Alexandria (Chapter 5 of 13)
Please see the masterpost for warnings, summary, and previous chapters.
Castiel liked it hot. It felt familiar.
They had a small staff assigned to work in the forge, but his one request had been to send them all away to let him work. Perhaps later he would put them good use, but for now he longed to return to the familiar: all alone, working the same trade as his father, and his father before him.
He stripped out of his shirt and used it to wipe his forehead. And then he tossed it away without a thought. He had spent his time carefully folding and re-folding the metal into dozens of tiny layers. It was getting to the critical step, and that was all he could think of right now.
The knock came and he turned, irritated by the interruption. Dean Winchester was at the door, a questioning look on his face. Castiel's expression softened, and he waved Dean to enter.
Dean focused intently on him, barely bothering to look around. “I came to see how you were doing.” Dean often seemed ill at ease around him these days, and Castiel had no idea why.
“I'm going to apply the magic now,” Castiel explained. “I'm going to need you to stay very still, and when I tell you, you'll need to shut your eyes. If all goes well, it can be … intense.”
Dean nodded his understanding. Castiel showed him the blade in the forge, and where he would later plunge it into oil. It was still glowing.
“All right, you stay over here,” Cas told him. He put his hands on Dean's shoulders and led him a few steps away from the forge. He felt Dean suck in a breath. “Are you … all right?” Dean's face was just inches from his now. There was a thin film of perspiration over his body now, from the heat of the forge.
“I'm all right. I'm fine.” Dean held his arms stiffly down at his side, hands balled into fists.
Cas looked at him for a moment, but the blade was calling to him. He grabbed his tongs and then pulled the blade from the forge and placed it carefully on his anvil. Yes, it was just perfect. He took a step back and reached out an arm, palm facing the cooling blade. He shut his eyes tight and concentrated, picturing Benny in his mind, as the blade was meant for him. He intoned the words, being careful to enunciate each syllable, praying for strength and protection.
There was a faint humming sound. “Close your eyes!” he called over to Dean. Suddenly it was like all the air had been sucked out of the room, and then even with his eyes squeezed shut he saw the room suffused with a pure white light. And then the light was gone and there was a faint ringing sound.
Cas opened his eyes and stared at the blade, was still faintly sparking. He grasped the tongs and picked it up, staring in wonder.
Dean was at his side. “Is that what.... Is that what always happens?”
Cas came back to himself and dunked the blade in oil. “It's.... That was....” He wasn't certain why he was so tongue-tied. He finished quenching the blade, listening to the sizzle. He drew it out of the oil bath and laid it on his anvil.
He shook his head, trying to chase away the fog. “Here,” he said. “Your hands are bigger than mine.” Shuffling among various odds and ends on his work bench, he picked up a metal object and handed it over to Dean.
“Oh, the hilt!” said Dean, smiling. Cas reached over and repositioned it in Dean's hand. His fingers lingered there.
“It's fucking gorgeous,” Dean was telling him. “You'll make me something like this, right?”
“No,” said Cas. Dean looked surprised. “No, when I make you a sword, it will be for you. For you alone.”
Dean smiled, and Cas loosened his grip, his own hands fluttering nervously like caged birds. Dean leaned over slightly, running his fingers gently along the side of Cas's face. He appeared to want to say something, but instead turned and pretended to fight with his imaginary sword. “I'm sure it'll be amazing.”
Castiel grabbed his shirt off the floor and buttoned it up. He became aware of Dean watching him again, and started to feel self-conscious.
“Hey Cas. I do have a question.”
“Yes?”
Dean set down the hilt and leaned against the workbench. “You know how you guys apply magic to blades? Is it possible to do that kinda thing with bullets?”
Cas shook his head. “This isn't the first time I've been asked that. The common wisdom is no. There is simply not enough craft in making bullets.”
“Well, just thought I'd ask. Um, so I take it you've tried?”
Castiel smiled. “Yes, like a lot of people before me, I have tried.” He sadly shook his head. “If you would like, I could look into it again. Unfortunately, I no longer have my books.”
Dean suddenly got a faraway look. “We may be able to help you there.” He inclined his head. “Can you take off for a little while?”
Castiel nodded, and Dean led him out of the forge and along the corridor. Castiel by this time was used to zigzagging through the labyrinthine fort, but he reckoned he had never been to this part before. From his sense of direction, he thought that they were heading deeper into the hillside.
Dean at last came to a broad wooden door, reinforced with heavy steel bands. Cas couldn't imagine what might lie inside. He guessed it was a cache of weaponry. “Stand back a little,” Dean told him. “I'm not as good at this magic stuff as you.” Cas took a step back and Dean held out his hands, frowning in concentration. Runes carved around the door briefly glowed and dissipated, and with a click, the lock opened. Dean gripped the door handle and pushed inside.
Cas blinked in the darkness. He could tell it was a pretty cramped room, but little else. Dean hit a light switch. Rows of overhead lights came on, one after the other.
It was fantastic. The room was completely lined by shelves, each one of them crammed solid with books. Though the collection was nowhere as extensive as Metatron's cache, it was still impressive. Books were not as common since the Flood, and were regarded by many people with some suspicion.
Cas turned back to Dean, who was now grinning from ear to ear. “Like it? See if we have what you need in here. If not … well, we can make other arrangements.”
“Other arrangements?” Cas asked.
But Dean just winked. “Just take what you want. I think you probably heard the unlocking spell? The locking spell is the same. Anyway, remember it in case you wanna come back.” Cas nodded eagerly. “Just don't be surprised if you run into Sammy. It's his favorite place. Outside of sleeping!” Then he nodded, and left.
Cas turned and ran his hand down the spine of a random book. He guessed he needed to find the section on armaments. Just a few moments ago, all he'd wanted to do was get the sword finished and then maybe get a meal from his friends in the kitchen. But now?
When Benny's crew made their way back to the ocean and the Lovely Andrea, they carried not only a new blade for Captain Lafitte and a selection of livestock reluctantly granted over from Chef Crowley's stables, but also a variety of cutlery, ranging from hatchets to long knives to stilettos to daggers. Castiel had managed to locate some sort of amplification spell that meant he could charge up a variety of items, made by various hands, all simultaneously. Benny had made off with a lot of his first test batch, actually came out quite nice, although Castiel promised to improve things.
Castiel sent Benny back with an order for more Damascus steel. He had found another book that talked of an ancient technique called pattern welding that he was eager to try.
Dean, for his part, was impressed at the way the forge had gone from a quiet, nearly abandoned space to a clattering, banging free-for-all. He also noticed that it was being staffed by a notable number of former kitchen personnel, including Garth, who Crowley repeatedly cited for gross incompetence.
“I have something for you,” Cas shouted in Dean's ear. Dean wasn't exactly certain why he'd happened by the forge today. God knows there were a lot of other things on his mind right now. There were a currently many wild rumors about Lucifer's doings; he was getting more and more reports of patrols happening upon the Enemy in their rounds, and now Benny had made him worry that Metatron and the North were more of an imminent threat.
As usual, he tried not to let his worry show, but his smile was quite genuine as Cas put an arm around his shoulder and let him off to a small, quiet workroom adjoining the main forge. Cas did that thing where he carelessly wiped down the sweat on his body with his shirt and Dean had to step back and take a breath. He distracted himself by looking around the room while Cas prowled through the drawers of an old workbench. There was a pegboard on one side with some of what Dean guessed were his personal tools hung up. And there was a pillow and some bedding neatly folded in one corner.
“Cas, are you sleeping here now?”
Cas shrugged and stared at the floor. “It's quiet.”
“Hey, no problem. I should have thought about moving you out of that dorm. We could at least pull a cot in here or something. Sorry. I've just got a lot going on these days.” He sat down in the old, battered chair next to the desk, and it squeaked in protest. He smiled. It had metal wheels on the bottom, so he could slide it back and forth.
Cas sat up on the desk, unwrapping something concealed in a cloth. Dean slid over nearer. “I could give you the chair instead of this present,” Cas told Dean. “You seem enamored.”
“You're being funny, right?” laughed Dean, who leaned over to peer at what Cas was holding. It was a dagger, but it was utterly beautiful. Dean grasped the handle and held the blade to the light. Though the blade was smooth, it looked like it had been etched all over with fine patterns, changed as the light hit it.
“This is … fucking gorgeous.”
Cas smiled, and when Dean offered it back, he waved him off. “It's for you, Dean. It was an experiment. I thought perhaps because I couldn't make you the first sword from this forge, you would accept this as … a down payment?”
