches. Castiel laughed a little.

"Macbeth," she noted, and Sam laughed, too, grinning up at her.

"Yeah. My favourite one, actually."

"Oh, really?" Castiel sank down beside him, mouth still wide on a smile. "I like Lear best."

"That's a good one," Sam agreed, quickly, as he pulled out the matches. "All the stuff with Edgar, and the Fool - it's really intricate." His eyes were wide with earnestness as he spoke, on her, and not on the matches. For some reason, the raptness of his gaze made Castiel falter a little, glancing about for Dean.

"What's your favourite Shakespeare, Dean?" she asked.

Dean snorted, dumping a pile of sticks to the ground. "Don't have one."

"Don't you read?"

Dean rolled her eyes. "What's the point? If there was anything I needed to know, I'm sure I could rely on him to tell me, whether I wanted him to or not." She jabbed Sam in the shoulder with a twig. "Ain't that right?"

"She reads," Sam said, in a tone of quiet exasperation, when Dean slipped away for more wood. "Just not, you know. That kind of stuff. I want to go to college, do things, but Dean - Dean just likes building stuff." He laughed. "And shooting. She's not like us."

This last remark made Castiel feel strangely indignant, for reasons she could not quite place. She had just opened her mouth to protest when Dean hove back into view, a bundle of twigs in her arms.

"Shooting's important," Dean pointed out brusquely, arranging the twigs in a heap. She looked up at Castiel. "I'll teach you when we get back to camp, if you like?"

"I think I'd like that," Castiel said softly, and Dean's face softened, too, holding Castiel's eyes for a minute as she smiled.

Sam's voice was a little abrupt when he demanded that they move so he could light the fire, but then, it had been a long day. He had every right to be irritated.

They dug out beds for themselves in the sand, shallow dips for shoulders and hipbones, and the resultant tailor-made spaces were unexpectedly comfortable to sleep in. Castiel took a little longer to fall asleep than either of the others, but more out of anxiety for Michael than because of any fears for her own personal safety. She still did not like having had to leave him like that, alone among the pirates, but then, there really would be no sense in their killing him. He was probably most of the way back to the mainland by now, and when he did reach civilisation, she had no doubt that he would return for her. Michael, she assured herself, was not in any danger.

When she woke in the morning, she found that she had slept right through, for the sun was bright in the sky and the air was alive with birdsong. Dean grinned down at her from overhead, nudging at Castiel's waist with one bare toe.

"Up," Dean said, smiling, but firm. "Sam'll get you something to eat, then we'll have to be on our way." She scrubbed a hand idly through her short fair hair, and Castiel reached up unconsciously for her own, smoothing it down against her scalp. It was sticking up at the back where she'd lain on it, which wasn't something it had done when it was long. Dean, noticing the movements of her hand, laughed and shrugged. "Don't worry. Nobody's going to be judging you on your grooming."

Castiel shrugged back, smiling ruefully. "I don't want your mother to think you've picked up some kind of ragamuffin," she pointed out. Dean waved a hand dismissively.

"You look great," she said, and pointed over in the direction of Sam. "Now, go get breakfast."

The going seemed easier than it had the previous afternoon, for all the terrain was much the same, dense ferns and dry trees that got sparser towards the shoreline. Perhaps it was the decent night of sleep that was making things easier to handle, or perhaps Castiel was simply getting used to it, to striding out in her now off-white trousers and joining in with Dean and Sam's idle conversation. By the time they broke off walking at what Sam deigned to be about lunch time, Castiel was unashamedly ravenous. The biscuits and canned things in the pack looked a rather pitiful collection, and Dean, wrinkling her nose, pronounced them insufficient and began digging around for a stick.

"What's she doing?" Castiel asked, eyes following Dean in bemusement.

Sam laughed a little almost resignedly. "Watch, and you'll see."

When Dean had found a stick to her liking - slim and stiff and sharp - she descended to the sea with it, and took up a position on a rock over a fairly shallow place. The first few shallow jabs of stick to seabed left Castiel none the wiser, but on the fourth try, the stick came up with something pinned and wriggling on the end of it - a finned, silver something, and Castiel laughed, catching on. On her rock, Dean turned towards the sound, and held up both thumbs, looking pleased with herself.

