[fic] Triskele - Part IV (a)
When Dean finally caught sight of Sam a couple hours later, it was with a big breath of relief and a Man Hug™. Mary and Jess greeted him warmly and excitedly, Cas with a grin and handshake. They escorted him inside, he complained about how sore his legs were from the ride. They updated him with news, he let them know how hungry he was. But for Dean, Sam was back. He was in one piece, breathing, and he was grinning, and that was always a good sign. (Sometimes.)
Before anything actually productive, in Dean's opinion, happened, the wedding had to be discussed over dinner. The wedding was only a week away, which had taken Sam by surprise, but he covered it well and (kind of) feigned a light excitement. A few apparently prominent names connected to the Moores and Winchesters would probably be in attendance, and the celebratory feast would be held still at Lawrence Hall, with or without a few extra guests. Dean had to pretend he knew what he was talking about when the others asked if the cooks were prepared and had everything they needed. He answered them positively, with a smile, and turned back to watch Sam watch Jess. Well that was boring, so he turned to Cas. Mostly boring, but watching him contemplate his next bite was more amusing than it probably should have been.
Supper finished with Sam, Dean, and Cas promising to join everyone in the parlor after they discussed a few matters. They received mostly nods, as the parents in the group walked ahead, with Jo and Jess all a-twitter about something or another. Dean caught Michael's eye - Michael gave a stiff nod - and then Crowley's. Crowley also nodded, but there was something about his ever-smug expression that really irritated Dean beyond comprehension, but to be fair, that was usually the case. They all disappeared, leaving Dean to lead the others to his chamber.
"What'd you find out, Sam?"
Dean hadn't even finished sitting down at the table before the question was out of his mouth. Cas took a seat next to him, and Sam across them both as he pulled a set of loose papers from the saddle bag he'd brought back with him. Despite the clear and obvious differences between the pages and the books they'd earlier obsessed over, these were nothing like said books, Dean noticed. They weren't covered in dust, and their wear was healthier, and cared for. Sam flipped through the miniature ream of yellowed paper as Castiel fixed some candles to better light the area. (The setting sun wasn't helping their eyes much.) Sometimes Sam paused on a page, reading whatever it was he could. The text was in Italian, so for Sam, it shouldn't have been too difficult, being somewhat fluent in Spanish and Latin. Dean, unfortunately, would be little help. But Sam must have found what he was reading for, because he handed it over to Castiel.
Cas took the small stack, his eyes zipping back and forth to try and decipher it. It was odd, watching his eyes speed across the words like that, but they seemed relaxed, as if there was no labor involved in translating old Italian to modern English. Scratched characters and pictures decorated the old pages, and some of the edges were crinkled. If Dean didn't know any better he'd say they resembled Cas' lips, which, glancing, Dean confirmed that they appeared no different than usual, chapped and everything. But then, why wouldn't they be?
"So, uh…" Sam started awkwardly. Dean fixed his attention on him, clueless as to the reason of the inquisitive peeking he was getting. "York was big, but with the right questions, I found the people I was looking for. It also took a few days of more questions and the right … agreements … to get this information."
"Uh-huh, skip ahead."
Sam sighed at the stack Cas was reading through. "It's all in there," he said. "Beira's interference aside, it's actually really simple. A couple of the gypsies there explained it to me, but they let me keep these papers."
"If we knew anything else about Tarot, this would have been it, I'm afraid." Cas laid three of the sheets out, placing the rest to the side with a fragile schvvp. "It's … humiliatingly simple."
Dean groaned softly. "Well I do love being reminded about how dumb I am. Let's hear it."
Sam pointed to one of the pictures. It was hard to make out, but Dean could just see the figure of a man on it. "It's called The Fool's Journey. There are twenty-two cards that make up the Tarot's Major Arcana, and each card is part of a story. Card 0 is The Fool, card 1 is The Magician, et cetera."
"Wow. I already don't like where this is going."
"The Fool in the story is a young man ready to go off and find himself in the world, and along the way he meets these figures, or events. He learns lessons from them (or doesn't), until he comes upon the last card, Twenty One, The World, in which he enters another journey, or stage, or however you wanna look at it."
Dean had watched as Sam's finger jumped around, his eyes slowly drifting over the flowing characters and ignoring the faded pictures.
"It's not difficult to do, I think you're half-way through already," Castiel piped up. "It's clear that Dean is in the role of The Fool, and I think Beira and Brigit were our Magician and High Priestess. The Magician tells you what paths are available, and the High Priestess helps you figure out with one to take."
"Mom and Dad are the Empress and Emperor," said Sam, taking over. "The figures of the cards give that kind of advice, parental, I mean, and I know you had some moments with them, right? Where they gave you advice?"
"Uh, yeah?" Dean tried thinking back. He shared a lot of moments with both of them here-and-there when he wasn't trying to figure out what was going on. "Yeah, that night when Mom and I played cards, and then after you left, Dad and me had gone out. Me n' Cas got into a fight that night."
"It wasn't a fight. It was you being stubborn."
Sam snickered to himself, cutting Dean off before he could reply. "Hierophant. Who was your Hierophant?"
Dean retracted his glare from Cas, and sighed at Sam. "Explain what it is, Madame Sammy."
Sam was quiet, thinking, and tapping his finger on the table. "It's like. On popular tarot decks, he's usually a Pope, so…. Someone who distributes faith?"
"Not quite, according to this," Cas interrupted. "While very Pope-like, it's someone who is powerful over a sect of peoples. One whom others look up to." He read through part of the document again, pointing to the section. (Not that it did much good, as neither Dean nor Sam could read it.) "They prefer order, and harmony, at the expense of liberties. They like making sure everything is as it should be."
As hard as he tried to think of who could have been The Hierophant, it wasn't coming to Dean. He was sure he'd gone through his list of newer acquaintances at least two times, trying to match up habits. The first suspect he'd thought of was his father. He was the head of the family that others respected. He owned estates and was responsible for a great many things. He was a marquess-he was perfect for the role of Hierophant. But then he remembered that he could have also been the Emperor, and likely was more the Emperor than Hierophant if Sam's mommy and daddy theory was right. So he ran through the list just once more, and it hit him.
"Crowley," he said. "He overheard Mom and me talking about Cas and Catholics, and he offered me a deal to keep things under wraps. Apparently he has a lot of 'sway'? He never said what he wanted in return, just that he would cash in when it was time."
"Make a deal to keep what under wraps?"
"The fact we're Catholic here, I guess," Dean shrugged. He leaned back in his seat, and propped his legs up on the table. "'Bout as much as I know, 'cept that he's gotta have something up his sleeve."
"He never mentioned anything else?"
"We have our speculations, but let's finish this up." Cas sighed and rubbed at his jaw. His actions were beginning to remind Dean of the Castiel he'd met in 2014, and Dean couldn't help but feel a light current of unease pass through him. His attention returned to the Now as Cas cleared his throat to answer.
"The next card can be a misnomer-several of them are, but this one can often be confusing. Its common name is The Lovers, card 6."
"How is that a misnomer?" Dean asked, grinning. "It seems pretty straightforward to me. Am I gonna get laid?"
Cas reached past Dean, pointing to another part on the papers. He had to stop himself from asking Cas why he continued doing so when he knew perfectly well that Dean couldn't understand Italian. "Doubtful. According to these texts, this card is more about choices. The choice is a big one, and can be about relationships or lovers, yes, but still choices nonetheless."
"Jo," Dean said, not having to think. "Mom and Dad wanting me to make a choice about Jo."
"Maybe," Sam shrugged. "But when was the last time they harassed you about it?"
"More, when did he decide what he was going to do?"
Dean crossed his arms, settling further into his chair. "It's not like it required much thought. The answer was and is no. It was when me and Dad-" ("Dad and I.") "-were riding the day Sam left."
"But order," Cas hinted. "If Crowley is the Hierophant, the Lovers must have happened after Crowley's arrival. Your ride with John was before, so the choice can't have been about Jo." He paused, then said, "Unless something happened in the forest with her last night?"
Sam turned wide-eyes at Dean. "Dean, if you got her in trouble-things aren't the same here!"
