Fic: On Wings Of Steel 1/5 (Supernatural; Dean/Castiel, Steampunk AU, Explicit)
Title: On Wings Of Steel ( Art Masterpost)
Author: misachan
Fandom: Supernatural; Streampunk AU
Pairing(s): Dean/Castiel
Rating: Explicit
Word Count: 3408
Content Notes: Explicit sex, violence, minor character death
Summary: They may serve on the same airship but Dean knows regular crew and the elite who wear the Seraphim Star aren't supposed to have anything to do with each other.
It's a regulation Dean's more than willing to break.
*
There was no ignoring the commotion on deck. Not that Dean didn't give it his best shot; there was no such thing as “off duty” for the engine corps, Dean knew that better than anyone, and time for shut eye was to be prized above anything.
The next jolt from above was loud enough to make Dean finally give up. And anyway, if the Angels were back it just meant work was about to start anyway.
Dean climbed the ladder to the upper deck, the airship taking a sudden lurch that drove his stomach up into his throat. Unlike most sailors Dean could never quite put out of his mind that they were all flying in a two ton hunk of metal thousands of feet in the air. He could work through it, his air legs were as steady as anyone's but that never meant he had to like it.
Dean realized he was still standing midway up the ladder. He took a deep breath, reminding himself that these advanced steamships hardly ever crashed (except for all the times they did) and forced his legs to carry him the rest of the way up to the swirling smoke and steam of the deck.
The air was heavy and humid; Dean guessed they were climbing back up through the cloud cover and pulled his goggles over his eyes to keep out the engine steam. He wasn't the only crew member who'd come up to gawk; he caught Ellen's eye as he pulled himself on deck. She put one finger over her lips and nodded over toward mid-deck; Dean crouched next to her, giving the deck a visual sweep.
He almost fell over when he spotted Michael standing barely twenty-five feet away. Tall and blond and arrogant the Seraphim general all but demanded attention but Dean couldn't remember the last time he'd deigned to grace the deck with his presence. Dean hadn't even known he'd been on board. “When did we pick him up?” he whispered to Ellen.
“Last supply drop,” she said. “I heard he's doing a tour of the fleet, guess it's our turn.”
“He don't look happy.”
Ellen rolled her eyes. “I don't think his gauge goes up to happy.”
Either the wind or the ship changed direction, it was hard to tell sometimes, but all Dean cared about was that now he could hear what they were saying. “...ask you again, did anyone see you?”
Dean shifted over a few feet for a better view; that was Castiel's unit getting chewed out, Rachel and Hester and Inias with Cas standing in front like he was getting ready to jump on a grenade. The right side of Castiel's face was red and looked like it was swelling up, too fresh to have happened on the ground. Dean wondered if Michael had hit him.
Michael was not winning a whole lot of points with Dean Winchester.
“No,” Castiel said, his eyes lowered but his hands tight fists at his side. “As I've already said. Sir.”
“Then why do I have reports from the ground telling me otherwise?” Dean saw him pull a handful of telegraph dispatches from his coat pocket. “'Shapes in the sky.' 'Enormous birds.'” He threw the dispatches to the ground with a dramatic flourish that made Dean wonder if he'd practiced it. “Those sound like 'sightings' to me.”
“Well...not legally.”
Dean grinned, silently congratulating Cas on finding some wiggle room. Class one sightings weren't write up offenses and these didn't even sound up to those standards. He didn't know what Michael was getting so bent out of shape about.
Whatever it was, Michael didn't seem like he was about to let it go. “Captain,” he said, and Dean saw Castiel go to tighter attention at that, his hands behind his back. “Tell me the two core principles of the Seraphim..”
Castiel swallowed hard enough for Dean to notice. “Secrecy and silence.”
Michael nodded. “That's right. I don't know what kind of discipline you've been operating under -” Dean saw Cas' hands clench at the criticism - “but any ship I set foot on will be the tightest in the fleet. Is that understood?”
Castiel nodded but for reasons Dean couldn't fathom Inias chose that moment to speak up. “It's not the Captain's fault sir, it....”
Castiel put up one hand to shut him up but the damage was done. “It's beginning to look like poor discipline is epidemic on this ship,” Michael said, looking right at Castiel. Dean noticed Rachel staring daggers over Castiel's shoulder, followed her sight lines and saw Balthazar skulking against one of the bulkheads. Dean wondered if she expected him to speak up too; he was the unit's outflyer, the one who scouted the drop; if there was something wrong with the placement that was probably on him.