"Idiot," Sam remarked, although the tone of his voice was fond. "She's gonna expect me to gut whatever she catches; just you wait."

Dean caught three fish without any great difficulty, and sure enough, she dropped them at Sam's feet on their rock when she returned, but Sam grumbled only peremptorily before taking up his knife. Castiel imagined Sam was as hungry as she was, if not hungrier - he was an awful lot of boy, after all - and fish was definitely better than ship's biscuit, even if you did have to get scales all over your hands first. They cooked the fish over a small fire, pinned on the ends of sticks, and the end result tasted nothing short of wonderful to Castiel, despite Sam's apologies.

"No need to apologise for my fish, dude," Dean said, frowning. "It's pretty good, isn't it?"

And Castiel agreed that it was.

Afterwards, when the fish and biscuits were gone and they had settled back into the swing of things, she was gladder still of the protein-boost and the way it made her step lighter, made the others smile more as they walked. The landscape was changing a little, now, the coastal area broadening and cutting into the jungle now receding on their left side, moving beyond the river. The sand was firm on the ridge along which they walked and the muscles in her legs were grateful for the solid footing, no longer protesting with every step. When, at length, she spotted a plume of smoke curling upward at the horizon, the meaning of it refused at first to penetrate, so entrenched had she become in her mindset of onward movement; in feeling it as ongoing, rather than anticipating its end. It wasn't until Dean leaped up triumphantly, indicating the smoke with a finger, that Castiel registered what it signified: that they were within striking distance of the camp they'd all been walking so long to reach.

"Nearly there!" Sam said, turning to grin at her. "We don't burn a fire all the time, but they've been keeping that one going all the time we've been away, so we'd know what to look for on the way back."

"Pretty impressive, too," Dean observed. "Doesn't normally smoke so much from a cooking fire, so they must have been chucking wet stuff on it to make it burn like that." She laughed. "Good call, there, Dad."

"What does your father do?" Castiel asked, looking up at Dean as they walked. Dean glanced at Sam, smiled, and then turned back to Castiel.

"He was a soldier. We moved around a lot as kids, until he got out of the Army; and then he took up hunting - things - so we just went right on moving. Mom had just decided enough was enough - wanted to get away from all of it - when that ship blew in, and then the storm, and then we were here." She shrugged expansively. "And - well. We certainly got away from it all, huh?"

"Too far," Sam said, frowning. "I mean, it's one thing to kick back for a while, get back to nature and all that, but I was planning on going to college - I want to be a lawyer - and now I don't know if I'll ever even get off this damn island." He kicked at a loose rock and pulled a face. "I know Dean's enjoying herself, but - "

"But you can't wait to ditch me," Dean cut in, although she threw a smile after the comment as if to soften the blow. "Sam, we're not going to be stuck here forever. Hell, Cas's brother'll probably get someone out here soon as they haul him back to port. He's not about to leave his baby sister to rot, is he?"

"I guess," Sam allowed, slow and pensive. Dean leaned over to grasp the nape of his neck and shook it lightly, fingers darting up afterward to tug at his hair.

"See," Dean said. "So we're pretty lucky, actually, that those bastard pirates decided to come back and have another go, all told, aren't we?"

Sam laughed, the frown easing up around his eyes. "We are, maybe. What about Cas?"

"Oh, I don't know," Dean said, grinning. "It's not all bad, is it, Cas?" She turned her shoulders fully as she walked, light catching in her hair, picking out a weave of copper-gold in the brown, and her eyes burned steady and green on Castiel's. She was rough-edged and dirty and so beautiful that, for a second, Castiel couldn't remember ever having wanted anything from a neat world where Dean could not be Dean, would have to be Deanna instead, all that fire stifled in a dress and a marriage. Dean belonged here, by the sand and the sea, a knife in her hand and her hair clipped short. Dean belonged here, and Castiel felt suddenly that she would like to belong, too.

"It's not all bad," she said, letting the smile grow wide upon her face, underlining her understatement. "It's more adventure than I'd ever have got at home, isn't it?"