Even Dean's eyes grew wide, and his jaw fell open in surprise. "Don't gimme that! We didn't do anything like that! We just stalked Crowley, sickos!"
Cas, meanwhile, remained quiet. Dean turned away from Sam, and back to the script. A choice, not necessarily regarding a lover or relationship; an event with someone that happened after Crowley's arrival. Trying to think of someone he'd not yet named was actually difficult. He'd briefly entertained Michael, and Ash-even some of the servants, but none of those interactions had been what Dean would deem important enough. So maybe it wasn't anyone who he was meeting anew, and with that variable, it didn't take long to think of the next possibility.
"Son of a bitch," he grunted. "I needeth an ale." His feet stomped down on the floor and he sat up. Sam's attention was neutral, and Cas, dammit, was looking away and making this more awkward, because clearly the bastard had already figured it out and didn't say anything.
"So … what d'you think it is?" Sam asked.
"The Lovers involves two people." Dean held up two fingers, a sarcastic grin taking over his face. "Me, of course, being the star of this shitty period drama, and one of my co-stars. Take your pick, Sammy, and here's a hint: It's not you."
Sam's expression was full of, What? until slowly his eyes roved over to Castiel and it evolved to an, Oh…. "Right. Well, I guess that makes sense."
"Makes-Sam, what?"
"It does," he insisted. "You said you guys got into a fight, right? I'm assuming you, uh." He tried hard not to laugh. "Made up?"
"I hate you so much right now." Dean covered his eyes, groaned a little bit, and finally sighed to try and shake the awkwardness off. It wasn't working, especially as he started to remember that awkward squirming in his gut.
Cas' tone was nothing but confusion when he responded, "We did, though. Why do you hate your brother? That's horrible."
"Figure of speech, Cas."
But Sam, of course, would have something to say. "It's not, though. At least he's trying to help and not treating it like some grade school teasing."
"Fine! Yes! We made up! I said I forgave him, and told him to stay with-us!"
"You hesitated," Sam delighted. "You are making this way too much fun, man."
Dean growled. "Who's the one turning it into grade school teasing, huh? Next card, Cas!"
For a moment, Castiel was quiet. It was both welcome and entirely uncomfortable. It gave Dean time to breathe and stop thinking for just a moment, but that didn't mean he actually had stopped thinking. Instead he was too focused on the title of the card, and the fact that the event of The Lovers was between him and Cas. Sure, maybe it wasn't that they were actually lovers - which they definitely were not - but that didn't stop him from thinking about it. And the more he thought about it, the more that tugging and discomfort grew within him. It was with great thanks he was spared when Cas resumed speaking, this time about The Chariot.
The Chariot, Cas explained, was a card revolving around impulses and victory; putting things together to win. Though he and Michael hadn't really spoken (and Dean wasn't at all complaining), he'd observed Michael's clear intent on winning; how meticulous yet merciless he'd been. Dean was positive that Michael was The Chariot. Dean figured this was a more metaphorical card, not necessarily linked to games, or fighting. He wasn't even sure he'd 'learned the lesson' but maybe it was just dormant? Cas also mentioned that the card could be interpreted as getting something that has slowed down or come to a stop moving once again. Dean wasn't sure he liked that particular interpretation.
Following The Chariot was Strength, and it was another card easily assigned at the description. "Combining two or more strengths to overcome your weakness." Without much thought at all, Dean knew right off the bat that it was Ellen. Sure, he interpreted 'strength' a little loosely, but what was Tarot if not interpretation, after all?
The quick succession of the cards was clear when Dean named Ash as the Hermit card. (The Hermit's purpose, apparently, was thought and introspection - which all of this definitely was, and would continue, Dean was sure - but could be someone who helped The Fool understand something. In this case, Ash.) His role so far had been the quickest, with him having understood Scots, and knowing just how strange it apparently was for Crowley to speak it. That alone had helped Dean to figure out Crowley's true identity-a conversation Dean promised after the discussion of the Tarot. So Sam hurried and finished the next card with a grin.
"Remember how at Beira's I drew The Wheel of Fortune? That's the next card, and I think my return with this information is just that happening. It's not all that significant in the Fool's Journey, not really a lesson, just a reminder. A stroke of good luck, or whatever."
Dean grinned. "That's fine with me. Heck, it's fine with me if the rest of the cards happen boom-boom-boom real quick, and hey. With this?" he said, pointing at the papers Sam returned with. "We can figure it all out before it even happens and get outta here that much quicker."
"Not to explode your bobble, or anything," Cas began. "But I don't think that will make a difference. Knowing the meaning of the cards would give you false ideas, I think."
"I think you mean 'burst your bubble'," Dean growled. He sighed, running his hands over his face. "So what's that mean?"
"You'd probably assume, say…" Sam began. He waved his hand in the air in thought. "Say you're told that Strength is 'someone who is strong.' Well, that could be anyone, depending on what kind of strength you're talking about, right?" Sam paused, but Dean just continued staring at him. "You might think it's someone other than who it is, just because of the description, and we can't have you jumping ahead in the game and thinking, 'Oh! We're going home!' when we're only on card 12."
Dean stared down at the papers, sulking just a bit. "…Sucks. Dammit. Okay, then which card is next? And…" he tapped the papers. "Why Italian?"
Castiel set the small ream down, and situated himself a little more comfortably in his chair. "To answer your first question, the next card is the eleventh card, Justice, and to answer your second question, Tarot originated in Italy. The gypsies in York are likely from there."
"That's weird, considering all the magic-fearing these people do." Dean leaned over a bit on to his elbows, his eyebrows lifting for half of an amused moment. A hand nestled itself in his hair as Cas replied.
"For all the worry regarding pagan traditions and Tarot in this time, Mary Stuart's first mother-in-law, Catherine de Medici, is actually a fan of the occult."
Dean gave pause, his face screwing in thought. "Where'd I hear that name, before?"
"Me," Sam answered. "When we first arrived, I mentioned what was going on in England. Mary Stuart, the now-former Queen of Scotland, is imprisoned at Chartley."
"Right! Crowley!" Dean announced. He stood up hurriedly, scrambling over to his desk to grab the letter Crowley had dropped in the forest.
Sam shook his head, almost confused. "No?" He quirked an eyebrow. "Mary?"
"No, no-Crowley. Scotland? Fergus MacLeod, from Canisbay? Bobby?" He threw the letter on the table. (And it was awesome, like in the movies, with the candles casting a scary light on the parchment and wax seal. Yeah. Awesome.) He continued as Sam picked up the letter and opened it, squinting his eyes to read the script in the minimal light. Dean continued going on about following Crowley into the forest and finding the letter, and Crowley's second agreement with him. Castiel seemed concerned, and before Dean could finish, Sam popped back in the conversation.
"I can't read this," he said. "It's a cypher, but that alone's enough of a clue. I bet he's sneaking around in England, pretending he's English. The English and Scottish hate each other-or at least … share an intense and mutual dislike of the other. Not just because of religion, but the line of succession to the English throne. Mary wants the throne, but Elizabeth won't let her have it, so Mary's imprisoned."
"That doesn't stop her supporters, though," Cas added, and mostly for Dean's benefit. (Because he just didn't feel stupid enough, he guessed. He'd seen the movies!)
"Okay? So?" he prompted.
Sam put the letter down. "Meaning there's really only one reason he would be parading around in England under a false name, and meeting Scotsmen this far north in England, and given the current year, he's probably working with Anthony Babington."
"I'll take, 'Who's that?' for 100, Sam."
"He's a conspirator. Crowley probably needs his help to try and find a way to kill Elizabeth, and put Mary Stuart on the throne of England."
***
Crowley had left the next morning after breakfast, and it was with a big, ol' smile that Dean waved him off. (Sam and Cas had seemed reserved about it, and Dean could kind of see where they would. Potential assassin, they could be stopping him, et cetera.) Crowley had wished Sam and Jess well for their upcoming wedding, Michael the same, and they were gone. Well, at least Cas and Sam were happy to see him go. The others were ambivalent, or just didn't care, which was just a tad too apathetic for Dean's tastes. But, it was over soon enough, and for good reason with the next several days being filled with frantic rushing.