“Man, I probably shouldn't accept, but what the hell? Thanks. And you know, it's good seeing you smiling like that.”
Cas's face flushed and he dropped his eyes. Dean hopped out of the chair and perched up on the desk beside him. “Hey! I bet Lucifer would lose his lunch if I came after him with this blade in my teeth.” He demonstrated by putting it in his mouth and pulling a face.
“I wouldn't recommend that, Dean!” Cas warned him, looking alarmed.
“Just being an idiot,” Dean told him, wiping the blade on a shirt tail.
“Don't be … an idiot,” Cas told him.
“You wouldn’t like that?” asked Dean, his face now very close to Cas’s.
Cas swallowed.
There was a pounding on the door. Dean glanced at Cas and then called, “Come in.” He sighed when both Sam and Bobby appeared in the doorway. “This has gotta be trouble.”
“Dean,” Sam told him. “A couple of our patrols - they haven't come back.”
Dean was on his feet and stalking out of the room. Sam and Bobby followed. He looked at the dagger and stuffed it in his belt. “What do we know?”
“They were generally headed out west,” Bobby told him.
“Generally? What the fuck?”
“Yeah, generally out west, and if I fucking knew anything else, I'd fucking tell you.”
Dean grimaced. “Have we sent out search parties yet?”
“They only just turned up late. No time.”
“And we're short staffed. As usual,” Sam chimed in.
“Fuck that, I'll go out myself if I need to,” Dean grumbled.
“Yeah, that's a great idea, kid. Abandon your post when we need you here.”
Dean turned on Bobby. “I am not abandoning my post.” Sam put a hand on his shoulder, but Dean shook him off. “Those are my men! They're my responsibility.”
Dean and Bobby looked like they were going to square off right there in the corridor, but they were suddenly interrupted by Kevin, who came running up, out of breath. “Dean! The patrol came in. You need to hurry. They....” He paused gasping for breath.
“They're what? patrol? Who?”
“Victor and Ash! But Ash is all cut up.”
“I'll get Doc Cottle,” said Sam, who immediately ran off to fetch the surgeon.
“Show me. Now,” said Dean, and he and Bobby hurried along after Kevin, who seemed to have gained his second wind from pure fright.
They were both covered in blood, Victor and Ash, the latter spilled out on the floor, Victor kneeling over him, one hand outstretched as if he didn't know what to do with it.
“Doc's on his way,” Dean called. He was down next to Victor, one hand on his shoulder. “What happened?” he asked softly.
“Lucifer's guys. They must have been. I guess they followed us. I have no fucking idea how. We absolutely weren't being tailed, Dean. At least, I didn't think so. They jumped us. They came out of nowhere: I didn’t even see them until they were wailing on us. Virgil. One of them was Virgil! I looked straight into his eyes. I saw him!” Victor shook his head, as if trying to throw off the memory. “I threw Ash in the back of the car. Didn't know what else to do.”
“Ash?” asked Bobby, who had somewhat painfully lowered himself down to his knees. He leaned his head down, cocking his ear. “Son, can you hear me?”
“Fuck … off,” Ash whispered.
“Holy fuck, he's still alive,” said Victor. “Ash! You motherfucker!”
“Fuck … you … too,” Ash muttered.
Doc Cottle arrived in a haze of tobacco smoke. “What did you do to yourself now?” he groused. “Everybody! Back off and give him some breathing room.”
“Fuck you … too … Doc,” Ash wheezed.
“Hold still while I get your pulse,” the doctor told him. “Where's the goddam stretcher? Hey, you!” he called at Kevin.
“Me what?” But Cottle had already grabbed his hand and stuck it on Ash's leg.
“Hold your hand there,” he instructed him. “No, harder! Apply pressure.”
“I faint at the sight of blood!” Kevin protested.
“So when you fall over, fall towards the body and just keep up pressure!” Kevin cringed and obeyed. “Where's the stretcher?”
“Here's the stretcher!” said Sam, who had just arrived with two attendants.
“Get him up! We gotta get him patched together,” the doctor yelled at them. “You! Keep up the pressure or I'll skin you alive.”
Kevin cringed and followed the attendants as the rushed Ash off. “And you,” said the doctor to Victor, only pausing to take an agitated puff of his cigarette. “Let me see. Now.”
“It's fine. I'm fine,” said Victor. The doctor grunted and grabbed his arm. Victor winced as Cottle rubbed his thumb along a large gash. “You're coming with me too. Sam, got your sewing kit?”
“And the whiskey,” grinned Sam, grabbing Victor by the shoulder and steering him away.
“You're not a doctor, you're a quack!” Victor groused as Sam let him off.
Dean grabbed Doc Cottle by the arm. “Ash. Is he gonna make it?”
“Every second you keep me here weepin' is another second he's lying there bleedin’,” Cottle grumbled. He flicked ashes and jammed the cigarette back in his mouth. “I'll do my best,” he muttered, and then he too was off.
“Lucifer! God damn his hide!” shouted Bobby. He kicked at a rock, and then winced.
Dean stared intently at the floor. “You think they're coming?”
“It's just like Sam and I been telling you. Yeah. Don't fucking matter how many times you invite that asshole to a fancy dinner. He wants this place. Always has. And now that we got your bladesmith....”
Dean hugged his arms to his chest. “You think he wants Cas?”
“Don't matter that we already kidnapped him fair and square. Someone as can make magical weaponry? Hell yeah. When word gets out, if it ain't already, that kid's got a price on his head. Where are you goin'?” he added, as Dean began to stalk away.
Dean paused. “I can't do a fucking thing about Ash. I'm gonna do what I can.”
“Cas!”
“They said … you were looking for me?” the bladesmith asked as he hovered in the doorway of Dean's office. Dean breathed a sigh of relief and waved him in. Much as he'd become accustomed now to seeing Castiel around the fort, he still felt he barely understood him. In his brief jaunt to the South he had already gone up against pirates and the Enemy, and Dean had just witnessed him churning up enough magical power forging Benny's blade to light the entire fortification for a week. And yet a single word of praise sent him blushing and stammering and staring at the floor.
“You weren’t in the forge,” said Dean. “I mean … you know that. Obviously.”
Cas tentatively shut the door behind him. “I just went to see Ash. But the doctor in charge told me to get lost. He was … a little abrupt.”
Dean smiled and leaned back in his chair. “He's pretty protective of his patients.”
Cas came over to stand in front of his desk. “I had an idea. I didn't have time to tell you … before. I've been reading.”
“I figured as much. You're a book person. Like Sammy.”
“It's about the bullets.”
Dean paused. “You figured out an enchantment?”
“No. I still think that's impossible. Or it would be so weak as to not be worth the effort. But, Dean. Building the gun? I've been studying the craft of making armaments. I think it would be possible to incorporate a quite powerful spell into a rifle, or even possibly a pistol.”
“Holy shit, Cas! That's fucking brilliant.”
Cas smiled, and Dean's whole world suddenly brightened. And then he was on his feet, grabbing one of the dull, decorative swords that was mounted on the wall behind him. “So, how well you know how to use one of these?”
Cas shrugged. “Well enough. I can use a blade, but as I told you, I'm not a soldier.” He took the sword from Dean, though he looked confused.
Dean grabbed the other sword of the pair and came out from behind the desk. “You know how to defend yourself? If one of Lucifer's guys comes after you?”
“I suppose I can hold my own. I don't know.”
“Well, you need to know. I got a pair of my men down in the infirmary, and I just sent some guys after another pair that went missing. We're being hunted now, and you need to defend yourself.”
Cas straightened up. “I have magic.”
“No magic! Cas. You know my mom? I'm like my dad, that's what everyone says. But my mom? She was like you. Like Sammy, too, in her way. She read books and she knew the enchantments. And you know what somebody did? There was a border war, and my dad was out, and somebody put a sword through her.”
Cas’s eyes widened. “Oh. God. I'm sorry, Dean.”
“Show me what you know, Cas. Now.”
Castiel stood still, confused. “What do you want me to do?”
And then Dean lunged at him. Cas got his own sword up in time, and managed a very clumsy parry. “Defend yourself. Come on! Don't worry about me.”
“But-” But Cas didn't finish his protest, as Dean swung at him again. This time he didn't get his own sword up in time, and was rewarded with a nasty smack in the side. “Ow!” He rubbed his side.
“Come on! Hit me!” urged Dean.