Dean slapped her thigh and laughed; then leaned over to press a kiss to the ridge of Castiel's collarbone, amused and pleased. "Attagirl," she said. "See, Sammy, this one's got spirit!"

They soon fell into good-natured bickering, Dean shoving her brother sideways into the bushes, Sam twisting back to push Dean back in the opposite direction, the two of them sniping through laughter. Castiel, behind them, smiled at the sight of them, but she wasn't really listening. The imprint of Dean's kiss throbbed on her cheek like a burn.

The remainder of the journey to camp seemed to go by in a daze, the distance diminishing until the last of it fell away to reveal their destination before them, tucked away in a hollow within the shelter of a cliff. The smoke, Castiel now saw, was belching up from a great pile of branches and forest debris that sat burning vigorously some hundred yards away from what was quite clearly a house, a neat hut of lashed canes raised up between trees. Away from the house, down towards the beach, there lay a number of deep ditches, evidently man-made rather than natural, and something that looked like a carpet of ferns. The first time Castiel's eyes took in the hut, its doors and windows were empty, neat dark holes in its neat pale face. When she looked back to it, there was a man standing in front of it, and a woman, tall and blonde, emerged beside him even as she stared. Dean and Sam grinned at each other, waving as they picked up pace.

"Who've you brought with you?" the woman called out, in a strong voice that carried. Dean smiled at Castiel, catching hold of her hand. Her fingers were warm, and Castiel did not resist.

"We liberated a hostage!" Dean yelled, as they ran toward the house. "Those freaking pirates had her, Mom, but we got her out. Ain't that right, Castiel?"

Castiel tore her eyes from Dean's long enough to smile at Mrs Winchester, noting Dean's mouth and cheekbones in the fine-cut face as she took the outstretched arm. "Yes," she confirmed, letting herself be lifted between Dean and her mother, Dean hoisting from behind, Mrs Winchester pulling from the raised platform of the hut. "Yes, they were wonderful, Mrs Winchester. You should be very proud."

Sam was close behind them, now, and Mrs Winchester reached out to stroke his hair, reassuring herself of his return, but her eyes were still on Castiel, warm and a little knowing. "I am," she said; glanced at Dean sidelong and quirked her mouth a little. "I'm very proud. It's good to have you with us, Castiel."

The inside of the hut was warm, unexpectedly homey, and Castiel sank gratefully onto the proffered pile of reeds and grasses that served as a surprisingly comfortable palliasse. Mr Winchester, although gruffer and less immediately inviting than his pretty, clear-voiced wife, seemed to thaw after a half an hour or so, as if one needed only to win his trust before his instinctive barriers were lowered. Castiel wasn't sure what exactly she had done to this end, but she answered what questions were put to her, and Mr Winchester nodded and frowned, and made notes on a scrap of foolscap. This, apparently, was sufficient to convince him that she was more help than hindrance, and his expression and demeanour softened accordingly.

"Mary and I had thought the pirates might come back," he told her, pensively. "That's what those ditches are for, outside - like empty moats, you know? Not deep enough to trap anyone forever, unfortunately, but it should slow up any attack from sea. And it would have to come from sea."

"But why would they attack?" Sam put in, curious. He was sprawled on his back on the floor, his head pillowed in his mother's lap. Castiel, who couldn't remember really having known her mother, thought he looked enviably comfortable there.

"Well - for the remains of the ship," said Mr Winchester - John, Castiel reminded herself, he had asked her to call him. "I mean, we assumed that's what they wanted in the first place, and they didn't get it, because of the storm. We ran aground, they disappeared, and anything that they'd wanted from the ship was still right there. Not that there was ever anything of much value in it, but they obviously didn't know that." He shrugged. "Anyway, as long as it sits there, they'll be able to find it just by sailing around the island."

"And then they'll know where we are, of course," Mary pointed out.

Dean, leaning casually against Castiel's shoulder on her pile of reeds, drew her lips together pensively. "And now there's Cas. They might come looking for her before any naval ships do, and they've got to have guessed where Sam and I came from. If they spot that ship..."