More than ever before, Sam continued to worry about the whole wedding thing, and each day it had grown worse. He was perpetually caught between ecstatic and distressed, and quite frankly it was driving Dean up the wall. Finally he'd confronted Sam about it just a day or two before The Big Day after assuring Cas that yes, it was okay to go help Jo, Mary, and Ellen arrange the flowers. ("They're doing it wrong, Dean; that was not how Martha did it." "For the love of God-go.")
"I dunno, Dean, I mean-is this okay?" Sam had asked. Dean had sat him down at the foot of the stairs, letting himself lean on the bannister.
Honestly, Dean was conflicted about it himself. Sam could marry her, and then be a mopey puppy when they returned to the real world. Or, Sam could not marry her, and … be a mopey puppy all the time, regardless of which world. So he wasn't conflicted very long.
"Why wouldn't it be okay? You guys aren't exactly doing the whole arrangement thing, obviously it's because you love each other."
"Yeah, but, she's not … y'know. She's Jess, but she's not! There's nothing stopping her from being Jess, but she's not the real Jess."
"No, instead the real Jess is dead." Sure, Dean felt bad not just for bringing that up, but he managed to feel even worse for his next words. "I don't know how much longer we're going to be here, man. But this is probably the only way you're gonna get to be with her again. I say to relax, and go for it while you can."
"I was going to, anyway; I'd have to. I wouldn't be able to let her down like that. I just wasn't sure if it's the right thing to do."
"(And you're asking me if it's the right thing to do.) Well, then, remember that if you marry her here, this universe isn't real, so it's not like you're leaving her behind when we go home."
Sam tried to grin. "Nope," he said. "Instead, I'd be the one left behind. Again."
Oh yeah, there was that. Maybe it made Dean the littlest bit insensitive, but he waved it off. "If you're gonna do it anyway, there's no use in letting yourself worry over it. It's gonna happen, so you may as well just be happy while you can and take what you can get, right?"
"You have such an eloquent way of putting things, Dean. I don't know why I don't go to you more for this kind of advice."
Dean could only give Sam one of those grins in response, and a small shrug.
Sam went off after that, going to find something to do, while Dean went to check on Cas to make sure he wasn't actually training himself for Renaissance Home Making with Castiel - a touch of heaven with every petal. He'd no need to worry (too much); Cas was still sitting with Mary, Ellen, and Jo, and all four of them were still tying up small bunches of flowers. Rather than join the arts-and-crafts table, Dean returned inside to check up on other things he wasn't even sure needed checking up on. The servants rushing around seemed to be making sure everything was going according to plan, which left Dean with not much to do except wander around.
Two days later, it was time for the wedding. It had started at Lawrence Hall with absolutely everyone there, including people he'd not seen before but apparently knew anyway. They all walked to the little town not far away, through a small bit of forest, and into the church to many cheers, huzzahs, and even a few disgruntled jeers at the noise. The service was long, and when Dean discovered he wasn't allowed to sit down, it made the service even longer. But it was his brother marrying Jess, not some crazy fangirl named Becky, so he figured he could hold out a bit longer. The next bits after that went a bit over Dean's head, so he relied on the crowd's cheering to tell him when he officially had a sister-in-law. Sam looked happy, Jess looked happy; Mary and John looked happy-even Cas looked happy.
Most everyone returned to Lawrence Hall for a wedding feast, and it was happy times all around and into the night when many of the guests left, leaving just the families. Jess's parents wished her well, thanked everyone for allowing them to stay, and had left for home. Dean had no idea why they didn't just stay another night and leave in the morning, but the less people around the better, he supposed. Ellen and Jo would be staying another night or so, and John and Mary would leave after breakfast the next morning.
Once they did leave (after everyone had tried to get them to stay), Dean wasted no time in harassing Sam about his wedding night. Mostly it earned him a rather strong punch in the arm, but soon after an, "I'm sorry, when was the last time you got any? Oh yeah, that time you sired a monster."
It effectively shut Dean up.
The servants were still cleaning up a few things; and they'd even begun packing up Sam's and Jess's things. Apparently they would be leaving for Stanford Manor the morning after (Ellen, Jo, and Ash soon after that), which made sense, but the upcoming loss of Sam while they were trying to get home was just a bit … the opposite of productive.
Castiel, Dean noted, preferred to sit in the gardens while reading. Or, he just did nothing but sit there and enjoy the sun, and flowers. At first it annoyed Dean, because Cas should have been helping him out with the whole Tarot thing. Then Dean remembered that he'd helped him start figuring out what was going on with the Fool's Journey, and that it was his own job to figure the next parts out. All of that was up to Dean, and he lamentably, and silently, admitted that Sam and Cas had been right. Knowing about the cards, even their titles, was making it incredibly difficult. There were a few possibilities for who his Justice card could have been. He didn't think it would be Cas, or he'd probably be close by to an almost annoying degree, preaching things to him. Sam, Ash, and Ellen were already taken care of, and Jess's parents were gone. So it left either Jess, or Jo. Both were leaving soon; there was no hint, and it quite possibly annoyed Dean more than Sam douching up Baby with his iStuff.
It was as he was about to go find and join Castiel that he managed to figure out whom his Justice card was, and he found himself a little saddened that she came without the blindfold and scales. (Though he wouldn't be surprised if she was hiding a sword somewhere.)
"Hey, have you seen my mom anywhere?" Jo asked.
"…No?" Dean swept the corridor with his eyes; this could go somewhere bad.
"Good!" Oh no. "I'm trying to stay away as long as I can. She's in one of those moods, I think."
"What kind of mood?" he asked tentatively. He was almost scared.
Jo glanced around really quick, just making sure she wasn't going to be heard by the Wrong People. She sighed in relief to find no one, and pouted. "The overprotective one? I think she knows I was heading to the forest with a gun. I wanted to practice, but."
Well, it was nice to be reassured, again, that some things just didn't change. Jo's rebellious streak was one of them. "Well, aren't you supposed to be doing more lady-like things? Like … sewing?"
The glare Jo directed at him could probably have stopped one or two of the ghosts Dean had ever encountered. Maybe even Lilith, cuz Jo's glare was seriously pretty scary. Glare was probably too nice a word. "Lady-like? That's not fair, and you know it," she growled. "I'm a better shot than I am any kind of seamstress, and a better shot than most of the men around here-including you, apparently."
God dammit. "I didn't say you weren't! I'm just saying, your mom probably expects you to take care of your, uh, embroidery before anything else. That doesn't include hunting."
Jo's confusion was evident, but maybe it was also disbelief at Dean's words. "Embroidery? I haven't done embroidery since I was 13!"
"For the love of Alice Cooper," Dean breathed. "Fine, not embroidery! But there's a ton of stuff you probably do that your mom would rather you be doing." No wonder she didn't have a husband already in this era.
"Don't tell me you're taking her side!"
"I'm not taking any side!" He hoped. "I'm with ya on the 'it's not fair', okay? Just cuz you're a girl doesn't mean you shouldn't get to go and do guy things, or whatever it is it's called here, I dunno."
"What? When was that-?"
"But you can't not take your mom's concern into consideration. She's just worried because if I know your mom, she doesn't care that you do guy things. She cares that the gun, recent invention by the way, could backfire. Because they do, and you could die."
Dean thought maybe his words had gotten through to Jo, but it didn't matter. Dean just normally didn't win those games with women.
"I know how to use a gun, Dean."
Really, God? Really? "Jo, you're not stupid."
"You're treating me like I am!"
"I am not, but you're acting stupid, so stop!" he demanded. "Your mom knows you know how to work a gun. She trusts you. What she doesn't trust is the gun-basically has a mind of its own, and if you were any proper kind of gun holder, you would know that."
His dialogue ended with him pointing accusingly at Jo before she turned on her heel and stormed off. Dean groaned, he was sure to hear it pretty soon, and dragged a hand down his face. "Well that went awesomely," he muttered, and continued his way down the hall with every intent to brood broodily somewhere, probably in the garden with Cas, while he studied photosynthesis or whatever was on the agenda for that day. But he halted half-way down when he came across an open door he was sure he'd not seen before.
He stepped inside, and discovered something of a miniature church. There were two columns of short pews, just three small rows in each. Ahead there was an altar, and two stained-glass windows filtering colored light in. There was just one other person in the room, kneeling in one of the pews and, from what Dean could tell, praying.