“I don't....” Dean lunged again. Cas smacked his blade away, and then swung wildly. Dean expertly batted him away.
“That's it. Come on. Let me see what you got.”
Cas followed with a few more attempted attacks, but Dean always managed to get the best of him. “Harder! Come on. You can do better than that.”
Cas gritted his teeth and swung. He stepped back, breathing hard. “This is idiotic! I'll never be able to defend myself against an expert swordsman. Not without magic!”
Dean leapt at him, and Cas raised his sword again. But Dean kept coming, raining down blows. “Don't give up, dammit! Don't give up! Never give up!” But then Cas swung and missed, and Dean smacked him on the hand and his weapon dropped with a clank. Dean raised his sword, but Cas grabbed his arm, pulling Dean closer, and then stomped down hard on his instep. Dean yelped in surprise, and Cas countered with an elbow to his gut.
Dean started to fall, but managed to grab Cas and pull him down too, Cas gasping as Dean landed on top of him, dropping the sword. Cas reached his hands out above his head, scrambling for Dean's blade. But Dean stretched out too, trapping Cas's wrists beneath his hands. They were face to face now, breathing hard, Dean staring half-crazed down at him.
Then Dean's mouth was on his, pressing down desperately. Shifting his body, Dean tightened his grip on Cas's wrists, pushing his tongue into Cas's mouth, pressing his weight against Cas, pinning him down.
And then, just as suddenly, like a summer storm that raged and vanished, Dean was pulling back. He released Cas's wrists and went up on his elbows. They lay there for a long moment, staring at each other, panting. Cas's eyes were wide. “I- I'm sorry,” Dean whispered.
Cas slowly, carefully reached up one trembling hand and gently touched Dean's face, brushing back a stray hair. He shook his head. “Don't. Don't be sorry.”
And then Dean was back, kissing him again, Cas's arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders, kissing back. Dean slid down and began to kiss Cas's neck. He grasped the thin material of Cas's shirt and yanked at it, tearing it open, buttons popping, and trailed his tongue down Cas's chest.
And then Dean rolled off and got to his knees, and Cas let out a small, disappointed moan. Dean grabbed Cas by the shirt collar and yanked him up. “Come on,” he muttered, backing up, pulling Cas along with him. Cas followed along, as if hypnotized. Dean pulled him back to a small door in the side of the office and pushed it open. As Cas continued to lock eyes with him, Dean turned him around, dumping him on the bed. Dean turned and bolted the door. And then Dean was on him, and his hands were everywhere, and Cas was on fire.
“So?” asked Lucifer.
Uriel stopped short. For once, Lucifer was sitting up, paying attention, although he was also giving himself a manicure with a dagger. Uriel’s gaze drifted over at Alastair, sitting on a countertop in the corner, crunched up like a gargoyle. The man’s face was in shadows, but Uriel could see the wide grin. This one likes killing, Uriel thought. For some reason, this made him feel nervous.
Uriel looked questioningly at Lucifer. “Go ahead,” said Lucifer, waving the letter opener.
“My Liege. The other party escaped, though both were badly wounded.”
“Virgil is a pussy,” grumbled Alastair. “You shouldn’t trust that one to squash a bug.”
“Alastair, when I want to hear from you, I’ll ask,” Lucifer said in a soft and careful voice. “As it happens, I asked Virgil to let them go.”
“Why, boss man?” asked Alastair, unfolding and hopping off the counter.
“Because we need someone to report back what has happened,” Uriel explained, looking down his nose at Alastair.
“Metatron’s spells, they’re the real deal,” nodded Lucifer.
“And there is more where that came from,” Uriel added.
“If you believe the legends,” said Lucifer. “Alexandria might be another bug’s hoard.”
“You don’t believe in Alexandria?” asked Uriel. “Then why-?” He cut himself off.
“Why what?”
“I’m sorry, My Liege. It was inappropriate.”
“You wish to know, why did I agree to go in with Metatron?” Lucifer nodded. “He clearly plans to use me and then do away with me when I’ve outlived my usefulness.”
“I won’t let him kill you!” Alastair protested. “He raises a hand, he’s dead as a dog.”
Lucifer pointed with the letter opener, “While he thinks he’s using us, we’ll be using him,” he said, pointing one way and then the other. “Besides, I hear the weather up North is fine this time of year.”
Uriel cocked an eyebrow. The boss was getting ambitious. Alastair cackled, and Uriel felt another chill run up his spine.
Cas awoke in the biggest bed he had ever seen. He roused, and, to his disappointment, realized he was alone there.
He sat up and yawned. He blinked, looking for his clothes, but they seemed to be scattered everywhere. There was a robe hanging from the back of a chair, so he put it on, intending to nose around for the bathroom. He heard the sound of trickling water and peeked through an open door. Happily, it was the washroom, though it appeared as big as his old dormitory. He gratefully relieved himself, and paused, still fascinated by the flush toilets in the fort. And then he noticed the large pool at the other end of the room. Steam was rising off the water. Sam had explained at one point that the fortification was built over hot springs, and some of the remarkable plumbing system made use of the mineral water. It looked like they had actually piped the water into this room to make a perpetually warm bath. Cas put a hand in the water. It felt wonderful. He looked around the bathroom, and, after peeking back into Dean's bedroom to see that no one was around, shed the robe and dipped into the bath.
He found a cake of soap in a dish and took some time washing himself. And then, even though the hour was late and he probably should have gotten out, he lingered. It was intoxicating, being here with nothing to do. The pool looked large enough to swim. How he missed swimming.
“Hey, sleepy head!”
He may have dozed off as he didn't hear Dean until he was standing right over him. Cas startled awake, saw Dean, remembered he was naked, and then had the absurd idea that he needed to cover himself up. “Um. Hello, Dean?”
“No, don't get out. That looks like a great idea.” And then Dean was kicking off his boots and shedding his clothes. Cas peered up at him. He looked utterly perfect up there, naked, like a young god. He yawned and stretched.
And then there was a splash and he was crouching in the water next to Cas, pulling on his arm. “Hey, come here. This is the best part.” Cas followed as Dean pulled him out, at first walking along the slick bottom, but he found it quickly fell away. He stumbled on the slippery floor and found himself in Dean's arms as Dean treaded water. “Is this great or what?”
Cas smiled up at Dean, expecting a kiss.
Dean grinned, mouth full of straight white teeth, and then unceremoniously dunked him.
Cas surfaced, peeved and sputtering as Dean treaded water and howled with laughter. Cas, however, was a strong swimmer, and had grown up with two mischievous brothers. He shot over behind Dean and tackled him from the back, dunking him in mid-laughter. Dean surfaced, choking, and then the choking turned to laughter and he splashed Cas. Cas turned and swam for the bench at the shallow side. Dean followed, and pulled Cas around to sit on his lap, and Cas finally got his kiss.
“I was pissed when I came back and you weren't in bed,” Dean told him. “I thought you'd be there, all warmed up and waiting for me.”
“Sorry. I had to pee,” Cas told him. Dean laughed again. “Where were you?”
“Went to visit Ash. He survived the night. Doc Cottle says that's good, that he's probably going to make it. Now, we have some time. We can do whatever you like.” And Dean emphasized the remark with another, more lingering kiss.
“Oh, um, yes.”
Dean's words came in short bursts as he paused to nuzzle Cas's neck, and then Dean's lips traced down to his chest. “Hey, I know things happened a little fast last night. But we can take it slower. Whatever you want.”
“I'm not sure,” Cas admitted. “What I want.”
“Wait,” said Dean, cupping Cas's face. “You'd been with a guy before, right? Or a girl?”
“I hadn't. Actually.” He suddenly felt exposed. “I had a business to run. Two brothers to look after....” But Dean cut him off with another kiss.
When he pulled back, Dean's eyes were wide and eager. “I get you all to myself?”
“If … you want to look at it that way?”
Dean's hands had found the curve of his ass and gave it a teasing squeeze, and Cas let out a gasp. And then Dean's fingers roamed lower, exploring his body. Cas clung to him, arching and moaning while their mouths met in a crushing kiss. Everything was slick and warm and wonderful as they wrestled there in the steaming water.
“Samandriel?”
Inias leaned on his broom and peered into the darkness. But, to his intense disappointment, the person entering the shop was not his younger brother.
“You look just like your brother when you do that.”
“Do what, Naomi?” huffed Inias as he returned to sweeping the smithy floor.
