[Fic] Sin with a Grin - Interlude I: Battle Scars
Title: Sin with a Grin - Interlude: Battle Scars
Author: Stolen Childe
Disclaimer: They boys don’t belong to me.
Rating: 14A (This Part)
Genre: Romance, Crime Drama, Human AU
Warnings: All Human AU, FBI!fic, teacher!fic, slash, established relationship, m/m sexual content, mature situations/themes, possible graphic violence, talk of war and associated violence which may affect sensitive readers.
Pairings: Dean/Castiel
Characters: Dean and Castiel
Timeline/Spoilers: None! As long as you know the characters up until 6.22 you’re good
Word Count: 1800 (80K Total)
Summary: Dean and Castiel share a moment together early in their relationship. Dean learns more of Castiel’s strength and resilience.
Author’s Notes: Small interlude from Sin with a Grin. This may not make sense if read alone. Please see Master Post for Notes, Cover Art and Further Information
Special thanks to dapperscript for the wonderful beta!
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Sin with a Grin - Interlude: Battle Scars
It wasn’t their first time, no, their first time was a desperate fumble in Castiel’s hotel room the night they met in Palo Alto, and it had been great, and wonderful, and comfortable the next morning. But then, then it had been just sex. Now, it was more, now Dean - after getting to know Castiel properly over the last several weeks - was taking his time. They lay on Dean’s bed, in Dean’s tiny apartment, the light from the streetlamps casting enough of a glow to see by, but not enough be blinding or startling. More than enough to see the hard lines of Castiel’s body. Skin taunt over sinewy muscle but not smooth, no, not smooth at all.
“And this one?” Dean trailed his fingers along a puckered, round scar low on Castiel’s chest.
“One of my earlier assignments with the FBI. I was working with a hothead then; he had been in the bureau longer than I had, but I had been in combat longer than he. There were three suspects holed up in the bank. They had ten hostages. The negotiator apparently wasn’t making progress, and the leader didn’t think that his demands were being met fast enough. He threatened to start killing the hostages. My asshole partner believed the bluff, even if I told him it was just that, and charged in the door. I thank whoever was watching out for those people that day that the thieves decided to keep most of the hostages in the bank vault, as opposed to on the floor. They only had two on the floor with them. Needless to say, I knew the minute my partner was spotted that the gunman would start firing. I charged in behind my partner and I had foolishly Velcroed my vest wrong in my haste, and it rode up just as I dove in front of the hostage. The bullet hit, collapsed my lung, and SWAT charged in after that. Woke up on a ventilator in the hospital.”
“Jesus,” Dean muttered. “Here?” He traced a faint, straight scar.
Castiel smiled, “Toppled four stories after chasing down a suspect, snapped my leg clear in two and had to have temporary pins to help it heal straight.”
“This one?” Dean’s fingers danced around the roughly oval shaped scar on Castiel’s upper arm.
“Oh, that was a battle graze. My unit had cornered a small group of insurgents, I dodged when I should have ducked. It wasn’t bad.”
“You’re awfully flippant about being shot,” Dean remarked dryly.
“It gets old after a while,” Castiel replied with a shrug.
Dean spent the next several minutes grazing, ghosting, and kissing over each scar he found on Castiel’s body, then his fingers skimmed along Castiel’s back and the smaller man tensed below him.
“I noticed these before,” Dean murmured gently.
Castiel nodded stiffly.
“Can I…?” Dean asked.
Castiel sucked a sharp breath through his nose and nodded. “Yes, I guess.” It took him a few seconds after that, though, before the blue-eyed man finally turned around, pillowing his chin in his crossed arms and leaving his back bared for Dean to see.
Dean sucked in a sharp breath when he saw the straight, white lines, jutting diagonally out from Castiel’s spine up to the curve of both his shoulders… A macabre representation of wings, the lines crisscrossed near Castiel’s mid-back.
“Cas…” Dean trailed-off. He didn’t know what to say, not really.
“Afghanistan,” Castiel said quietly, his voice mumbled as he spoke into his crossed arms, turning his gaze to stare intently at the white of Dean’s bed sheets. “Near the end of my first tour overseas. You know I went in as a translator, right? That was my main function. I was combat trained, of course, I had to be. They wouldn’t let me over otherwise. I had joined the military, though, as a translator. I did my undergrad in Middle Eastern Studies. I’d been fascinated by the culture since I was a child.”
Castiel laughed a little bitterly, “I always wanted to go to the Middle East, but I figured I would as a tourist, not as a soldier. I thought I’d be of help, though. I knew the customs, the language, the history. I thought maybe I could help the innocent people there just as much as I’d be helping our own… Naiveté of youth, I suppose. Maybe I did do some good… I like to think that, because it helps me cope with all the bad that I saw… Regardless, they soon realized that I could offer more than just translation.”