"We've got to get rid of it," John said, nodding. "We thought that already, but it's still more imperative now. We salvaged enough gunpowder from the ship to blow her up, so that's not a problem. Of course, if we do that, it'll make one hell of a racket and there's no guarantee they won't hear it, but..." He shrugged. "We'll just have to chance it, and hope at least they won't be able to source the noise. But - "

" - we have to be prepared before we do that, just in case," Dean finished for him, eyebrows drawn together. John nodded.

"We have the moats. Your mother and I mocked up some grenades, of a kind, with the remains of the gunpowder and a load of hollowed-out coconuts - "

" - my idea," Mary put in, smiling -

" - and that pit under the pile of ferns out front," John went on, "has a tiger in it."

Castiel's eyes went wide, and she started where she sat. Across the room, Sam, too, looked rather alarmed. "A tiger?" Castiel queried, hesitantly.

"We lured it in," Mary explained. "Anyone trying to get to us has a fair chance of falling headlong into that hole, and if they do - well - " She shrugged. "They'd be kept occupied for a while, that's for damn sure."

"Damn right," Dean agreed, grinning. Her hand found Castiel's almost nonchalantly, exerting a gentle pressure, warm and reassuring. "And what else?"

"And the rifles," John finished. "We have four. Four of us. We can hold 'em off that way as long as we can, if we need to, and hope for rescue. If anything, Castiel being here makes that ultimately a certainty, rather than a wild hope, so we'll just sit tight. Everyone here know how to shoot?"

"I don't," Castiel said quickly, looking dubiously at Dean.

"Sam can teach you in the morning," Mary suggested, twisting her fingers in her son's hair.

"No - I'll do it," Dean said, voice clipped and sure. "I already promised Cas I would. Okay?"

"Okay," said Mary, after a moment, and the smile was back, soft edge of knowing making her blue eyes warmer. "Dean can teach you in the morning, then, Castiel."

The palliasse of leaves proved as comfortable to sleep on as the sand had done on the previous night, but when Castiel woke up to find herself tucked under Dean's outflung arm, she could not help but feel that the hut had an unfair advantage. She felt oddly safe, nestled in the curve of Dean's body, the soft give of Dean's breasts pushing warm against her shoulderblade, shifting slightly with Dean's every breath. Castiel felt content all over with it, as if she were floating within the sure confines of a bathtub, the water fine, all boundaries known. Except that - there was something else, some tightening flutter in the pit of Castiel's stomach that was very much unknown, that seemed to grow a little when Dean wriggled closer, breathing out soft on Castiel's neck in her sleep. Castiel held her breath, feeling her body begin to embrace the strangeness.

Then, out of nowhere, came Sam's voice, saying, "Up, guys," as he shook Castiel's shoulder with gentle fingers. Castiel tensed up guiltily, and Dean was shifting almost immediately, rubbing at her eyes with a groan of complaint.

"We're up," Dean grumbled, "Jesus, Sammy. Leave it."

The strange something dwindled away over breakfast, while Mary ran through their plans again and John turned newly-caught fish over a small fire. It was a disappointment, almost, to lose it - as if its presence had somehow carved out new holes in Castiel, which, now emptied, felt hollow and wrong; but there was a lot to take in, and her determination to remember it all took up much of her attention. The strangeness could wait.

Castiel succeeded in maintaining this attitude for perhaps an hour, while the briefing was given and the tasks properly designated. But then the family began to disperse - Sam to the ship with his father, to check on the explosives and assemble some more grenades; Mary to ensure that all the pits were properly in place - and the strangeness seemed to grow again with every departing person. When, eventually, Castiel stood alone in the clearing with Dean, the sensation filled her entirely, a curious spike of heat that prickled through her from her thighs to her throat. Dean's eyes were very green in full sunlight, and the hairs on her arms looked gold as coins.

"Okay," Dean said, and held out the butt of her rifle, a clear invitation for Castiel to take it. Castiel's fingers, when she did so, were trembling, and Dean laughed softly, shifting around behind her.

"Can't have shaky fingers," she said, moulding herself to Castiel's back, one hand curving around her body to steady the barrel of the gun. She was warm, a length of living heat, and Castiel felt herself quivering with it, her breaths coming short in her throat. Behind her, Dean pressed closer, her hand curving over Castiel's.