Not that it mattered, really; Castiel wore the captain’s stripes, that meant he had to stand there and get chewed out. Military was military and Dean had absorbed enough marine training from his old man to understand that. Didn't like it, but understood it. The next thing Castiel said did prick Dean's ears up, though: “I've reported the apparatus' icing problems more than once. If my unit can't maneuver I don't know what you expect -”
“I expect perfection. Is that understood?” Michael stepped forward right into Castiel's face. “Answer, solider.”
“Yes, sir.”
“We will not have this conversation again. Dismissed.”
Dean watched as Michael stalked off without a backward glance, heading below deck to where Dean knew the cushier private quarters were located. “Guess that's why that level was being spit shined all last week,” he said, mostly to himself. He nudged Ellen, nodding back to Castiel's group; the wind had changed again and he couldn't hear what orders Castiel was giving them, although none of them looked happy. “You ever hear anything about those things icing up?”
“Stop it.”
“What? I didn't do anything!”
“You're thinking about doing something.”
“I can't ask a question?”
Someday maybe he'd be able to bullshit Ellen Harvelle, but it didn't look like today was going to be that day. “You're engine corps. You're head of engine corps. You have enough work, we all do.” Which was true; the engines on these big ships were intricate, terrifyingly delicate wonders; if even one gear went missing a whole ship could disappear down beneath the clouds and never be seen again. Then Ellen sighed. “And yes, I have. It's been a problem since the weather turned. They've lost a few to it.”
“Who's in charge of their gear?”
“You know our side and their side aren't technically supposed to acknowledge each other's existence, right?” Dean gave her a sideways look, earning himself another sigh. “I'll run interference for you.”
“Run interference for what?” he said, already only half listening. He watched the way the gears and levers fit together and Castiel and his group folded down their gear, trying to draw the mental blueprints in his head.
If he could fix the engines taking a crack at those should be no sweat at all.
He startled when Ellen patted his shoulder as she got up to leave. And anyway, the little confab Castiel was holding broke up at the same time and Dean took note of the directions everyone headed in; Castiel started to make his way over to where Balthazar was still lurking, rubbing what Dean could already tell was going to be one hell of a bruise on his face. He spotted Dean then, stutter stepping for a second and Dean could see all over his face that he knew Dean had been there the whole time. Dean tried to give him a sympathetic look but Castiel looked away, flushing like he was embarrassed. Dean saw Balthazar look from Cas to Dean as Cas made his way over to him, then roll his eyes before clapping one arm around Castiel's shoulders and herding him away, Dean hoped to get the guy good and drunk. Balthazar gave him another dirty look over his shoulder before they disappeared below deck and Dean was all too happy to return it; most of the angels pretended the rest of the crew didn't exist but Balthazar had done nothing but treat Dean like a literal grease monkey from the moment they'd met. Dean would never admit it out loud, but it was kind of fun antagonizing the guy.
But enough of that. Dean had already moved on to bigger, better, and technically illegal things.
***
Dean found Inias huddled in one of the mid deck compartments, looking as miserable as Dean had ever seen someone. Picking him out had been intentional; of Castiel's crew Hester and Rachel both carried themselves with the full amount of disdain expected for those who didn't wear the Seraphim star but Inias had always seemed decent enough. And he had tried to stand up for Castiel, which Dean thought should be rewarded even if he knew the Angel's superiors wouldn't agree.
Inias moved over to make room when Dean plopped down beside him but didn't get up to leave, which Dean could only take as the best kind of sign. “Your CO was rough on you guys,” he said, looking straight ahead to continue the fiction that they just happened to be sitting there.
“Our CO is rough on everyone.” He wrapped his arm around his knees. “The captain could have avoided that if he'd left me behind. I was the one who fell out of position.”
“That's stupid.”
“But it is the rule. It's possible I could have been recovered, the enemy hasn't advanced as quickly as projected.”
“The front lines change every second so again, that's stupid. And your captain doesn't seem like the type to be up for that, anyway.”
“You would know that better than most,” he said, giving Dean a sidelong glance that was almost but not quite eye contact.
Dean forced down the old nightmare that brought up and fished out his hip flask. “Here,” he said, offering Inias a taste. “The day you had, you've earned some.”
“We're not permitted to fraternize.”
“Dude, c'mon. Grog isn't fraternizing. You need real rum for that, minimum.” Inias gave him a doubtful look but Dean supposed that logic held because Inias took a long swallow from the flask, wincing at the taste. Dean wondered if the angels weren't allowed to drink either. This was going to get real fun real fast if that was true. “I heard C---the captain mention the wings were icing. I could take a look at them, if you want. Gotta be a way around that.”