“Roll your eyes,” said Naomi, a slight smile crossing her features. “And you realize,” she continued, her voice lower, confidential, “you're not supposed to use his proper name?”
Inias gripped the broom, pushing too hard, scattering dust everywhere. “Yes. The De Angelus family, maker of blades, is no more.”
“Now, now. Don't be so unhappy. Despite your brother's troubles, you were allowed to continue your apprenticeship, weren't you?”
“This isn't an apprenticeship!” growled Inias. “Serving as a custodian to my own damned business. And they won't let me use magic! What good is a bladesmith who can’t say the words?”
Naomi put a finger to her lips and looked around. “Not many are allowed magic anymore. You know this.”
“What's a tradesman without his magic?”
“It's Metatron's commandment.”
“Fuck him.” He said it softly, but Naomi still looked like she would shit a brick.
She sighed. “I have something for you.” Naomi held up a brown paper-wrapped package. Frowning, Inias leaned his broom against the counter and took it from her. He unwrapped it, the paper crinkling. It was a book. He looked questioningly at Naomi: books had become almost as much contraband as magic.
“You said you liked reading to your brother. These are some tales. About the South.”
Inias nodded, his throat catching before he could say a word of thanks. Word was, his brother had gone South. Inias sometimes imagined grabbing Sammy, and hopping on one of the ships in the harbor to go look for him. Maybe when his brother was a little older. Even if they never set eyes on Castiel again, life beyond the Narrow Sea couldn't possibly be worse than his present existence.
Naomi was staring at him. “Take care, Inias. And … watch yourself.” And with that, she departed.
Cas somehow found his way back to the library from Dean's room. He had ventured back to his own room beside the forge only to find his things (what little there was) had all been transported as if by magic to the elder Winchester brother's quarters. He hadn't had the time to discuss this with Dean, so had just plowed ahead on the spell he was working on.
He had a rather large stack of books in his arms, and realized when he came to the door that he didn't really have an arm free to cast the unlocking spell.
“That's okay, I got it,” said Sam, who had just come up behind him. Sam casually flicked a hand at the door and it popped open. Sam grabbed the handle and politely held the door open when Cas, who was a bit flustered, entered and set down his stack of books.
“You didn't even say the words,” he told Sam, once the door was closed again.
“Oh, yeah. If you think them well enough, then you're good.”
Cas continued staring, but then awkwardly grabbed up a book and began to shelve it. There wasn't quite enough room for everything, so he had to resort to sticking a couple books in horizontally, irked him. “I haven't seen such a thing before.”
“Oh, yeah.” Sam stuck his hands in his pockets and glanced at the floor, shaggy hair falling in his face as he smiled shyly. “I think I inherited it. I guess our mom was a pretty good magic user.” He looked up, sparkling green eyes staring through dark bangs. “So, anyway, what are you here for? I might be able to help, if you're looking for something.”
Cas stood in silence for a moment. Both of the Winchester brothers possessed their own sort of beauty. So what in God's name does Dean see in me? “In point of fact, I am still pursuing Dean's request: to enchant a firearm.”
“Oh, the magic bullet spell.” Sam chuckled. “We've had some luck with engraving runes on the bullets, but they get distorted when you fire them.” He feigned firing off a gun, weaving hands together, two index fingers pointing and shooting.
“Not the bullets, Sam. The firearm.”
It was Sam's turn to stare at Cas. “You're gonna make a magic gun?”
“That is my hope.”
“Damn. That's smart. In fact, that's brilliant.”
“No one has pursued this line of inquiry before?”
You could see the wheels turning. “Well, making a gun.... It's complicated! All those little pieces.”
“Precisely! When you make a whole from parts, you can incorporate magic with various binding spells.”
Sam was beginning to get excited. “Yeah, I see where you're going. Shit! Why didn't I think of that?” He had already headed over to a section of shelving. “Have you looked in here yet?”
“Yes. The Enochian texts. But you don't have all the volumes of the series.”
Sam's grin spoke mysteries. “Ah, but we do!”
“Really? Where are they?”
But Sam was distracted by a commotion in the hallway outside. “Just a minute,” he said, peeking out the door. He stopped someone in the hallway and there was a whispered conversation. And then he was back in the room, radiating excitement. “Come on!” he told Cas.
Cas put down his books and headed out. Sam paused to re-lock the door with an impatient flick of the wrist, and then he was off running, Cas trying to keep up.
“What has happened?” Cas puffed.
“He's back!” Sam yelled back, and then he leapt for the stairs, taking them two and three at a time, and Cas contented himself for a while with just keeping pace with the long-legged Winchester.
They ended up in the grand corridor near the main entrance. Dean was there, and he was embracing a burly, dark haired man, still clad in a keffiyeh and desert robes. He looked like he had just come in from the wilderness. There were other robed men standing around as well.
Dean and the newcomer finally broke the embrace. Cas thought he had never seen Dean look so happy.
“Dad!” said Sam, who strode forward. The man smiled broadly and stepped forward to hug Sam, enthusiastically slapping his back.
“Dammit, Sam, are you still growing?” asked John, who took a step back and looked Sam up and down in mock surprise. Sam puffed up proudly. John turned to pump Bobby's hand. Bobby, to Cas, didn’t appear anywhere near as enthusiastic as the Winchester boys.
“Dad,” said Dean. He grabbed Cas by the arm and tugged him forward. “This is our new bladesmith. This is Cas.”
“It's good to meet you, sir,” said Cas, nervously extending a hand.
“We have a new smith?” John asked Dean, ignoring Cas for the moment. “Since when?”
Dean looked smug. “Since now.”
John waved a skeptical hand towards Cas. “Is the little bastard any good? He looks like he’s about fifteen years old.”
“I am nineteen years old, sir,” said Cas testily. Here we go again, he thought.
John turned to address Cas for the first time. “Can we cool it with the ‘sir’ business? Makes me feel like I’m a hundred years old.”
“You are a hundred years old,” barked Bobby, and several guys hooted with laughter.
“Look, I didn’t believe it either, at first, but he’s the best I’ve ever seen, Dad,” said Dean, and Cas stood tall with pride at this.
John didn’t comment, but instead peered inquisitively at his firstborn, and then gave Cas a searching look. “We’ll see, I guess. Welcome, Cas,” he added, finally holding out his hand to shake. His handshake was firm. And then Cas was evidently dismissed, as John said, “Come on, we have a lot to talk about.” He charged off, Dean and Bobby right behind him, Cas standing awkwardly back.
Sam grabbed Cas’s shoulder. “Hey. I’ll talk to them about getting that volume for you.” And then he too was off.
“Hey.”
Cas turned to see Kevin standing there with a large, covered platter. His face relaxed into a smile. “Hello, Kevin.”
“We haven’t seen you in a while.”
“I’m sorry. I’ve been surprisingly busy.”
Kevin shrugged. “Was gonna bring this down to Ash. And maybe visit for a while. Cottle’s a good doctor, but he’s too much of an asshole to be good company.”
“Can I go with you?” Cas asked. He wasn’t quite sure why, but he craved company just now.
“Hey, sure, come on! Victor sometimes comes down, and we need another hand to play cards. You do play cards, right?”
“Uh. No.”
“That’s even better!” Kevin assured him.
Inias began to leaf through the book Naomi had given him, 1,001 Tales of the South, and soon became so engrossed he didn't even realize when his brother finally appeared. Samandriel got up on tiptoes to peer in, dropping a pet grasshopper on the page so it could see as well.
“Do you want me to read?”
“Are there pirates?” asked Samandriel. Although the boy was resentful against Castiel, and would no longer suffer to say his traitorous brother's name, he had become fascinated with pirates after they heard their Castiel may have made it down through the Narrow Sea to the South, on a ship manned by privateers.
“There might be. Come on, pull up a chair.”
Samandriel grabbed a canvas sack filled with sawdust and dragged it over. He sat down while Inias hopped up on the counter and, pulling the lamp nearer, began to read. “In the beginning there were the Seven Sisters.” He paused, his finger on the paragraph. “Can you name all the forts, Sammy?”
Samandriel inhaled deeply, so he could recite it all in one breath. “The Ruby Fort, the Emerald Fort, the Onyx Fort, the Sapphire Fort, the Amethyst Fort, the Opal Fort, the Topaz Fort.”
“That’s right!”
“Only the Sapphire Fort was lost.”
Inias squinted at his brother. “Where did you hear that?”
“A mealybug told me.”