"Here," Dean went on, and her voice, too, was gratifyingly thready. She hoisted the gun, pulling Castiel along with her, and took aim at the designated point, a white target knifed into a tree. "Now, squeeze. Slowly."

Castiel's head spun with Dean's proximity. It was ridiculous, illogical, to be melting this way into the furnace of another girl's presence, and Castiel knew it. It made no sense. And yet, it was, and Castiel's blood pounded in her throat, between her legs, tongue aching in her mouth for something it did not yet know. Dean breathed warm on her throat, and Castiel tightened her finger on the trigger; tightened her thighs.

The gun went off, bang! shattering the still air, and Castiel leaped a little, although she had pulled the trigger herself. The bullet, by some miracle, had notched right through the heart of the target. Dean laughed, delighted, and Castiel joined in almost unintentionally, her eyes going up to find Dean's.

"Look at that," Dean said, soft and shaking, and her mouth brushed Castiel's cheekbone, warm and dry. "You're good, Castiel."

"Yes," Castiel said, tightening her hand over Dean's. "I don't know if I can rightly take all of the credit."

For a long moment, they did no more than look of each other. And then Dean was moving, the moment splintering apart under the weight of her certainty, taking the gun from Castiel, laying it carefully aside. The next instant, her arms were around Castiel, pressing them flush together, and Castiel had opened her mouth before she fully knew the reason why, the warm pressure of Dean's lips only the next logical step.

It was gentle, at first, unthreatening, Dean's lips parting and closing again only slightly as she mouthed at Castiel's. The slow drag of skin on skin seemed to set a-tingle every nerve in Castiel's body, and she whimpered, unthinking, mouth opening to Dean's on a gasp.

After that, it was as if some unspoken signal had been flipped. Dean's lips parted under Castiel's, hands fluttering up to cradle Castiel's jaw, thumbs smoothing over her cheekbones. She swallowed Castiel's whimper, making her own soft sound in response, and Castiel felt her belly dip hotly, at once uncomprehending and sure. She shifted, tilted her face, and then there was the wet inside of Dean's mouth, the slide of her tongue touching the swell of Castiel's lip. It was strange and good and Castiel trembled with it.

She expected, for some reason, that Dean would speak - would pull back, take account, and separate them carefully. Dean, though, did not such thing. Her hands were restless, now, on Castiel's face, slipping around to cup the nape of her neck, carding into her hair. Their shifting pressure was a hot touch, sparking under Castiel's skin, arcing into her groin with the pounding of her heart, and when Dean's tongue breached her mouth, Castiel allowed it, stroking at its underside, chasing its wetness. Dean's fingers clenched in reaction, breath coming harshly through her nose. Her tongue pressed down against Castiel's, drawing it out of her mouth so she could close her lips and suck on it, filthy and glorious until Castiel felt herself slicking, the strange pleasure drawing out a groan from her throat.

"Dean," she murmured into the space between their mouths; "Dean." And Dean only caught her mouth again, pressed at it hard and then let her jaw go wide, their tongues making slow, wet sounds between their lips. It was obscene, Castiel thought, but it set her skin aflame, and if it hadn't been for the explosion, they might never have broken apart.

As it was, the whipcrack-shatter sound put something of a damper on things.

They broke apart in a second, mouths wet, eyes wide and staring. "What - " Castiel managed, over Dean's "What the hell?"

They hadn't long to wait. A crashing in the undergrowth soon announced Sam's approach, panting and holding a rifle. "You done?" he got out, voice wheezing with effort.

Dean narrowed her eyes and set her hands on her hips. "Well," she said dryly, "it sounds like we'll have to be. I thought we were gonna blow up the ship when everyone was good and ready?"

Sam shrugged his shoulders and pulled a face. "It seems the pirates were ready now. There was a ship on the horizon when we got down to the cove. Dad decided we'd better just torch the wreckage and be done with it, since they'd pretty obviously spotted it anyway. Might as well stop them getting anything out of it."

"But they'll know where we are!" Castiel pointed out, confused, her eyes going to Dean in search of explanation.

From the set look on Dean's face, there was no explanation to be had. "They already did," Dean said, slowly, and looked back at Sam, firm and level. "So now..."