“I’ve always had a head for strategy and could detect patterns that others could not. They used to joke that I had a sixth sense… Well, it began going to my head, and I made a bad judgment call and it cost me. I fell for a trap and they captured me.”
Here, Dean’s fingers tensed against the skin of Castiel’s back and he drew in another sharp breath.
“I was held for three days, in a dark room, with a hood over my head, stripped to my pants, and my ankles and wrists bound together. They spoke to me in English, asking me questions, probing for what I knew.
“They must have been watching my unit, because they knew what it was I did. I wouldn’t say, though, I couldn’t. Too many lives were at risk if I told them all I knew, and not just American and allied lives. When asking didn’t work, they tried to torture it out of me. There are a few burn scars under the whip scars, mostly obscured. They used a blow torch first, then brought out the whip, salted - God, it was so hard to keep quiet.
“They never spoke near me about anything other than what they wanted to know. I suppose they knew I spoke their language, or they just couldn’t be bothered. Three days. I was lucky by comparison.”
“Lucky?” Dean asked, small and meek.
Castiel finally turned from his analysis of the bedclothes and met Dean’s green eyes. “Three days, that’s all. Some were held for weeks, months, or years before they were released or found. If they were released or found. I lived. My unit rescued me. They found me and got me out. Not many others could say the same, Dean.”
“How did they find you?” Dean asked.
Castiel smiled, but it wasn’t really a happy smile. “Luck. Pure and simple. Remember that Vet we ran into at the coffee shop last week? You know how he called me Feathers?”
“Yeah…” Dean frowned. “I still don’t get that.”
“There’s a story behind the nickname. Anna would send me strange little packages now and again. Bits and pieces of things she found or came across. Things she thought I’d be amused by. Well, I was somewhat obsessed with birds when I was around thirteen. Anna was only eight, but she remembered. I have no idea where she was, must have been some craft store or something, but she found these brilliant jewel-blue feathers. They didn’t belong to any bird I’d ever come across. I’m pretty sure they were just dyed goose feathers, though I was never able to take them home and analyse them properly. Anyway, the guys teased me endlessly for it, but I loved those damn things and kept them in my pocket with me at all times. That’s how I got my nickname, and that’s also what saved me.”
“Saved you?” Dean asked, looking even more puzzled as the story progressed.
“Yes, they were going to kill me. They didn’t say much beyond asking me questions, like I already told you, but one thing they did tell me just before I was rescued was that they were going to kill me the following day if I didn’t tell them what they wanted to hear.
“I have suspected for a long time that capturing me was a whim and not really planned out like most. There was never a ransom video and there were only a few men. Also, they didn’t take me far from where I was captured originally.
“As they were dragging me into this… I suppose it was a storeroom of sorts. It was mostly underground with a tiny outbuilding that led down into it. I was struggling and fighting with everything I could. Well, my efforts caused my feathers to tumble out, and by some fortuitous twist of fate, they were lodged next to the building. Half buried in the sand but stuck in what I suppose must have been a crack or something… Anyway, my unit was patrolling the area looking for clues, and one of the younger guys, we called him Sparky (he had this damn zippo he played with constantly), he saw the flash of blue and called over my Commander.
“I don’t remember much of the rescue. I hadn’t had water or food for the last three days and was in a lot of pain, but I know there was a lot of gunfire and shouting, and then I woke up in a field hospital on my stomach, strapped to the cot. I was told I fought quite hard against the doctors; I didn’t realize they were trying to help me. I just remember thinking the insurgents said they were going to kill me that day, and I couldn’t let that happen. Sparky was the one who told me about it afterwards. He said he tried to get my feathers back, but they were destroyed or lost in the battle.”
“Jesus,” Dean whispered again. His green eyes flickered up to the metallic glint on Castiel’s chest and suddenly it made sense.
“They gave that to you?” Dean asked.
Castiel reached up and touched the white gold feather charm on the end of his necklace and he nodded with a smile. “Yes, when I retired. The boys bought it for me.”
“It’s strange, I’ve only ever been that close to Sam, you know? I can’t really imagine having so many people I trust so implicitly.”
“You have me,” Castiel said lightly. “I suppose it was easier for me than it would have been for you. I’ve only really been close to two of my brothers, and Jimmy and I drifted apart, and Balthazar has only really been around for the last few years. I hadn’t been close to any of my brothers when I left and forged what ties I could. They were all good people. I owe them a lot.”
“You’re good people,” Dean said insistently, dropping a playful kiss on Castiel’s lips.
“You’re a sap,” Castiel teased. “Now I believe you were lavishing me with attention and I would really like to get to the good part sometime tonight.”
Dean grinned, “As you wish.” With no further warning, Dean dipped down and took Castiel in his mouth.
A loud, surprised groan filled the room.