“Oh.” Inias shrugged and went back to reading.
NEXT
Castiel liked it hot. It felt familiar.
They had a small staff assigned to work in the forge, but his one request had been to send them all away to let him work. Perhaps later he would put them good use, but for now he longed to return to the familiar: all alone, working the same trade as his father, and his father before him.
He stripped out of his shirt and used it to wipe his forehead. And then he tossed it away without a thought. He had spent his time carefully folding and re-folding the metal into dozens of tiny layers. It was getting to the critical step, and that was all he could think of right now.
The knock came and he turned, irritated by the interruption. Dean Winchester was at the door, a questioning look on his face. Castiel's expression softened, and he waved Dean to enter.
Dean focused intently on him, barely bothering to look around. “I came to see how you were doing.” Dean often seemed ill at ease around him these days, and Castiel had no idea why.
“I'm going to apply the magic now,” Castiel explained. “I'm going to need you to stay very still, and when I tell you, you'll need to shut your eyes. If all goes well, it can be … intense.”
Dean nodded his understanding. Castiel showed him the blade in the forge, and where he would later plunge it into oil. It was still glowing.
“All right, you stay over here,” Cas told him. He put his hands on Dean's shoulders and led him a few steps away from the forge. He felt Dean suck in a breath. “Are you … all right?” Dean's face was just inches from his now. There was a thin film of perspiration over his body now, from the heat of the forge.
“I'm all right. I'm fine.” Dean held his arms stiffly down at his side, hands balled into fists.
Cas looked at him for a moment, but the blade was calling to him. He grabbed his tongs and then pulled the blade from the forge and placed it carefully on his anvil. Yes, it was just perfect. He took a step back and reached out an arm, palm facing the cooling blade. He shut his eyes tight and concentrated, picturing Benny in his mind, as the blade was meant for him. He intoned the words, being careful to enunciate each syllable, praying for strength and protection.
There was a faint humming sound. “Close your eyes!” he called over to Dean. Suddenly it was like all the air had been sucked out of the room, and then even with his eyes squeezed shut he saw the room suffused with a pure white light. And then the light was gone and there was a faint ringing sound.
Cas opened his eyes and stared at the blade, was still faintly sparking. He grasped the tongs and picked it up, staring in wonder.
Dean was at his side. “Is that what.... Is that what always happens?”
Cas came back to himself and dunked the blade in oil. “It's.... That was....” He wasn't certain why he was so tongue-tied. He finished quenching the blade, listening to the sizzle. He drew it out of the oil bath and laid it on his anvil.
He shook his head, trying to chase away the fog. “Here,” he said. “Your hands are bigger than mine.” Shuffling among various odds and ends on his work bench, he picked up a metal object and handed it over to Dean.
“Oh, the hilt!” said Dean, smiling. Cas reached over and repositioned it in Dean's hand. His fingers lingered there.
“It's fucking gorgeous,” Dean was telling him. “You'll make me something like this, right?”
“No,” said Cas. Dean looked surprised. “No, when I make you a sword, it will be for you. For you alone.”
Dean smiled, and Cas loosened his grip, his own hands fluttering nervously like caged birds. Dean leaned over slightly, running his fingers gently along the side of Cas's face. He appeared to want to say something, but instead turned and pretended to fight with his imaginary sword. “I'm sure it'll be amazing.”
Castiel grabbed his shirt off the floor and buttoned it up. He became aware of Dean watching him again, and started to feel self-conscious.
“Hey Cas. I do have a question.”
“Yes?”
Dean set down the hilt and leaned against the workbench. “You know how you guys apply magic to blades? Is it possible to do that kinda thing with bullets?”
Cas shook his head. “This isn't the first time I've been asked that. The common wisdom is no. There is simply not enough craft in making bullets.”
“Well, just thought I'd ask. Um, so I take it you've tried?”
Castiel smiled. “Yes, like a lot of people before me, I have tried.” He sadly shook his head. “If you would like, I could look into it again. Unfortunately, I no longer have my books.”
Dean suddenly got a faraway look. “We may be able to help you there.” He inclined his head. “Can you take off for a little while?”
Castiel nodded, and Dean led him out of the forge and along the corridor. Castiel by this time was used to zigzagging through the labyrinthine fort, but he reckoned he had never been to this part before. From his sense of direction, he thought that they were heading deeper into the hillside.
Dean at last came to a broad wooden door, reinforced with heavy steel bands. Cas couldn't imagine what might lie inside. He guessed it was a cache of weaponry. “Stand back a little,” Dean told him. “I'm not as good at this magic stuff as you.” Cas took a step back and Dean held out his hands, frowning in concentration. Runes carved around the door briefly glowed and dissipated, and with a click, the lock opened. Dean gripped the door handle and pushed inside.
Cas blinked in the darkness. He could tell it was a pretty cramped room, but little else. Dean hit a light switch. Rows of overhead lights came on, one after the other.
It was fantastic. The room was completely lined by shelves, each one of them crammed solid with books. Though the collection was nowhere as extensive as Metatron's cache, it was still impressive. Books were not as common since the Flood, and were regarded by many people with some suspicion.
Cas turned back to Dean, who was now grinning from ear to ear. “Like it? See if we have what you need in here. If not … well, we can make other arrangements.”
“Other arrangements?” Cas asked.
But Dean just winked. “Just take what you want. I think you probably heard the unlocking spell? The locking spell is the same. Anyway, remember it in case you wanna come back.” Cas nodded eagerly. “Just don't be surprised if you run into Sammy. It's his favorite place. Outside of sleeping!” Then he nodded, and left.
Cas turned and ran his hand down the spine of a random book. He guessed he needed to find the section on armaments. Just a few moments ago, all he'd wanted to do was get the sword finished and then maybe get a meal from his friends in the kitchen. But now?
When Benny's crew made their way back to the ocean and the Lovely Andrea, they carried not only a new blade for Captain Lafitte and a selection of livestock reluctantly granted over from Chef Crowley's stables, but also a variety of cutlery, ranging from hatchets to long knives to stilettos to daggers. Castiel had managed to locate some sort of amplification spell that meant he could charge up a variety of items, made by various hands, all simultaneously. Benny had made off with a lot of his first test batch, actually came out quite nice, although Castiel promised to improve things.
Castiel sent Benny back with an order for more Damascus steel. He had found another book that talked of an ancient technique called pattern welding that he was eager to try.
Dean, for his part, was impressed at the way the forge had gone from a quiet, nearly abandoned space to a clattering, banging free-for-all. He also noticed that it was being staffed by a notable number of former kitchen personnel, including Garth, who Crowley repeatedly cited for gross incompetence.
“I have something for you,” Cas shouted in Dean's ear. Dean wasn't exactly certain why he'd happened by the forge today. God knows there were a lot of other things on his mind right now. There were a currently many wild rumors about Lucifer's doings; he was getting more and more reports of patrols happening upon the Enemy in their rounds, and now Benny had made him worry that Metatron and the North were more of an imminent threat.
As usual, he tried not to let his worry show, but his smile was quite genuine as Cas put an arm around his shoulder and let him off to a small, quiet workroom adjoining the main forge. Cas did that thing where he carelessly wiped down the sweat on his body with his shirt and Dean had to step back and take a breath. He distracted himself by looking around the room while Cas prowled through the drawers of an old workbench. There was a pegboard on one side with some of what Dean guessed were his personal tools hung up. And there was a pillow and some bedding neatly folded in one corner.
“Cas, are you sleeping here now?”
Cas shrugged and stared at the floor. “It's quiet.”
“Hey, no problem. I should have thought about moving you out of that dorm. We could at least pull a cot in here or something. Sorry. I've just got a lot going on these days.” He sat down in the old, battered chair next to the desk, and it squeaked in protest. He smiled. It had metal wheels on the bottom, so he could slide it back and forth.
Cas sat up on the desk, unwrapping something concealed in a cloth. Dean slid over nearer. “I could give you the chair instead of this present,” Cas told Dean. “You seem enamored.”
“You're being funny, right?” laughed Dean, who leaned over to peer at what Cas was holding. It was a dagger, but it was utterly beautiful. Dean grasped the handle and held the blade to the light. Though the blade was smooth, it looked like it had been etched all over with fine patterns, changed as the light hit it.
“This is … fucking gorgeous.”
Cas smiled, and when Dean offered it back, he waved him off. “It's for you, Dean. It was an experiment. I thought perhaps because I couldn't make you the first sword from this forge, you would accept this as … a down payment?”