"Now we fight," Sam said, simply. "There's nothing else we can do."

In the centre of the area the Winchesters had cleared for use, on the highest point of the cliff above the tree-house, John and Mary had established what they termed a 'battle station'. By the time Dean and Castiel reached it, hot on Sam's heels, the vast swathes of shore and sea that could be viewed from this vantage point were no longer silent and empty. The bulk of the wrecked ship, sure enough, had disappeared, but another had drawn up almost in its place, pulled right up onto the sands. Even as Castiel watched, small figures were descending from it, tumbling down onto the beach. The enemy had arrived.

John's face, when he turned towards them, was set. He was standing behind what appeared, at first glance, to be a large pile of rocks; when Castiel leaned closer, however, she saw that they were coconuts, each with a small piece of cord protruding from the end. The realisation that these must be the makeshift grenades Mary had improvised made a shiver dart through her spine. All that gunpowder in one place was hardly comforting. When John stooped to pick up one of the coconuts, Castiel felt still less reassured.

Mary, though, was arming herself, too, and her smile was encouraging when Castiel met her eyes. "They won't explode," Mary assured her, "until they break open against something. You have to throw them hard, all right?" She nodded towards the invaders, now swarming up over the beach like so many ants. "Not yet, though. Wait till they get in range."

"They've got to deal with our dry irrigation first," John concurred, picking up a second grenade and holding it out for someone to take. Dean took it out of his hand obediently, and then looked pointedly at Castiel. Castiel sighed.

"All right," she said, small but resolutely, and picked up her own coconut from the heap.

"You'll do great," Dean said, grinning at her, just for her. "Really."

They were only words, platitudes, Castiel knew. But even so, they warmed her just a tiny little bit.

The five of them watched the pirates' forward motion together, rifles at the ready, grenades waiting in their hands. Seeing things like this, from a bird's eye view, it was immediately obvious why Mary and John had devoted so much time to making their ditches. They did a very effective job of slowing the invaders' approach, forcing them to make lengthy diversions once they discovered, through a process of trial and error, that the ditches were just sufficiently too wide to jump. The fern-covered tiger pit proved still more effective, swallowing up three men who were simply running too quickly to pay any attention to the ground beneath their feet. Two of them scrambled out of the hole again, yelling and clawing at the ground. Castiel swallowed, and tried not to think about the third man.

The ditches were a useful diversion, but evasion tactics could only succeed for so long, and the invaders swarmed past the final impediment far too quickly for Castiel's liking. Soon, they were snaking up towards the cliff, and Sam's fingers tightened on his grenade. "Almost," he breathed; glanced past Castiel to catch Dean's eye, as if for confirmation. Dean gave it to him with a nod.

"Almost," she said, winding her arm back in anticipation, as if to pitch a ball on a Sunday afternoon.

Then, "Now!" John rapped out, and the tone of his voice was too clipped to allow for any hesitation. As one man, the five of them drew back their arms and threw.

The alarm occasioned among the pirates by the succession of small explosions made it abundantly clear that they had not expected to be attacked. Evidently, Castiel thought, they didn't know the Winchesters. The second salvo of grenades had been hurled before the pirates had even recovered from the first, stragglers slip-sliding backward, clutching at arms and shoulders and faces; and, having once got into the swing of it, Castiel found it surprisingly easy simply to reach for another grenade, and another, and let them fly.

The grenades, though, like the ditches, were finite, and the pirates were still coming. There were fewer of them, certainly, with many of the band broken off and disheartened, but still they bubbled forth like blood from a wound. John shook his head, face twisted unhappily as he flung another grenade, one disturbingly close to the bottom of the pile.

"They must think we've taken valuables from the ship and stocked them up here," he said, frowning. "Either that, or they want you, Castiel. I don't know if it's likely that they would, but..." He shrugged. "We can't take that chance."

"No, sir," Dean put in, quickly. "Rifles?"

"Rifles," Mary agreed, firmly. "Try and pick off the leaders - it's all we can do. But we're outnumbered, ludicrously. We can't hold out long. Sam - " she took hold of Sam's shoulder - "can you run down to the beach and try and put a signal out, flag someone down? I know we've tried before, but I'm hoping maybe someone's heard all the noise, maybe - "

"I'm on it," Sam interrupted, slinging his rifle over his shoulder. "I can go down the side path, they won't spot me. A flag, maybe, and a fire?"