"I believe the Catholic tradition is to kneel in front of the altar, and then before the pew you sit in, all while making the sign of the cross."
"Is it really?" Dean asked, but he walked forward, kneeled briefly before the altar (no sign), and then the pew before he slid in (again, no sign). "What made you decide to go to pseudo-church?" he asked.
"It's amusing how the human phrase is, 'In with the good, out with the bad,' when with nature it's the opposite. They're quite the helpers, aren't they? They take in what you breathe out, that being carbon dioxide, and expel what you breathe in, being oxygen."
Dean chuckled; at least he'd been right on the whole photosynthesis part. "Fascinating, but that doesn't answer my question, Cas."
"Something is bothering you," Cas said into his folded hands.
"You, sir, get a special sticker for your observational skills."
Cas didn't respond, and instead kept praying. It went on for a little bit, and Dean assumed the silence was his invitation to continue. (Even if he knew Cas was a little busy, but Cas had rarely ever been too busy for Dean.) He groaned, and began. "Jo is Justice, but I feel like I'm the one who laid it on her instead of the opposite. You think that still counts?"
Dean could just see Cas' eyes open, and he realized how nicely the green from the windows complemented his eyes. They were handsome, and Dean admitted that in the manliest of ways.
"Justice is a card about understanding compromise. You have to choose what to give up and what to keep so that it's fair to everyone."
"So then it's just The Lovers again under a different name."
"No. The Lovers doesn't involve compromise. Just choice. Justice involves being fair; distributing justice through compromise."
For as forcefully as Dean insisted the information to himself, invading thoughts of The Lovers card and choice were unrelenting. Enough of how much about choice it was-the title was throwing him off too much, and he was very sure that he hated that card. Because of it, every time he looked at Castiel anymore, especially when talking about the Tarot, it made that twisting in his gut that much stronger. It still wasn't at all intolerable, and that pissed him off enough as it was, but then it continued making itself right at home, right under his diaphragm, and he liked it. (There was no such thing as a simple relationship in Dean Winchester's life.)
"So," he said, trying to change track. "Not sure I wanna know, but what card's next, after Justice?"
Cas was quiet for a moment, then said, "The Hanged Man." Dean must have made a face, because Castiel shook his head, trying. "You have a habit of taking these names seriously. You're not actually the Hanged Man. Think more of … suspension."
So Dean was lost on that one, but that was okay because he was too preoccupied trying to think of the other cards. They were supposed to teach him lessons, but he didn't feel like all of them had. He understood the lesson from his mom's card, The Empress. She impressed upon him patience, and waiting, and he thought he was doing okay with that. Ish. The Emperor, however, he wasn't sure had really sunken in. Structure, John had mentioned. The only structured part of Dean's life was that it would never actually have structure. It hadn't stopped him from trying, he supposed. That Apple Pie Life he promised Sam he'd try out? It worked for a year, maybe, but Lisa didn't count much anymore, did she? As far as Dean was concerned, he had all the structure he needed in Sam and Cas, and in the Impala. They knew their jobs and responsibilities; that was their structure, and Dean was just fine with that.
The Hierophant. Dean knew perfectly well what lesson that was, now. More, he knew what Crowley was probably up to, trying to plan an assassination attempt on Elizabeth. What was worse was Crowley trying to trick Dean into helping him stay undercover through it all. Dean would be as good as an accomplice under Elizabethan law. He shuddered, moving on, but that led to The Lovers again. Dean, honestly, was sick of the card, and sick of its name. Determined, he went ahead to The Chariot. The Chariot was difficult. He knew the idea of the card: putting things together to charge ahead to victory without mercy, or get things moving again. He couldn't think of an example for the latter, and the former seemed almost too vague to apply. The only issue he could apply it to was the current one, being stuck in 1586. Were the things he was supposed to be putting together the cards' lessons? If so, it was going to be a while, and Dean really didn't plan on being around there much longer.
Strength hadn't been very difficult to figure out. Maybe it was because Ellen, just in general, had represented Strength, or because Dean could easily empathize with the situation. Dean was fine here, and he supposed The Hermit wasn't hard to comprehend, either. Accepting the help others offered, or the whole thought and introspection thing, which he was in the middle of doing. (Tarot seemed to have a funny way of repeating itself.)
Dean's favorite card so far was Sam's. The Wheel of Fortune. Sam had certainly brought good news, and so Dean wasn't complaining. Thus far, though, his least favorite card - The Lovers aside - was probably Justice. It made sense, the idea of the card, and he knew Jo was stubborn, but what didn't make sense was why he was the one doing the teaching, and not the other way around.
Caught up, he couldn't help it. It was no use, and his mind snapped back to The Lovers. Just a little involuntarily, he wondered just how, maybe, holding Cas' hands might feel. Did angels get calluses from wielding their swords? Would it feel strange at all if they sat or stood even just a little closer together than they already did? How confused would Cas be if Dean reached for his neck to pull him just close enough for a chaste kiss?
Thankfully, at least, Dean abstained from punching the pew front before him. He bit his tongue, and tried as hard as he could to erase everything he could, and to chase away the return of that warm tugging. These weren't thoughts he should be having about an Angel of the frickin' Lord, let alone one possessing the body of a husband and father. He snapped his eyes to Castiel in the hopes that he wasn't reading Dean's mind, because-wow, awkward. A large part of him wanted to know just where the Hell any of that had come from, but another part just let it go, because … he didn't know. He wasn't sure what to think about any of it, mostly because he wasn't annoyed they were there. Just why they were there, and he was afraid to answer that question. Afraid, because every time he went to think of why, he actually came up with legitimate reasons.
When it had come time little more than a week earlier for Dean to work through the card, he'd done what Cas said the point of the card was to do, and that was to make a choice. Dean's choice had been to forgive Cas, and keep him around at all times. What he'd not realized, and was only realizing now, was that it hadn't been forgiveness Dean was having trouble with giving since after killing Dick Roman. Dean had forgiven Cas in full, he'd just confused forgiving him with admitting a few key things to himself. Such as what keeping Castiel around might mean beyond their friendship, or that said friendship, maybe, wasn't just friendship. Friends, yes. Best friends, definitely. But Dean couldn't even think the next words, partly because what would they even be, and partly because he already knew that - at least on his end - they were positive. And that scared him.
Fuck you, Tarot, and your stupid rules and interpretations. Fuck you Beira, fuck you Brigit, and fuck you, Me.
Finally his thoughts settled to white noise, and his hands came up to rub at his temples. He was going to have a headache, and what he wouldn't give for something a lot more potent than anything offered in a thousand-mile radius.
Dean groaned, hoping he was worrying himself over nothing, and so instead changed the subject as best he could. "If we all ended up being Catholic in this alternate reality," he began, "is that a sign about what God wants people to practice?"
"What?" Cas' hands fell apart, and he whipped his stare to Dean. He actually seemed a cross between surprised and angry. "No! God never cared for denominations. All He did was give Man a brain. Some men might choose Catholicism while others Protestantism. Some men choose Calvinism, but that's just within Christianity. Even then: Judaism, Christianity, and Islam-they're different … volumes of the same thing. I believe one likening was that to a series of movies, or books. The original, the sequel, and the spin-off."
"So why hasn't God tried to stop it? The Crusades, genocide…?"
"You haven't figured that out?" Cas sat up on the pew once more, with his hands folded in his lap, and an amused grin on his face. He looked down at his hands, making Dean look at them, too. There was no way he could deny the idea that maybe they would feel nice if they were in his. God dammit. "Free Will. He'd hoped that humans would come to their senses sooner, but…. Even God doesn't always get what He wants. Man does what he wants with what he knows, and what he believes is right."
Dean bit the inside of his cheek. Something was telling him-he knew what he wanted, that gut-twisting feeling was never going to be as mysterious as it once was, and it was always going to taunt him.
"The next card is also a misnomer," Castiel said suddenly. Dean peeked over almost shyly, as if embarrassed that Cas might have known what he was contemplating. Beyond that, he really hated having these 'misnomer' cards. "Death."