“Man, I probably shouldn't accept, but what the hell? Thanks. And you know, it's good seeing you smiling like that.”
Cas's face flushed and he dropped his eyes. Dean hopped out of the chair and perched up on the desk beside him. “Hey! I bet Lucifer would lose his lunch if I came after him with this blade in my teeth.” He demonstrated by putting it in his mouth and pulling a face.
“I wouldn't recommend that, Dean!” Cas warned him, looking alarmed.
“Just being an idiot,” Dean told him, wiping the blade on a shirt tail.
“Don't be … an idiot,” Cas told him.
“You wouldn’t like that?” asked Dean, his face now very close to Cas’s.
Cas swallowed.
There was a pounding on the door. Dean glanced at Cas and then called, “Come in.” He sighed when both Sam and Bobby appeared in the doorway. “This has gotta be trouble.”
“Dean,” Sam told him. “A couple of our patrols - they haven't come back.”
Dean was on his feet and stalking out of the room. Sam and Bobby followed. He looked at the dagger and stuffed it in his belt. “What do we know?”
“They were generally headed out west,” Bobby told him.
“Generally? What the fuck?”
“Yeah, generally out west, and if I fucking knew anything else, I'd fucking tell you.”
Dean grimaced. “Have we sent out search parties yet?”
“They only just turned up late. No time.”
“And we're short staffed. As usual,” Sam chimed in.
“Fuck that, I'll go out myself if I need to,” Dean grumbled.
“Yeah, that's a great idea, kid. Abandon your post when we need you here.”
Dean turned on Bobby. “I am not abandoning my post.” Sam put a hand on his shoulder, but Dean shook him off. “Those are my men! They're my responsibility.”
Dean and Bobby looked like they were going to square off right there in the corridor, but they were suddenly interrupted by Kevin, who came running up, out of breath. “Dean! The patrol came in. You need to hurry. They....” He paused gasping for breath.
“They're what? patrol? Who?”
“Victor and Ash! But Ash is all cut up.”
“I'll get Doc Cottle,” said Sam, who immediately ran off to fetch the surgeon.
“Show me. Now,” said Dean, and he and Bobby hurried along after Kevin, who seemed to have gained his second wind from pure fright.
They were both covered in blood, Victor and Ash, the latter spilled out on the floor, Victor kneeling over him, one hand outstretched as if he didn't know what to do with it.
“Doc's on his way,” Dean called. He was down next to Victor, one hand on his shoulder. “What happened?” he asked softly.
“Lucifer's guys. They must have been. I guess they followed us. I have no fucking idea how. We absolutely weren't being tailed, Dean. At least, I didn't think so. They jumped us. They came out of nowhere: I didn’t even see them until they were wailing on us. Virgil. One of them was Virgil! I looked straight into his eyes. I saw him!” Victor shook his head, as if trying to throw off the memory. “I threw Ash in the back of the car. Didn't know what else to do.”
“Ash?” asked Bobby, who had somewhat painfully lowered himself down to his knees. He leaned his head down, cocking his ear. “Son, can you hear me?”
“Fuck … off,” Ash whispered.
“Holy fuck, he's still alive,” said Victor. “Ash! You motherfucker!”
“Fuck … you … too,” Ash muttered.
Doc Cottle arrived in a haze of tobacco smoke. “What did you do to yourself now?” he groused. “Everybody! Back off and give him some breathing room.”
“Fuck you … too … Doc,” Ash wheezed.
“Hold still while I get your pulse,” the doctor told him. “Where's the goddam stretcher? Hey, you!” he called at Kevin.
“Me what?” But Cottle had already grabbed his hand and stuck it on Ash's leg.
“Hold your hand there,” he instructed him. “No, harder! Apply pressure.”
“I faint at the sight of blood!” Kevin protested.
“So when you fall over, fall towards the body and just keep up pressure!” Kevin cringed and obeyed. “Where's the stretcher?”
“Here's the stretcher!” said Sam, who had just arrived with two attendants.
“Get him up! We gotta get him patched together,” the doctor yelled at them. “You! Keep up the pressure or I'll skin you alive.”
Kevin cringed and followed the attendants as the rushed Ash off. “And you,” said the doctor to Victor, only pausing to take an agitated puff of his cigarette. “Let me see. Now.”
“It's fine. I'm fine,” said Victor. The doctor grunted and grabbed his arm. Victor winced as Cottle rubbed his thumb along a large gash. “You're coming with me too. Sam, got your sewing kit?”
“And the whiskey,” grinned Sam, grabbing Victor by the shoulder and steering him away.
“You're not a doctor, you're a quack!” Victor groused as Sam let him off.
Dean grabbed Doc Cottle by the arm. “Ash. Is he gonna make it?”
“Every second you keep me here weepin' is another second he's lying there bleedin’,” Cottle grumbled. He flicked ashes and jammed the cigarette back in his mouth. “I'll do my best,” he muttered, and then he too was off.
“Lucifer! God damn his hide!” shouted Bobby. He kicked at a rock, and then winced.
Dean stared intently at the floor. “You think they're coming?”
“It's just like Sam and I been telling you. Yeah. Don't fucking matter how many times you invite that asshole to a fancy dinner. He wants this place. Always has. And now that we got your bladesmith....”
Dean hugged his arms to his chest. “You think he wants Cas?”
“Don't matter that we already kidnapped him fair and square. Someone as can make magical weaponry? Hell yeah. When word gets out, if it ain't already, that kid's got a price on his head. Where are you goin'?” he added, as Dean began to stalk away.
Dean paused. “I can't do a fucking thing about Ash. I'm gonna do what I can.”
“Cas!”
“They said … you were looking for me?” the bladesmith asked as he hovered in the doorway of Dean's office. Dean breathed a sigh of relief and waved him in. Much as he'd become accustomed now to seeing Castiel around the fort, he still felt he barely understood him. In his brief jaunt to the South he had already gone up against pirates and the Enemy, and Dean had just witnessed him churning up enough magical power forging Benny's blade to light the entire fortification for a week. And yet a single word of praise sent him blushing and stammering and staring at the floor.
“You weren’t in the forge,” said Dean. “I mean … you know that. Obviously.”
Cas tentatively shut the door behind him. “I just went to see Ash. But the doctor in charge told me to get lost. He was … a little abrupt.”
Dean smiled and leaned back in his chair. “He's pretty protective of his patients.”
Cas came over to stand in front of his desk. “I had an idea. I didn't have time to tell you … before. I've been reading.”
“I figured as much. You're a book person. Like Sammy.”
“It's about the bullets.”
Dean paused. “You figured out an enchantment?”
“No. I still think that's impossible. Or it would be so weak as to not be worth the effort. But, Dean. Building the gun? I've been studying the craft of making armaments. I think it would be possible to incorporate a quite powerful spell into a rifle, or even possibly a pistol.”
“Holy shit, Cas! That's fucking brilliant.”
Cas smiled, and Dean's whole world suddenly brightened. And then he was on his feet, grabbing one of the dull, decorative swords that was mounted on the wall behind him. “So, how well you know how to use one of these?”
Cas shrugged. “Well enough. I can use a blade, but as I told you, I'm not a soldier.” He took the sword from Dean, though he looked confused.
Dean grabbed the other sword of the pair and came out from behind the desk. “You know how to defend yourself? If one of Lucifer's guys comes after you?”
“I suppose I can hold my own. I don't know.”
“Well, you need to know. I got a pair of my men down in the infirmary, and I just sent some guys after another pair that went missing. We're being hunted now, and you need to defend yourself.”
Cas straightened up. “I have magic.”
“No magic! Cas. You know my mom? I'm like my dad, that's what everyone says. But my mom? She was like you. Like Sammy, too, in her way. She read books and she knew the enchantments. And you know what somebody did? There was a border war, and my dad was out, and somebody put a sword through her.”
Cas’s eyes widened. “Oh. God. I'm sorry, Dean.”
“Show me what you know, Cas. Now.”
Castiel stood still, confused. “What do you want me to do?”
And then Dean lunged at him. Cas got his own sword up in time, and managed a very clumsy parry. “Defend yourself. Come on! Don't worry about me.”
“But-” But Cas didn't finish his protest, as Dean swung at him again. This time he didn't get his own sword up in time, and was rewarded with a nasty smack in the side. “Ow!” He rubbed his side.
“Come on! Hit me!” urged Dean.