End Interlude I
Arc I - Chapter Eight | Master Post | Arc II - Chapter Nine
Author: Stolen Childe
Disclaimer: They boys don’t belong to me.
Rating: 14A (This Part)
Genre: Romance, Crime Drama, Human AU
Warnings: All Human AU, FBI!fic, teacher!fic, slash, established relationship, m/m sexual content, mature situations/themes, possible graphic violence, talk of war and associated violence which may affect sensitive readers.
Pairings: Dean/Castiel
Characters: Dean and Castiel
Timeline/Spoilers: None! As long as you know the characters up until 6.22 you’re good
Word Count: 1800 (80K Total)
Summary: Dean and Castiel share a moment together early in their relationship. Dean learns more of Castiel’s strength and resilience.
Author’s Notes: Small interlude from Sin with a Grin. This may not make sense if read alone. Please see Master Post for Notes, Cover Art and Further Information
Special thanks to dapperscript for the wonderful beta!
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Sin with a Grin - Interlude: Battle Scars
It wasn’t their first time, no, their first time was a desperate fumble in Castiel’s hotel room the night they met in Palo Alto, and it had been great, and wonderful, and comfortable the next morning. But then, then it had been just sex. Now, it was more, now Dean - after getting to know Castiel properly over the last several weeks - was taking his time. They lay on Dean’s bed, in Dean’s tiny apartment, the light from the streetlamps casting enough of a glow to see by, but not enough be blinding or startling. More than enough to see the hard lines of Castiel’s body. Skin taunt over sinewy muscle but not smooth, no, not smooth at all.
“And this one?” Dean trailed his fingers along a puckered, round scar low on Castiel’s chest.
“One of my earlier assignments with the FBI. I was working with a hothead then; he had been in the bureau longer than I had, but I had been in combat longer than he. There were three suspects holed up in the bank. They had ten hostages. The negotiator apparently wasn’t making progress, and the leader didn’t think that his demands were being met fast enough. He threatened to start killing the hostages. My asshole partner believed the bluff, even if I told him it was just that, and charged in the door. I thank whoever was watching out for those people that day that the thieves decided to keep most of the hostages in the bank vault, as opposed to on the floor. They only had two on the floor with them. Needless to say, I knew the minute my partner was spotted that the gunman would start firing. I charged in behind my partner and I had foolishly Velcroed my vest wrong in my haste, and it rode up just as I dove in front of the hostage. The bullet hit, collapsed my lung, and SWAT charged in after that. Woke up on a ventilator in the hospital.”
“Jesus,” Dean muttered. “Here?” He traced a faint, straight scar.
Castiel smiled, “Toppled four stories after chasing down a suspect, snapped my leg clear in two and had to have temporary pins to help it heal straight.”
“This one?” Dean’s fingers danced around the roughly oval shaped scar on Castiel’s upper arm.
“Oh, that was a battle graze. My unit had cornered a small group of insurgents, I dodged when I should have ducked. It wasn’t bad.”
“You’re awfully flippant about being shot,” Dean remarked dryly.
“It gets old after a while,” Castiel replied with a shrug.
Dean spent the next several minutes grazing, ghosting, and kissing over each scar he found on Castiel’s body, then his fingers skimmed along Castiel’s back and the smaller man tensed below him.
“I noticed these before,” Dean murmured gently.
Castiel nodded stiffly.
“Can I…?” Dean asked.
Castiel sucked a sharp breath through his nose and nodded. “Yes, I guess.” It took him a few seconds after that, though, before the blue-eyed man finally turned around, pillowing his chin in his crossed arms and leaving his back bared for Dean to see.
Dean sucked in a sharp breath when he saw the straight, white lines, jutting diagonally out from Castiel’s spine up to the curve of both his shoulders… A macabre representation of wings, the lines crisscrossed near Castiel’s mid-back.
“Cas…” Dean trailed-off. He didn’t know what to say, not really.
“Afghanistan,” Castiel said quietly, his voice mumbled as he spoke into his crossed arms, turning his gaze to stare intently at the white of Dean’s bed sheets. “Near the end of my first tour overseas. You know I went in as a translator, right? That was my main function. I was combat trained, of course, I had to be. They wouldn’t let me over otherwise. I had joined the military, though, as a translator. I did my undergrad in Middle Eastern Studies. I’d been fascinated by the culture since I was a child.”
Castiel laughed a little bitterly, “I always wanted to go to the Middle East, but I figured I would as a tourist, not as a soldier. I thought I’d be of help, though. I knew the customs, the language, the history. I thought maybe I could help the innocent people there just as much as I’d be helping our own… Naiveté of youth, I suppose. Maybe I did do some good… I like to think that, because it helps me cope with all the bad that I saw… Regardless, they soon realized that I could offer more than just translation.”