"Big as you can," John said, gruffly, smacking his son smartly on the shoulder as he passed. Sam nodded, turned to smile at them weakly, and then he was gone, and they were four. And the pirates kept coming.

At first, they aimed for shoulders and kneecaps, shooting to disable, and not to kill. Castiel, entirely uncertain of her own skill in precision-placing the bullets, succeeded mostly in causing alarm by kicking up dirt with her shots, but this seemed to be effective in its own way. Then, out of nowhere, an arm surged up over the edge of the cliff just below Castiel, a hand fumbled for her ankle, and at her shout of alarm, Dean didn't hesitate.

"No, you damn well don't," Dean gritted out, and her next shot went straight through the man's forehead even as the pirate's knife flashed in the air. He was dead before he hit the ground, but the next man was crawling up past him before Castiel had time to be shocked. There would be an opportunity for that later: for now, there was only a swarm of men with knives and swords and some malicious intent, and it was not the time for squeamishness.

The next man, Mary caught in the shoulder; the one after, John shot through the throat. Neither hit was much beyond a flesh wound, but the swarm did seem to tail off at this point, and Castiel wondered whether perhaps the dead man's body had rolled into sight and made the pirates more aware of the severity of the situation. Still, though, they were coming, and Castiel's hands shook as she braced herself against the kick of the gun long enough to hit a particularly aggressive-looking man in the upper arm. They were all of them tired, and moreover, they were running out of bullets. Nobody wanted to say it, but they couldn't hold out much longer.

That was when the cannon sounded.

Castiel's first reaction to it, frankly, was despair. If the pirates had cannon on their ship - if they had managed to turn the ship such that they could fire on land that way - then they were all doomed, and might as well give up now. But then she heard John's cry, and, following the direction of his pointing finger, saw that the pirates' ship had not moved - was still beached, in fact, although its crew was now running back towards it as one horde. Beyond it, though - out on the waves, but approaching swiftly - was another ship. A naval ship, whose cannon smoked and whose sails shone white in the sun. Michael.

"They're frightened," Dean said, disbelieving. "They're running away. And - "

"We're being rescued," Mary cut in, cupping one hand over her eyes to shield them from the sun as she peered oceanwards.

"Your brother must have gotten back to his ship, Castiel," John said. "That's a Navy vessel."

After that, it was only a question of time. The pirates had all tumbled into their ship and pushed off before the naval vessel really got close enough to score any more than superficial hits, but that left the island empty, and the pirates were leaving fast. By the time the naval ship drew close to shore, all four Winchesters and Castiel were awaiting it on the beach, and the pit of Castiel's stomach felt hollow with incredulous relief.

"It's okay," Dean said, as if she knew, and slipped her hand into Castiel's, the firm warm grip of it anchoring, supportive. "It's gonna be okay, now, Cas. You'll see."

The next few hours seemed to pass on some strange automatic plane, every happy development, every wide smile registering less than Castiel knew it should. It did feel good to be swept up in Michael's arms, to hug him and smack him when he ruffled her hair and announced himself her hero. It felt good to see Sam's relief and joy at the knowledge that, one day soon, he would be able to escape this island and return to civilisation, particularly when Michael mentioned his Oxford connections. These things felt good, but they didn't feel great, and that was wrong. There was something niggling at the back of Castiel's mind like a loose tooth, keeping her from embracing the chance to put this misadventure behind her, never to be thought of again, and she could not help but know that the something was Dean.

There was room for the Seraphim to moor safely in the bay, and as the island did not appear to belong to anybody, there was nothing to prevent her from doing so for the night while decisions were made. Castiel, though, couldn't seem to shake off her cloud of uneasiness, not even with Sam talking so excitedly to Michael about the possibility of sailing away with him, about universities and lawyering and whether Castiel was old enough yet to be left in England on her own while Michael was at sea. She was so glumly focused on just how discouraged she was by their conversation that she barely noticed Dean sitting down beside her - not, at least, until Dean's shoulder was pressed to hers, solid and warm.