“I don't....” Dean lunged again. Cas smacked his blade away, and then swung wildly. Dean expertly batted him away.
“That's it. Come on. Let me see what you got.”
Cas followed with a few more attempted attacks, but Dean always managed to get the best of him. “Harder! Come on. You can do better than that.”
Cas gritted his teeth and swung. He stepped back, breathing hard. “This is idiotic! I'll never be able to defend myself against an expert swordsman. Not without magic!”
Dean leapt at him, and Cas raised his sword again. But Dean kept coming, raining down blows. “Don't give up, dammit! Don't give up! Never give up!” But then Cas swung and missed, and Dean smacked him on the hand and his weapon dropped with a clank. Dean raised his sword, but Cas grabbed his arm, pulling Dean closer, and then stomped down hard on his instep. Dean yelped in surprise, and Cas countered with an elbow to his gut.
Dean started to fall, but managed to grab Cas and pull him down too, Cas gasping as Dean landed on top of him, dropping the sword. Cas reached his hands out above his head, scrambling for Dean's blade. But Dean stretched out too, trapping Cas's wrists beneath his hands. They were face to face now, breathing hard, Dean staring half-crazed down at him.
Then Dean's mouth was on his, pressing down desperately. Shifting his body, Dean tightened his grip on Cas's wrists, pushing his tongue into Cas's mouth, pressing his weight against Cas, pinning him down.
And then, just as suddenly, like a summer storm that raged and vanished, Dean was pulling back. He released Cas's wrists and went up on his elbows. They lay there for a long moment, staring at each other, panting. Cas's eyes were wide. “I- I'm sorry,” Dean whispered.
Cas slowly, carefully reached up one trembling hand and gently touched Dean's face, brushing back a stray hair. He shook his head. “Don't. Don't be sorry.”
And then Dean was back, kissing him again, Cas's arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders, kissing back. Dean slid down and began to kiss Cas's neck. He grasped the thin material of Cas's shirt and yanked at it, tearing it open, buttons popping, and trailed his tongue down Cas's chest.
And then Dean rolled off and got to his knees, and Cas let out a small, disappointed moan. Dean grabbed Cas by the shirt collar and yanked him up. “Come on,” he muttered, backing up, pulling Cas along with him. Cas followed along, as if hypnotized. Dean pulled him back to a small door in the side of the office and pushed it open. As Cas continued to lock eyes with him, Dean turned him around, dumping him on the bed. Dean turned and bolted the door. And then Dean was on him, and his hands were everywhere, and Cas was on fire.
“So?” asked Lucifer.
Uriel stopped short. For once, Lucifer was sitting up, paying attention, although he was also giving himself a manicure with a dagger. Uriel’s gaze drifted over at Alastair, sitting on a countertop in the corner, crunched up like a gargoyle. The man’s face was in shadows, but Uriel could see the wide grin. This one likes killing, Uriel thought. For some reason, this made him feel nervous.
Uriel looked questioningly at Lucifer. “Go ahead,” said Lucifer, waving the letter opener.
“My Liege. The other party escaped, though both were badly wounded.”
“Virgil is a pussy,” grumbled Alastair. “You shouldn’t trust that one to squash a bug.”
“Alastair, when I want to hear from you, I’ll ask,” Lucifer said in a soft and careful voice. “As it happens, I asked Virgil to let them go.”
“Why, boss man?” asked Alastair, unfolding and hopping off the counter.
“Because we need someone to report back what has happened,” Uriel explained, looking down his nose at Alastair.
“Metatron’s spells, they’re the real deal,” nodded Lucifer.
“And there is more where that came from,” Uriel added.
“If you believe the legends,” said Lucifer. “Alexandria might be another bug’s hoard.”
“You don’t believe in Alexandria?” asked Uriel. “Then why-?” He cut himself off.
“Why what?”
“I’m sorry, My Liege. It was inappropriate.”
“You wish to know, why did I agree to go in with Metatron?” Lucifer nodded. “He clearly plans to use me and then do away with me when I’ve outlived my usefulness.”
“I won’t let him kill you!” Alastair protested. “He raises a hand, he’s dead as a dog.”
Lucifer pointed with the letter opener, “While he thinks he’s using us, we’ll be using him,” he said, pointing one way and then the other. “Besides, I hear the weather up North is fine this time of year.”
Uriel cocked an eyebrow. The boss was getting ambitious. Alastair cackled, and Uriel felt another chill run up his spine.
Cas awoke in the biggest bed he had ever seen. He roused, and, to his disappointment, realized he was alone there.
He sat up and yawned. He blinked, looking for his clothes, but they seemed to be scattered everywhere. There was a robe hanging from the back of a chair, so he put it on, intending to nose around for the bathroom. He heard the sound of trickling water and peeked through an open door. Happily, it was the washroom, though it appeared as big as his old dormitory. He gratefully relieved himself, and paused, still fascinated by the flush toilets in the fort. And then he noticed the large pool at the other end of the room. Steam was rising off the water. Sam had explained at one point that the fortification was built over hot springs, and some of the remarkable plumbing system made use of the mineral water. It looked like they had actually piped the water into this room to make a perpetually warm bath. Cas put a hand in the water. It felt wonderful. He looked around the bathroom, and, after peeking back into Dean's bedroom to see that no one was around, shed the robe and dipped into the bath.
He found a cake of soap in a dish and took some time washing himself. And then, even though the hour was late and he probably should have gotten out, he lingered. It was intoxicating, being here with nothing to do. The pool looked large enough to swim. How he missed swimming.
“Hey, sleepy head!”
He may have dozed off as he didn't hear Dean until he was standing right over him. Cas startled awake, saw Dean, remembered he was naked, and then had the absurd idea that he needed to cover himself up. “Um. Hello, Dean?”
“No, don't get out. That looks like a great idea.” And then Dean was kicking off his boots and shedding his clothes. Cas peered up at him. He looked utterly perfect up there, naked, like a young god. He yawned and stretched.
And then there was a splash and he was crouching in the water next to Cas, pulling on his arm. “Hey, come here. This is the best part.” Cas followed as Dean pulled him out, at first walking along the slick bottom, but he found it quickly fell away. He stumbled on the slippery floor and found himself in Dean's arms as Dean treaded water. “Is this great or what?”
Cas smiled up at Dean, expecting a kiss.
Dean grinned, mouth full of straight white teeth, and then unceremoniously dunked him.
Cas surfaced, peeved and sputtering as Dean treaded water and howled with laughter. Cas, however, was a strong swimmer, and had grown up with two mischievous brothers. He shot over behind Dean and tackled him from the back, dunking him in mid-laughter. Dean surfaced, choking, and then the choking turned to laughter and he splashed Cas. Cas turned and swam for the bench at the shallow side. Dean followed, and pulled Cas around to sit on his lap, and Cas finally got his kiss.
“I was pissed when I came back and you weren't in bed,” Dean told him. “I thought you'd be there, all warmed up and waiting for me.”
“Sorry. I had to pee,” Cas told him. Dean laughed again. “Where were you?”
“Went to visit Ash. He survived the night. Doc Cottle says that's good, that he's probably going to make it. Now, we have some time. We can do whatever you like.” And Dean emphasized the remark with another, more lingering kiss.
“Oh, um, yes.”
Dean's words came in short bursts as he paused to nuzzle Cas's neck, and then Dean's lips traced down to his chest. “Hey, I know things happened a little fast last night. But we can take it slower. Whatever you want.”
“I'm not sure,” Cas admitted. “What I want.”
“Wait,” said Dean, cupping Cas's face. “You'd been with a guy before, right? Or a girl?”
“I hadn't. Actually.” He suddenly felt exposed. “I had a business to run. Two brothers to look after....” But Dean cut him off with another kiss.
When he pulled back, Dean's eyes were wide and eager. “I get you all to myself?”
“If … you want to look at it that way?”
Dean's hands had found the curve of his ass and gave it a teasing squeeze, and Cas let out a gasp. And then Dean's fingers roamed lower, exploring his body. Cas clung to him, arching and moaning while their mouths met in a crushing kiss. Everything was slick and warm and wonderful as they wrestled there in the steaming water.
“Samandriel?”
Inias leaned on his broom and peered into the darkness. But, to his intense disappointment, the person entering the shop was not his younger brother.
“You look just like your brother when you do that.”
“Do what, Naomi?” huffed Inias as he returned to sweeping the smithy floor.