“I’ve always had a head for strategy and could detect patterns that others could not. They used to joke that I had a sixth sense… Well, it began going to my head, and I made a bad judgment call and it cost me. I fell for a trap and they captured me.”
Here, Dean’s fingers tensed against the skin of Castiel’s back and he drew in another sharp breath.
“I was held for three days, in a dark room, with a hood over my head, stripped to my pants, and my ankles and wrists bound together. They spoke to me in English, asking me questions, probing for what I knew.
“They must have been watching my unit, because they knew what it was I did. I wouldn’t say, though, I couldn’t. Too many lives were at risk if I told them all I knew, and not just American and allied lives. When asking didn’t work, they tried to torture it out of me. There are a few burn scars under the whip scars, mostly obscured. They used a blow torch first, then brought out the whip, salted - God, it was so hard to keep quiet.
“They never spoke near me about anything other than what they wanted to know. I suppose they knew I spoke their language, or they just couldn’t be bothered. Three days. I was lucky by comparison.”
“Lucky?” Dean asked, small and meek.
Castiel finally turned from his analysis of the bedclothes and met Dean’s green eyes. “Three days, that’s all. Some were held for weeks, months, or years before they were released or found. If they were released or found. I lived. My unit rescued me. They found me and got me out. Not many others could say the same, Dean.”
“How did they find you?” Dean asked.
Castiel smiled, but it wasn’t really a happy smile. “Luck. Pure and simple. Remember that Vet we ran into at the coffee shop last week? You know how he called me Feathers?”
“Yeah…” Dean frowned. “I still don’t get that.”
“There’s a story behind the nickname. Anna would send me strange little packages now and again. Bits and pieces of things she found or came across. Things she thought I’d be amused by. Well, I was somewhat obsessed with birds when I was around thirteen. Anna was only eight, but she remembered. I have no idea where she was, must have been some craft store or something, but she found these brilliant jewel-blue feathers. They didn’t belong to any bird I’d ever come across. I’m pretty sure they were just dyed goose feathers, though I was never able to take them home and analyse them properly. Anyway, the guys teased me endlessly for it, but I loved those damn things and kept them in my pocket with me at all times. That’s how I got my nickname, and that’s also what saved me.”
“Saved you?” Dean asked, looking even more puzzled as the story progressed.
“Yes, they were going to kill me. They didn’t say much beyond asking me questions, like I already told you, but one thing they did tell me just before I was rescued was that they were going to kill me the following day if I didn’t tell them what they wanted to hear.
“I have suspected for a long time that capturing me was a whim and not really planned out like most. There was never a ransom video and there were only a few men. Also, they didn’t take me far from where I was captured originally.
“As they were dragging me into this… I suppose it was a storeroom of sorts. It was mostly underground with a tiny outbuilding that led down into it. I was struggling and fighting with everything I could. Well, my efforts caused my feathers to tumble out, and by some fortuitous twist of fate, they were lodged next to the building. Half buried in the sand but stuck in what I suppose must have been a crack or something… Anyway, my unit was patrolling the area looking for clues, and one of the younger guys, we called him Sparky (he had this damn zippo he played with constantly), he saw the flash of blue and called over my Commander.
“I don’t remember much of the rescue. I hadn’t had water or food for the last three days and was in a lot of pain, but I know there was a lot of gunfire and shouting, and then I woke up in a field hospital on my stomach, strapped to the cot. I was told I fought quite hard against the doctors; I didn’t realize they were trying to help me. I just remember thinking the insurgents said they were going to kill me that day, and I couldn’t let that happen. Sparky was the one who told me about it afterwards. He said he tried to get my feathers back, but they were destroyed or lost in the battle.”
“Jesus,” Dean whispered again. His green eyes flickered up to the metallic glint on Castiel’s chest and suddenly it made sense.
“They gave that to you?” Dean asked.
Castiel reached up and touched the white gold feather charm on the end of his necklace and he nodded with a smile. “Yes, when I retired. The boys bought it for me.”
“It’s strange, I’ve only ever been that close to Sam, you know? I can’t really imagine having so many people I trust so implicitly.”
“You have me,” Castiel said lightly. “I suppose it was easier for me than it would have been for you. I’ve only really been close to two of my brothers, and Jimmy and I drifted apart, and Balthazar has only really been around for the last few years. I hadn’t been close to any of my brothers when I left and forged what ties I could. They were all good people. I owe them a lot.”
“You’re good people,” Dean said insistently, dropping a playful kiss on Castiel’s lips.
“You’re a sap,” Castiel teased. “Now I believe you were lavishing me with attention and I would really like to get to the good part sometime tonight.”
Dean grinned, “As you wish.” With no further warning, Dean dipped down and took Castiel in his mouth.
A loud, surprised groan filled the room.
End Interlude I
Arc I - Chapter Eight | Master Post | Arc II - Chapter Nine