And so on that ominous note, Castiel stood in the pew, and passed Dean before giving another kneel to the altar. His steps were brisk-sounding, and Dean was alone in a suddenly-eerie space.
The next card was Death.
Awesome.
Part III | * | Part IV (b)
Before anything actually productive, in Dean's opinion, happened, the wedding had to be discussed over dinner. The wedding was only a week away, which had taken Sam by surprise, but he covered it well and (kind of) feigned a light excitement. A few apparently prominent names connected to the Moores and Winchesters would probably be in attendance, and the celebratory feast would be held still at Lawrence Hall, with or without a few extra guests. Dean had to pretend he knew what he was talking about when the others asked if the cooks were prepared and had everything they needed. He answered them positively, with a smile, and turned back to watch Sam watch Jess. Well that was boring, so he turned to Cas. Mostly boring, but watching him contemplate his next bite was more amusing than it probably should have been.
Supper finished with Sam, Dean, and Cas promising to join everyone in the parlor after they discussed a few matters. They received mostly nods, as the parents in the group walked ahead, with Jo and Jess all a-twitter about something or another. Dean caught Michael's eye - Michael gave a stiff nod - and then Crowley's. Crowley also nodded, but there was something about his ever-smug expression that really irritated Dean beyond comprehension, but to be fair, that was usually the case. They all disappeared, leaving Dean to lead the others to his chamber.
"What'd you find out, Sam?"
Dean hadn't even finished sitting down at the table before the question was out of his mouth. Cas took a seat next to him, and Sam across them both as he pulled a set of loose papers from the saddle bag he'd brought back with him. Despite the clear and obvious differences between the pages and the books they'd earlier obsessed over, these were nothing like said books, Dean noticed. They weren't covered in dust, and their wear was healthier, and cared for. Sam flipped through the miniature ream of yellowed paper as Castiel fixed some candles to better light the area. (The setting sun wasn't helping their eyes much.) Sometimes Sam paused on a page, reading whatever it was he could. The text was in Italian, so for Sam, it shouldn't have been too difficult, being somewhat fluent in Spanish and Latin. Dean, unfortunately, would be little help. But Sam must have found what he was reading for, because he handed it over to Castiel.
Cas took the small stack, his eyes zipping back and forth to try and decipher it. It was odd, watching his eyes speed across the words like that, but they seemed relaxed, as if there was no labor involved in translating old Italian to modern English. Scratched characters and pictures decorated the old pages, and some of the edges were crinkled. If Dean didn't know any better he'd say they resembled Cas' lips, which, glancing, Dean confirmed that they appeared no different than usual, chapped and everything. But then, why wouldn't they be?
"So, uh…" Sam started awkwardly. Dean fixed his attention on him, clueless as to the reason of the inquisitive peeking he was getting. "York was big, but with the right questions, I found the people I was looking for. It also took a few days of more questions and the right … agreements … to get this information."
"Uh-huh, skip ahead."
Sam sighed at the stack Cas was reading through. "It's all in there," he said. "Beira's interference aside, it's actually really simple. A couple of the gypsies there explained it to me, but they let me keep these papers."
"If we knew anything else about Tarot, this would have been it, I'm afraid." Cas laid three of the sheets out, placing the rest to the side with a fragile schvvp. "It's … humiliatingly simple."
Dean groaned softly. "Well I do love being reminded about how dumb I am. Let's hear it."
Sam pointed to one of the pictures. It was hard to make out, but Dean could just see the figure of a man on it. "It's called The Fool's Journey. There are twenty-two cards that make up the Tarot's Major Arcana, and each card is part of a story. Card 0 is The Fool, card 1 is The Magician, et cetera."
"Wow. I already don't like where this is going."
"The Fool in the story is a young man ready to go off and find himself in the world, and along the way he meets these figures, or events. He learns lessons from them (or doesn't), until he comes upon the last card, Twenty One, The World, in which he enters another journey, or stage, or however you wanna look at it."
Dean had watched as Sam's finger jumped around, his eyes slowly drifting over the flowing characters and ignoring the faded pictures.
"It's not difficult to do, I think you're half-way through already," Castiel piped up. "It's clear that Dean is in the role of The Fool, and I think Beira and Brigit were our Magician and High Priestess. The Magician tells you what paths are available, and the High Priestess helps you figure out with one to take."
"Mom and Dad are the Empress and Emperor," said Sam, taking over. "The figures of the cards give that kind of advice, parental, I mean, and I know you had some moments with them, right? Where they gave you advice?"
"Uh, yeah?" Dean tried thinking back. He shared a lot of moments with both of them here-and-there when he wasn't trying to figure out what was going on. "Yeah, that night when Mom and I played cards, and then after you left, Dad and me had gone out. Me n' Cas got into a fight that night."
"It wasn't a fight. It was you being stubborn."
Sam snickered to himself, cutting Dean off before he could reply. "Hierophant. Who was your Hierophant?"
Dean retracted his glare from Cas, and sighed at Sam. "Explain what it is, Madame Sammy."
Sam was quiet, thinking, and tapping his finger on the table. "It's like. On popular tarot decks, he's usually a Pope, so…. Someone who distributes faith?"
"Not quite, according to this," Cas interrupted. "While very Pope-like, it's someone who is powerful over a sect of peoples. One whom others look up to." He read through part of the document again, pointing to the section. (Not that it did much good, as neither Dean nor Sam could read it.) "They prefer order, and harmony, at the expense of liberties. They like making sure everything is as it should be."
As hard as he tried to think of who could have been The Hierophant, it wasn't coming to Dean. He was sure he'd gone through his list of newer acquaintances at least two times, trying to match up habits. The first suspect he'd thought of was his father. He was the head of the family that others respected. He owned estates and was responsible for a great many things. He was a marquess-he was perfect for the role of Hierophant. But then he remembered that he could have also been the Emperor, and likely was more the Emperor than Hierophant if Sam's mommy and daddy theory was right. So he ran through the list just once more, and it hit him.
"Crowley," he said. "He overheard Mom and me talking about Cas and Catholics, and he offered me a deal to keep things under wraps. Apparently he has a lot of 'sway'? He never said what he wanted in return, just that he would cash in when it was time."
"Make a deal to keep what under wraps?"
"The fact we're Catholic here, I guess," Dean shrugged. He leaned back in his seat, and propped his legs up on the table. "'Bout as much as I know, 'cept that he's gotta have something up his sleeve."
"He never mentioned anything else?"
"We have our speculations, but let's finish this up." Cas sighed and rubbed at his jaw. His actions were beginning to remind Dean of the Castiel he'd met in 2014, and Dean couldn't help but feel a light current of unease pass through him. His attention returned to the Now as Cas cleared his throat to answer.
"The next card can be a misnomer-several of them are, but this one can often be confusing. Its common name is The Lovers, card 6."
"How is that a misnomer?" Dean asked, grinning. "It seems pretty straightforward to me. Am I gonna get laid?"
Cas reached past Dean, pointing to another part on the papers. He had to stop himself from asking Cas why he continued doing so when he knew perfectly well that Dean couldn't understand Italian. "Doubtful. According to these texts, this card is more about choices. The choice is a big one, and can be about relationships or lovers, yes, but still choices nonetheless."
"Jo," Dean said, not having to think. "Mom and Dad wanting me to make a choice about Jo."
"Maybe," Sam shrugged. "But when was the last time they harassed you about it?"
"More, when did he decide what he was going to do?"
Dean crossed his arms, settling further into his chair. "It's not like it required much thought. The answer was and is no. It was when me and Dad-" ("Dad and I.") "-were riding the day Sam left."
"But order," Cas hinted. "If Crowley is the Hierophant, the Lovers must have happened after Crowley's arrival. Your ride with John was before, so the choice can't have been about Jo." He paused, then said, "Unless something happened in the forest with her last night?"
Sam turned wide-eyes at Dean. "Dean, if you got her in trouble-things aren't the same here!"
Even Dean's eyes grew wide, and his jaw fell open in surprise. "Don't gimme that! We didn't do anything like that! We just stalked Crowley, sickos!"