“Roll your eyes,” said Naomi, a slight smile crossing her features. “And you realize,” she continued, her voice lower, confidential, “you're not supposed to use his proper name?”
Inias gripped the broom, pushing too hard, scattering dust everywhere. “Yes. The De Angelus family, maker of blades, is no more.”
“Now, now. Don't be so unhappy. Despite your brother's troubles, you were allowed to continue your apprenticeship, weren't you?”
“This isn't an apprenticeship!” growled Inias. “Serving as a custodian to my own damned business. And they won't let me use magic! What good is a bladesmith who can’t say the words?”
Naomi put a finger to her lips and looked around. “Not many are allowed magic anymore. You know this.”
“What's a tradesman without his magic?”
“It's Metatron's commandment.”
“Fuck him.” He said it softly, but Naomi still looked like she would shit a brick.
She sighed. “I have something for you.” Naomi held up a brown paper-wrapped package. Frowning, Inias leaned his broom against the counter and took it from her. He unwrapped it, the paper crinkling. It was a book. He looked questioningly at Naomi: books had become almost as much contraband as magic.
“You said you liked reading to your brother. These are some tales. About the South.”
Inias nodded, his throat catching before he could say a word of thanks. Word was, his brother had gone South. Inias sometimes imagined grabbing Sammy, and hopping on one of the ships in the harbor to go look for him. Maybe when his brother was a little older. Even if they never set eyes on Castiel again, life beyond the Narrow Sea couldn't possibly be worse than his present existence.
Naomi was staring at him. “Take care, Inias. And … watch yourself.” And with that, she departed.
Cas somehow found his way back to the library from Dean's room. He had ventured back to his own room beside the forge only to find his things (what little there was) had all been transported as if by magic to the elder Winchester brother's quarters. He hadn't had the time to discuss this with Dean, so had just plowed ahead on the spell he was working on.
He had a rather large stack of books in his arms, and realized when he came to the door that he didn't really have an arm free to cast the unlocking spell.
“That's okay, I got it,” said Sam, who had just come up behind him. Sam casually flicked a hand at the door and it popped open. Sam grabbed the handle and politely held the door open when Cas, who was a bit flustered, entered and set down his stack of books.
“You didn't even say the words,” he told Sam, once the door was closed again.
“Oh, yeah. If you think them well enough, then you're good.”
Cas continued staring, but then awkwardly grabbed up a book and began to shelve it. There wasn't quite enough room for everything, so he had to resort to sticking a couple books in horizontally, irked him. “I haven't seen such a thing before.”
“Oh, yeah.” Sam stuck his hands in his pockets and glanced at the floor, shaggy hair falling in his face as he smiled shyly. “I think I inherited it. I guess our mom was a pretty good magic user.” He looked up, sparkling green eyes staring through dark bangs. “So, anyway, what are you here for? I might be able to help, if you're looking for something.”
Cas stood in silence for a moment. Both of the Winchester brothers possessed their own sort of beauty. So what in God's name does Dean see in me? “In point of fact, I am still pursuing Dean's request: to enchant a firearm.”
“Oh, the magic bullet spell.” Sam chuckled. “We've had some luck with engraving runes on the bullets, but they get distorted when you fire them.” He feigned firing off a gun, weaving hands together, two index fingers pointing and shooting.
“Not the bullets, Sam. The firearm.”
It was Sam's turn to stare at Cas. “You're gonna make a magic gun?”
“That is my hope.”
“Damn. That's smart. In fact, that's brilliant.”
“No one has pursued this line of inquiry before?”
You could see the wheels turning. “Well, making a gun.... It's complicated! All those little pieces.”
“Precisely! When you make a whole from parts, you can incorporate magic with various binding spells.”
Sam was beginning to get excited. “Yeah, I see where you're going. Shit! Why didn't I think of that?” He had already headed over to a section of shelving. “Have you looked in here yet?”
“Yes. The Enochian texts. But you don't have all the volumes of the series.”
Sam's grin spoke mysteries. “Ah, but we do!”
“Really? Where are they?”
But Sam was distracted by a commotion in the hallway outside. “Just a minute,” he said, peeking out the door. He stopped someone in the hallway and there was a whispered conversation. And then he was back in the room, radiating excitement. “Come on!” he told Cas.
Cas put down his books and headed out. Sam paused to re-lock the door with an impatient flick of the wrist, and then he was off running, Cas trying to keep up.
“What has happened?” Cas puffed.
“He's back!” Sam yelled back, and then he leapt for the stairs, taking them two and three at a time, and Cas contented himself for a while with just keeping pace with the long-legged Winchester.
They ended up in the grand corridor near the main entrance. Dean was there, and he was embracing a burly, dark haired man, still clad in a keffiyeh and desert robes. He looked like he had just come in from the wilderness. There were other robed men standing around as well.
Dean and the newcomer finally broke the embrace. Cas thought he had never seen Dean look so happy.
“Dad!” said Sam, who strode forward. The man smiled broadly and stepped forward to hug Sam, enthusiastically slapping his back.
“Dammit, Sam, are you still growing?” asked John, who took a step back and looked Sam up and down in mock surprise. Sam puffed up proudly. John turned to pump Bobby's hand. Bobby, to Cas, didn’t appear anywhere near as enthusiastic as the Winchester boys.
“Dad,” said Dean. He grabbed Cas by the arm and tugged him forward. “This is our new bladesmith. This is Cas.”
“It's good to meet you, sir,” said Cas, nervously extending a hand.
“We have a new smith?” John asked Dean, ignoring Cas for the moment. “Since when?”
Dean looked smug. “Since now.”
John waved a skeptical hand towards Cas. “Is the little bastard any good? He looks like he’s about fifteen years old.”
“I am nineteen years old, sir,” said Cas testily. Here we go again, he thought.
John turned to address Cas for the first time. “Can we cool it with the ‘sir’ business? Makes me feel like I’m a hundred years old.”
“You are a hundred years old,” barked Bobby, and several guys hooted with laughter.
“Look, I didn’t believe it either, at first, but he’s the best I’ve ever seen, Dad,” said Dean, and Cas stood tall with pride at this.
John didn’t comment, but instead peered inquisitively at his firstborn, and then gave Cas a searching look. “We’ll see, I guess. Welcome, Cas,” he added, finally holding out his hand to shake. His handshake was firm. And then Cas was evidently dismissed, as John said, “Come on, we have a lot to talk about.” He charged off, Dean and Bobby right behind him, Cas standing awkwardly back.
Sam grabbed Cas’s shoulder. “Hey. I’ll talk to them about getting that volume for you.” And then he too was off.
“Hey.”
Cas turned to see Kevin standing there with a large, covered platter. His face relaxed into a smile. “Hello, Kevin.”
“We haven’t seen you in a while.”
“I’m sorry. I’ve been surprisingly busy.”
Kevin shrugged. “Was gonna bring this down to Ash. And maybe visit for a while. Cottle’s a good doctor, but he’s too much of an asshole to be good company.”
“Can I go with you?” Cas asked. He wasn’t quite sure why, but he craved company just now.
“Hey, sure, come on! Victor sometimes comes down, and we need another hand to play cards. You do play cards, right?”
“Uh. No.”
“That’s even better!” Kevin assured him.
Inias began to leaf through the book Naomi had given him, 1,001 Tales of the South, and soon became so engrossed he didn't even realize when his brother finally appeared. Samandriel got up on tiptoes to peer in, dropping a pet grasshopper on the page so it could see as well.
“Do you want me to read?”
“Are there pirates?” asked Samandriel. Although the boy was resentful against Castiel, and would no longer suffer to say his traitorous brother's name, he had become fascinated with pirates after they heard their Castiel may have made it down through the Narrow Sea to the South, on a ship manned by privateers.
“There might be. Come on, pull up a chair.”
Samandriel grabbed a canvas sack filled with sawdust and dragged it over. He sat down while Inias hopped up on the counter and, pulling the lamp nearer, began to read. “In the beginning there were the Seven Sisters.” He paused, his finger on the paragraph. “Can you name all the forts, Sammy?”
Samandriel inhaled deeply, so he could recite it all in one breath. “The Ruby Fort, the Emerald Fort, the Onyx Fort, the Sapphire Fort, the Amethyst Fort, the Opal Fort, the Topaz Fort.”
“That’s right!”
“Only the Sapphire Fort was lost.”
Inias squinted at his brother. “Where did you hear that?”
“A mealybug told me.”
“Oh.” Inias shrugged and went back to reading.
NEXT