"Hey," Dean said, softly, and nudged a little. "Are you okay?"

Castiel shrugged disconsolately. Her knees were drawn up to her chin, and consequently made a rather appealing platform upon which to rest her head. "Sam seems happy about the idea of going to England," she observed, flatly. Dean shrugged.

"He's happy about going to university. We never went to England, so I - " She broke off for a moment. "I think he's only happy about that in particular because he thinks you'll be there." There was something unplaceable in her voice, something tight and strange, and it made Castiel's stomach swoop in a way she could not quite interpret. Castiel turned her head more fully, seeking Dean's eyes, but Dean was looking down, at the sand, away from her. Castiel reached out, tentatively, to brush her fingers against the back of Dean's hand.

"Well," she began, carefully, "would you be? I mean," she clarified hurriedly, "would you like England if I was there?"

Dean lifted her head then, but her green eyes were unreadable in the semi-darkness, glittering. "Do you want to go back there?"

"I want to go with you." The moment the words were out, Castiel wanted to claw them back - she had never meant to say them; had not even realised the thought before the sentence had formulated itself without her consent. But she had said them, now, and at the sound of them, sharp and real in the air, she could not deny that they were true. She could deny them, but she could not see her way to doing it convincingly, and what did it matter, anyway? It was the truth, even if nothing could be done about it. If Dean thought she was stupid for it, well, they would probably never see each other again, and Castiel would just have to get over it. Get over Dean.

Who was a girl, and therefore not somebody Castiel could be with in the first place. Oh, hell. It was all horribly confusing, this screaming mass of it rising up in Castiel's head as the blush rose up in her cheeks, right up to the moment when Dean said, stammered, "Oh, God, Cas. I want you to stay with me."

The rest of it came out, then, in fits and starts, Dean tripping over her own tongue and Castiel too infused with feeling to care. Mr and Mrs Winchester had not been heading anywhere in particular when they set out, other than Away, and the fact of the matter was that, now that help had come, they found that they didn't want to be rescued. Now that the Navy knew where this island was, it would be charted, protected. They would be safe here, and although they supported Sam's desire to go back to civilisation with Michael, they wanted to stay. And Dean - 'civilisation' did not support Dean. Dean was a bundle of idiosyncracies that no Western woman should be. Dean was gun-oil and whipcord and iron strength; Dean was that mouth and those eyes and the clever quirked smile. Dean, Castiel realised, as she watched her form words, was the only person she had ever really wanted to be with, and that was her decision to make. That was her decision.

"I'll stay," she said, abruptly. Dean was in the middle of a sentence at the time, but that wasn't important now. Michael would argue, almost certainly, but Michael had never really much minded what Castiel did, as long as he knew she was happy and safe. He had trusted the Winchesters on sight, Castiel knew him well enough to be sure of that, and he would be back here. He would be back here, and other ships would pass, if she and Dean ever wanted to leave. But right now, more than anything, Castiel wanted to stay. "With you," she said, letting the smile spread, finally, across her face; watching it echoed in Dean's stunned face and wide eyes edging into joy.

"Dean," Castiel said, and reached out her hands, pulling Dean against her by the nape of her neck. "Dean, kiss me."

"Why?" Dean got out, surprised into laughter, but she was moving, anyway, mouthing at Castiel's lips already as if she couldn't help herself. Her hands slid easily to the base of Castiel's spine, slipped up under her shirt to palm warm skin, and the touch spread a flush through Castiel like a brushfire. She laughed, too, against Dean's mouth; pushed her hands up into Dean's hair and tugged.

"Because," she said, firmly, "that's how adventures end."

Dean's face looked strange up close like this, just bits and pieces instead of a smooth whole, but the quirk of her smile was still recognisable, still tripped a heat down Castiel's neck and left it pounding in her chest. "Stupid," Dean said, chewing at her lip, and then tipped her head forward a little to nose at Castiel's face; pressed a line of whisper-soft touches along her upper lip. "I don't intend to let this adventure end, Cas. Where's the fun in that?"

Castiel's mouth was open on a laugh when Dean kissed her, clumsy and inelegant and hard, and it was perfect. It was a beginning.