Cas, meanwhile, remained quiet. Dean turned away from Sam, and back to the script. A choice, not necessarily regarding a lover or relationship; an event with someone that happened after Crowley's arrival. Trying to think of someone he'd not yet named was actually difficult. He'd briefly entertained Michael, and Ash-even some of the servants, but none of those interactions had been what Dean would deem important enough. So maybe it wasn't anyone who he was meeting anew, and with that variable, it didn't take long to think of the next possibility.
"Son of a bitch," he grunted. "I needeth an ale." His feet stomped down on the floor and he sat up. Sam's attention was neutral, and Cas, dammit, was looking away and making this more awkward, because clearly the bastard had already figured it out and didn't say anything.
"So … what d'you think it is?" Sam asked.
"The Lovers involves two people." Dean held up two fingers, a sarcastic grin taking over his face. "Me, of course, being the star of this shitty period drama, and one of my co-stars. Take your pick, Sammy, and here's a hint: It's not you."
Sam's expression was full of, What? until slowly his eyes roved over to Castiel and it evolved to an, Oh…. "Right. Well, I guess that makes sense."
"Makes-Sam, what?"
"It does," he insisted. "You said you guys got into a fight, right? I'm assuming you, uh." He tried hard not to laugh. "Made up?"
"I hate you so much right now." Dean covered his eyes, groaned a little bit, and finally sighed to try and shake the awkwardness off. It wasn't working, especially as he started to remember that awkward squirming in his gut.
Cas' tone was nothing but confusion when he responded, "We did, though. Why do you hate your brother? That's horrible."
"Figure of speech, Cas."
But Sam, of course, would have something to say. "It's not, though. At least he's trying to help and not treating it like some grade school teasing."
"Fine! Yes! We made up! I said I forgave him, and told him to stay with-us!"
"You hesitated," Sam delighted. "You are making this way too much fun, man."
Dean growled. "Who's the one turning it into grade school teasing, huh? Next card, Cas!"
For a moment, Castiel was quiet. It was both welcome and entirely uncomfortable. It gave Dean time to breathe and stop thinking for just a moment, but that didn't mean he actually had stopped thinking. Instead he was too focused on the title of the card, and the fact that the event of The Lovers was between him and Cas. Sure, maybe it wasn't that they were actually lovers - which they definitely were not - but that didn't stop him from thinking about it. And the more he thought about it, the more that tugging and discomfort grew within him. It was with great thanks he was spared when Cas resumed speaking, this time about The Chariot.
The Chariot, Cas explained, was a card revolving around impulses and victory; putting things together to win. Though he and Michael hadn't really spoken (and Dean wasn't at all complaining), he'd observed Michael's clear intent on winning; how meticulous yet merciless he'd been. Dean was positive that Michael was The Chariot. Dean figured this was a more metaphorical card, not necessarily linked to games, or fighting. He wasn't even sure he'd 'learned the lesson' but maybe it was just dormant? Cas also mentioned that the card could be interpreted as getting something that has slowed down or come to a stop moving once again. Dean wasn't sure he liked that particular interpretation.
Following The Chariot was Strength, and it was another card easily assigned at the description. "Combining two or more strengths to overcome your weakness." Without much thought at all, Dean knew right off the bat that it was Ellen. Sure, he interpreted 'strength' a little loosely, but what was Tarot if not interpretation, after all?
The quick succession of the cards was clear when Dean named Ash as the Hermit card. (The Hermit's purpose, apparently, was thought and introspection - which all of this definitely was, and would continue, Dean was sure - but could be someone who helped The Fool understand something. In this case, Ash.) His role so far had been the quickest, with him having understood Scots, and knowing just how strange it apparently was for Crowley to speak it. That alone had helped Dean to figure out Crowley's true identity-a conversation Dean promised after the discussion of the Tarot. So Sam hurried and finished the next card with a grin.
"Remember how at Beira's I drew The Wheel of Fortune? That's the next card, and I think my return with this information is just that happening. It's not all that significant in the Fool's Journey, not really a lesson, just a reminder. A stroke of good luck, or whatever."
Dean grinned. "That's fine with me. Heck, it's fine with me if the rest of the cards happen boom-boom-boom real quick, and hey. With this?" he said, pointing at the papers Sam returned with. "We can figure it all out before it even happens and get outta here that much quicker."
"Not to explode your bobble, or anything," Cas began. "But I don't think that will make a difference. Knowing the meaning of the cards would give you false ideas, I think."
"I think you mean 'burst your bubble'," Dean growled. He sighed, running his hands over his face. "So what's that mean?"
"You'd probably assume, say…" Sam began. He waved his hand in the air in thought. "Say you're told that Strength is 'someone who is strong.' Well, that could be anyone, depending on what kind of strength you're talking about, right?" Sam paused, but Dean just continued staring at him. "You might think it's someone other than who it is, just because of the description, and we can't have you jumping ahead in the game and thinking, 'Oh! We're going home!' when we're only on card 12."
Dean stared down at the papers, sulking just a bit. "…Sucks. Dammit. Okay, then which card is next? And…" he tapped the papers. "Why Italian?"
Castiel set the small ream down, and situated himself a little more comfortably in his chair. "To answer your first question, the next card is the eleventh card, Justice, and to answer your second question, Tarot originated in Italy. The gypsies in York are likely from there."
"That's weird, considering all the magic-fearing these people do." Dean leaned over a bit on to his elbows, his eyebrows lifting for half of an amused moment. A hand nestled itself in his hair as Cas replied.
"For all the worry regarding pagan traditions and Tarot in this time, Mary Stuart's first mother-in-law, Catherine de Medici, is actually a fan of the occult."
Dean gave pause, his face screwing in thought. "Where'd I hear that name, before?"
"Me," Sam answered. "When we first arrived, I mentioned what was going on in England. Mary Stuart, the now-former Queen of Scotland, is imprisoned at Chartley."
"Right! Crowley!" Dean announced. He stood up hurriedly, scrambling over to his desk to grab the letter Crowley had dropped in the forest.
Sam shook his head, almost confused. "No?" He quirked an eyebrow. "Mary?"
"No, no-Crowley. Scotland? Fergus MacLeod, from Canisbay? Bobby?" He threw the letter on the table. (And it was awesome, like in the movies, with the candles casting a scary light on the parchment and wax seal. Yeah. Awesome.) He continued as Sam picked up the letter and opened it, squinting his eyes to read the script in the minimal light. Dean continued going on about following Crowley into the forest and finding the letter, and Crowley's second agreement with him. Castiel seemed concerned, and before Dean could finish, Sam popped back in the conversation.
"I can't read this," he said. "It's a cypher, but that alone's enough of a clue. I bet he's sneaking around in England, pretending he's English. The English and Scottish hate each other-or at least … share an intense and mutual dislike of the other. Not just because of religion, but the line of succession to the English throne. Mary wants the throne, but Elizabeth won't let her have it, so Mary's imprisoned."
"That doesn't stop her supporters, though," Cas added, and mostly for Dean's benefit. (Because he just didn't feel stupid enough, he guessed. He'd seen the movies!)
"Okay? So?" he prompted.
Sam put the letter down. "Meaning there's really only one reason he would be parading around in England under a false name, and meeting Scotsmen this far north in England, and given the current year, he's probably working with Anthony Babington."
"I'll take, 'Who's that?' for 100, Sam."
"He's a conspirator. Crowley probably needs his help to try and find a way to kill Elizabeth, and put Mary Stuart on the throne of England."
***
Crowley had left the next morning after breakfast, and it was with a big, ol' smile that Dean waved him off. (Sam and Cas had seemed reserved about it, and Dean could kind of see where they would. Potential assassin, they could be stopping him, et cetera.) Crowley had wished Sam and Jess well for their upcoming wedding, Michael the same, and they were gone. Well, at least Cas and Sam were happy to see him go. The others were ambivalent, or just didn't care, which was just a tad too apathetic for Dean's tastes. But, it was over soon enough, and for good reason with the next several days being filled with frantic rushing.
More than ever before, Sam continued to worry about the whole wedding thing, and each day it had grown worse. He was perpetually caught between ecstatic and distressed, and quite frankly it was driving Dean up the wall. Finally he'd confronted Sam about it just a day or two before The Big Day after assuring Cas that yes, it was okay to go help Jo, Mary, and Ellen arrange the flowers. ("They're doing it wrong, Dean; that was not how Martha did it." "For the love of God-go.")
"I dunno, Dean, I mean-is this okay?" Sam had asked. Dean had sat him down at the foot of the stairs, letting himself lean on the bannister.
Honestly, Dean was conflicted about it himself. Sam could marry her, and then be a mopey puppy when they returned to the real world. Or, Sam could not marry her, and … be a mopey puppy all the time, regardless of which world. So he wasn't conflicted very long.
"Why wouldn't it be okay? You guys aren't exactly doing the whole arrangement thing, obviously it's because you love each other."
"Yeah, but, she's not … y'know. She's Jess, but she's not! There's nothing stopping her from being Jess, but she's not the real Jess."
"No, instead the real Jess is dead." Sure, Dean felt bad not just for bringing that up, but he managed to feel even worse for his next words. "I don't know how much longer we're going to be here, man. But this is probably the only way you're gonna get to be with her again. I say to relax, and go for it while you can."
"I was going to, anyway; I'd have to. I wouldn't be able to let her down like that. I just wasn't sure if it's the right thing to do."
"(And you're asking me if it's the right thing to do.) Well, then, remember that if you marry her here, this universe isn't real, so it's not like you're leaving her behind when we go home."
Sam tried to grin. "Nope," he said. "Instead, I'd be the one left behind. Again."
Oh yeah, there was that. Maybe it made Dean the littlest bit insensitive, but he waved it off. "If you're gonna do it anyway, there's no use in letting yourself worry over it. It's gonna happen, so you may as well just be happy while you can and take what you can get, right?"
"You have such an eloquent way of putting things, Dean. I don't know why I don't go to you more for this kind of advice."
Dean could only give Sam one of those grins in response, and a small shrug.
Sam went off after that, going to find something to do, while Dean went to check on Cas to make sure he wasn't actually training himself for Renaissance Home Making with Castiel - a touch of heaven with every petal. He'd no need to worry (too much); Cas was still sitting with Mary, Ellen, and Jo, and all four of them were still tying up small bunches of flowers. Rather than join the arts-and-crafts table, Dean returned inside to check up on other things he wasn't even sure needed checking up on. The servants rushing around seemed to be making sure everything was going according to plan, which left Dean with not much to do except wander around.
Two days later, it was time for the wedding. It had started at Lawrence Hall with absolutely everyone there, including people he'd not seen before but apparently knew anyway. They all walked to the little town not far away, through a small bit of forest, and into the church to many cheers, huzzahs, and even a few disgruntled jeers at the noise. The service was long, and when Dean discovered he wasn't allowed to sit down, it made the service even longer. But it was his brother marrying Jess, not some crazy fangirl named Becky, so he figured he could hold out a bit longer. The next bits after that went a bit over Dean's head, so he relied on the crowd's cheering to tell him when he officially had a sister-in-law. Sam looked happy, Jess looked happy; Mary and John looked happy-even Cas looked happy.
Most everyone returned to Lawrence Hall for a wedding feast, and it was happy times all around and into the night when many of the guests left, leaving just the families. Jess's parents wished her well, thanked everyone for allowing them to stay, and had left for home. Dean had no idea why they didn't just stay another night and leave in the morning, but the less people around the better, he supposed. Ellen and Jo would be staying another night or so, and John and Mary would leave after breakfast the next morning.
Once they did leave (after everyone had tried to get them to stay), Dean wasted no time in harassing Sam about his wedding night. Mostly it earned him a rather strong punch in the arm, but soon after an, "I'm sorry, when was the last time you got any? Oh yeah, that time you sired a monster."
It effectively shut Dean up.
The servants were still cleaning up a few things; and they'd even begun packing up Sam's and Jess's things. Apparently they would be leaving for Stanford Manor the morning after (Ellen, Jo, and Ash soon after that), which made sense, but the upcoming loss of Sam while they were trying to get home was just a bit … the opposite of productive.
Castiel, Dean noted, preferred to sit in the gardens while reading. Or, he just did nothing but sit there and enjoy the sun, and flowers. At first it annoyed Dean, because Cas should have been helping him out with the whole Tarot thing. Then Dean remembered that he'd helped him start figuring out what was going on with the Fool's Journey, and that it was his own job to figure the next parts out. All of that was up to Dean, and he lamentably, and silently, admitted that Sam and Cas had been right. Knowing about the cards, even their titles, was making it incredibly difficult. There were a few possibilities for who his Justice card could have been. He didn't think it would be Cas, or he'd probably be close by to an almost annoying degree, preaching things to him. Sam, Ash, and Ellen were already taken care of, and Jess's parents were gone. So it left either Jess, or Jo. Both were leaving soon; there was no hint, and it quite possibly annoyed Dean more than Sam douching up Baby with his iStuff.
It was as he was about to go find and join Castiel that he managed to figure out whom his Justice card was, and he found himself a little saddened that she came without the blindfold and scales. (Though he wouldn't be surprised if she was hiding a sword somewhere.)
"Hey, have you seen my mom anywhere?" Jo asked.
"…No?" Dean swept the corridor with his eyes; this could go somewhere bad.
"Good!" Oh no. "I'm trying to stay away as long as I can. She's in one of those moods, I think."
"What kind of mood?" he asked tentatively. He was almost scared.
Jo glanced around really quick, just making sure she wasn't going to be heard by the Wrong People. She sighed in relief to find no one, and pouted. "The overprotective one? I think she knows I was heading to the forest with a gun. I wanted to practice, but."
Well, it was nice to be reassured, again, that some things just didn't change. Jo's rebellious streak was one of them. "Well, aren't you supposed to be doing more lady-like things? Like … sewing?"
The glare Jo directed at him could probably have stopped one or two of the ghosts Dean had ever encountered. Maybe even Lilith, cuz Jo's glare was seriously pretty scary. Glare was probably too nice a word. "Lady-like? That's not fair, and you know it," she growled. "I'm a better shot than I am any kind of seamstress, and a better shot than most of the men around here-including you, apparently."
God dammit. "I didn't say you weren't! I'm just saying, your mom probably expects you to take care of your, uh, embroidery before anything else. That doesn't include hunting."
Jo's confusion was evident, but maybe it was also disbelief at Dean's words. "Embroidery? I haven't done embroidery since I was 13!"
"For the love of Alice Cooper," Dean breathed. "Fine, not embroidery! But there's a ton of stuff you probably do that your mom would rather you be doing." No wonder she didn't have a husband already in this era.
"Don't tell me you're taking her side!"
"I'm not taking any side!" He hoped. "I'm with ya on the 'it's not fair', okay? Just cuz you're a girl doesn't mean you shouldn't get to go and do guy things, or whatever it is it's called here, I dunno."
"What? When was that-?"
"But you can't not take your mom's concern into consideration. She's just worried because if I know your mom, she doesn't care that you do guy things. She cares that the gun, recent invention by the way, could backfire. Because they do, and you could die."
Dean thought maybe his words had gotten through to Jo, but it didn't matter. Dean just normally didn't win those games with women.
"I know how to use a gun, Dean."
Really, God? Really? "Jo, you're not stupid."
"You're treating me like I am!"
"I am not, but you're acting stupid, so stop!" he demanded. "Your mom knows you know how to work a gun. She trusts you. What she doesn't trust is the gun-basically has a mind of its own, and if you were any proper kind of gun holder, you would know that."
His dialogue ended with him pointing accusingly at Jo before she turned on her heel and stormed off. Dean groaned, he was sure to hear it pretty soon, and dragged a hand down his face. "Well that went awesomely," he muttered, and continued his way down the hall with every intent to brood broodily somewhere, probably in the garden with Cas, while he studied photosynthesis or whatever was on the agenda for that day. But he halted half-way down when he came across an open door he was sure he'd not seen before.
He stepped inside, and discovered something of a miniature church. There were two columns of short pews, just three small rows in each. Ahead there was an altar, and two stained-glass windows filtering colored light in. There was just one other person in the room, kneeling in one of the pews and, from what Dean could tell, praying.
"I believe the Catholic tradition is to kneel in front of the altar, and then before the pew you sit in, all while making the sign of the cross."
"Is it really?" Dean asked, but he walked forward, kneeled briefly before the altar (no sign), and then the pew before he slid in (again, no sign). "What made you decide to go to pseudo-church?" he asked.
"It's amusing how the human phrase is, 'In with the good, out with the bad,' when with nature it's the opposite. They're quite the helpers, aren't they? They take in what you breathe out, that being carbon dioxide, and expel what you breathe in, being oxygen."
Dean chuckled; at least he'd been right on the whole photosynthesis part. "Fascinating, but that doesn't answer my question, Cas."
"Something is bothering you," Cas said into his folded hands.
"You, sir, get a special sticker for your observational skills."
Cas didn't respond, and instead kept praying. It went on for a little bit, and Dean assumed the silence was his invitation to continue. (Even if he knew Cas was a little busy, but Cas had rarely ever been too busy for Dean.) He groaned, and began. "Jo is Justice, but I feel like I'm the one who laid it on her instead of the opposite. You think that still counts?"
Dean could just see Cas' eyes open, and he realized how nicely the green from the windows complemented his eyes. They were handsome, and Dean admitted that in the manliest of ways.
"Justice is a card about understanding compromise. You have to choose what to give up and what to keep so that it's fair to everyone."
"So then it's just The Lovers again under a different name."
"No. The Lovers doesn't involve compromise. Just choice. Justice involves being fair; distributing justice through compromise."
For as forcefully as Dean insisted the information to himself, invading thoughts of The Lovers card and choice were unrelenting. Enough of how much about choice it was-the title was throwing him off too much, and he was very sure that he hated that card. Because of it, every time he looked at Castiel anymore, especially when talking about the Tarot, it made that twisting in his gut that much stronger. It still wasn't at all intolerable, and that pissed him off enough as it was, but then it continued making itself right at home, right under his diaphragm, and he liked it. (There was no such thing as a simple relationship in Dean Winchester's life.)
"So," he said, trying to change track. "Not sure I wanna know, but what card's next, after Justice?"
Cas was quiet for a moment, then said, "The Hanged Man." Dean must have made a face, because Castiel shook his head, trying. "You have a habit of taking these names seriously. You're not actually the Hanged Man. Think more of … suspension."
So Dean was lost on that one, but that was okay because he was too preoccupied trying to think of the other cards. They were supposed to teach him lessons, but he didn't feel like all of them had. He understood the lesson from his mom's card, The Empress. She impressed upon him patience, and waiting, and he thought he was doing okay with that. Ish. The Emperor, however, he wasn't sure had really sunken in. Structure, John had mentioned. The only structured part of Dean's life was that it would never actually have structure. It hadn't stopped him from trying, he supposed. That Apple Pie Life he promised Sam he'd try out? It worked for a year, maybe, but Lisa didn't count much anymore, did she? As far as Dean was concerned, he had all the structure he needed in Sam and Cas, and in the Impala. They knew their jobs and responsibilities; that was their structure, and Dean was just fine with that.
The Hierophant. Dean knew perfectly well what lesson that was, now. More, he knew what Crowley was probably up to, trying to plan an assassination attempt on Elizabeth. What was worse was Crowley trying to trick Dean into helping him stay undercover through it all. Dean would be as good as an accomplice under Elizabethan law. He shuddered, moving on, but that led to The Lovers again. Dean, honestly, was sick of the card, and sick of its name. Determined, he went ahead to The Chariot. The Chariot was difficult. He knew the idea of the card: putting things together to charge ahead to victory without mercy, or get things moving again. He couldn't think of an example for the latter, and the former seemed almost too vague to apply. The only issue he could apply it to was the current one, being stuck in 1586. Were the things he was supposed to be putting together the cards' lessons? If so, it was going to be a while, and Dean really didn't plan on being around there much longer.
Strength hadn't been very difficult to figure out. Maybe it was because Ellen, just in general, had represented Strength, or because Dean could easily empathize with the situation. Dean was fine here, and he supposed The Hermit wasn't hard to comprehend, either. Accepting the help others offered, or the whole thought and introspection thing, which he was in the middle of doing. (Tarot seemed to have a funny way of repeating itself.)
Dean's favorite card so far was Sam's. The Wheel of Fortune. Sam had certainly brought good news, and so Dean wasn't complaining. Thus far, though, his least favorite card - The Lovers aside - was probably Justice. It made sense, the idea of the card, and he knew Jo was stubborn, but what didn't make sense was why he was the one doing the teaching, and not the other way around.
Caught up, he couldn't help it. It was no use, and his mind snapped back to The Lovers. Just a little involuntarily, he wondered just how, maybe, holding Cas' hands might feel. Did angels get calluses from wielding their swords? Would it feel strange at all if they sat or stood even just a little closer together than they already did? How confused would Cas be if Dean reached for his neck to pull him just close enough for a chaste kiss?
Thankfully, at least, Dean abstained from punching the pew front before him. He bit his tongue, and tried as hard as he could to erase everything he could, and to chase away the return of that warm tugging. These weren't thoughts he should be having about an Angel of the frickin' Lord, let alone one possessing the body of a husband and father. He snapped his eyes to Castiel in the hopes that he wasn't reading Dean's mind, because-wow, awkward. A large part of him wanted to know just where the Hell any of that had come from, but another part just let it go, because … he didn't know. He wasn't sure what to think about any of it, mostly because he wasn't annoyed they were there. Just why they were there, and he was afraid to answer that question. Afraid, because every time he went to think of why, he actually came up with legitimate reasons.
When it had come time little more than a week earlier for Dean to work through the card, he'd done what Cas said the point of the card was to do, and that was to make a choice. Dean's choice had been to forgive Cas, and keep him around at all times. What he'd not realized, and was only realizing now, was that it hadn't been forgiveness Dean was having trouble with giving since after killing Dick Roman. Dean had forgiven Cas in full, he'd just confused forgiving him with admitting a few key things to himself. Such as what keeping Castiel around might mean beyond their friendship, or that said friendship, maybe, wasn't just friendship. Friends, yes. Best friends, definitely. But Dean couldn't even think the next words, partly because what would they even be, and partly because he already knew that - at least on his end - they were positive. And that scared him.
Fuck you, Tarot, and your stupid rules and interpretations. Fuck you Beira, fuck you Brigit, and fuck you, Me.
Finally his thoughts settled to white noise, and his hands came up to rub at his temples. He was going to have a headache, and what he wouldn't give for something a lot more potent than anything offered in a thousand-mile radius.
Dean groaned, hoping he was worrying himself over nothing, and so instead changed the subject as best he could. "If we all ended up being Catholic in this alternate reality," he began, "is that a sign about what God wants people to practice?"
"What?" Cas' hands fell apart, and he whipped his stare to Dean. He actually seemed a cross between surprised and angry. "No! God never cared for denominations. All He did was give Man a brain. Some men might choose Catholicism while others Protestantism. Some men choose Calvinism, but that's just within Christianity. Even then: Judaism, Christianity, and Islam-they're different … volumes of the same thing. I believe one likening was that to a series of movies, or books. The original, the sequel, and the spin-off."
"So why hasn't God tried to stop it? The Crusades, genocide…?"
"You haven't figured that out?" Cas sat up on the pew once more, with his hands folded in his lap, and an amused grin on his face. He looked down at his hands, making Dean look at them, too. There was no way he could deny the idea that maybe they would feel nice if they were in his. God dammit. "Free Will. He'd hoped that humans would come to their senses sooner, but…. Even God doesn't always get what He wants. Man does what he wants with what he knows, and what he believes is right."
Dean bit the inside of his cheek. Something was telling him-he knew what he wanted, that gut-twisting feeling was never going to be as mysterious as it once was, and it was always going to taunt him.
"The next card is also a misnomer," Castiel said suddenly. Dean peeked over almost shyly, as if embarrassed that Cas might have known what he was contemplating. Beyond that, he really hated having these 'misnomer' cards. "Death."
And so on that ominous note, Castiel stood in the pew, and passed Dean before giving another kneel to the altar. His steps were brisk-sounding, and Dean was alone in a suddenly-eerie space.
The next card was Death.
Awesome.
Part III | * | Part IV (b)