Inias raised an eyebrow. “You're not certified for it.”
“Yeah, well, doesn't look like whoever is certified is doing much good.” He shifted around enough to force eye contact. “I won't let anyone know. I just want to see what I can do.”
Inias looked away but Dean knew temptation when he saw it. He took another quick, guilty swallow before handing the flask back to Dean. “That isn't as terrible as its reputation would lead one to think,” he said, which Dean translated as a thank you. “The captain might like some, after the day he's had.”
Dean stared at him for a long second, trying figure out what he was trying so hard not to say. “He's welcome to come have some.” He shook his head. “But probably not tonight, he's in hot water enough. Michael catches him with one wing out of line he'll probably get lashed.”
“Our commanders don't indulge in anything as tender as lashing” Inias looked over his shoulder, like he expected Michael to be lurking around the corner. “I should go. I'll be missed before too long.”
“Hey, remember what I said, okay?”
“I will.” He looked at Dean over his shoulder. “Do you know why we're not permitted to fraternize?”
Dean shrugged. “Because your wings run on high-and-mighty, not steam. You mix too much with the common folk you might get them dirty.”
“I'm sure some of us believe that.” Inias shook his head. “It's more that it's a distraction we can't afford.”
“Yeah, right. 'Cause mixing with your lessers might make you screw up.”
“More like we might start caring if we come back.” He nodded to Dean. “Thank you for the company.”
“Hey.” For a second he wasn't sure if Inias would turn around. “Me and the rest of the engine corps get together at the end of the week, blow off some steam. I'm sure no one would mind if you and yours stopped by. Grog only, promise.”
Inias nodded, chancing eye contact one more time before he disappeared around the corner, leaving Dean to finish his flask alone and wonder what those last words had meant.
***
The nightmares came that night anyway. Dean didn't know how long he'd spent behind enemy lines, given up for dead in the no man's land the old timers called Perdition. He'd given up counting the days. There had been no point, no one ever came back after being swallowed up by Perdition Fields.
Dean didn't know why the universe had decided he should be the first.
The nightmares were always of the Fields but with something different to have him waking up in a cold sweat every night. Sometimes it was sleeping in a trench with a dead body for company. Having enemy troops pass within a foot of where he'd been hiding. How long it took to scrub the blood from under his nails once he'd gotten out, and how sure he'd been everyone could still see it. More often than not the dream was that night Alastair found him half starved and full of frostbite. Found him and smiled. “Well, look what I've found.” Dean had never met anyone else who spoke with that sing song cadence and thought he'd throw up if he ever did. “Why don't you come out of there?”
That was enough to startle Dean awake. He stared at the wisps of clouds drifting past his bunk's porthole as his heart jack hammered against his ribs. It helped to remember that as much as there was to go wrong up here what was lurking back on the ground was so much worse.
Finally after a few minutes of hyperventilating it felt safe to close his eyes again. The nightmares always cut short of the night all of that had ended but Dean could picture it so clearly it was like for that one moment he'd had a camera lens behind his eyes. He took a deep breath and pushed all the ghosts of Perdition back down deep; in their place Dean remembered the moon breaking free of the cloud cover for the first night in weeks, revealing the shadows of enormous wings. The shadows came first, then the moonlight showed the source: mechanical wings of gears and metal, the kind of technology only the military and the wealthy had and the kind Dean had always wanted to see up close. It had taken a moment to look past the wings to the man harnessed to them; Dean hadn't really taken in that Castiel was there until he'd looked over his shoulder, blood on his face. Dean never had found out whether the blood had been his own or had belonged to the dead enemy soldier at his feet. “Hello, Dean,” he'd said, the moonlight catching the blue in his eyes and making him look for an instant like the supernatural creature he imitated. “I've been looking for you for a very long time.”
Dean heard a loud thud outside his bunk door, ending any real possibility of sleep this shift. Nothing for it; Dean swung his legs out of the bed and stretched the ache of his back. Shipboard beds didn't lend themselves to sound sleep on the best of nights but Dean knew he was lucky to have what he did. For all that he'd been privately mocking Michael for cushy digs he knew his own were nothing to sneeze at: private, door that locked, bed instead of a hammock. Plenty of guys would toss him overboard for his room if they thought they could get away with it and Dean really couldn't blame them. Being head of one of the engine corps did have at least that much privilege.
Of course it also meant being on call all the damn time. So. Good and bad. Dean hauled himself over to the door to see what had managed to break down in the night; there'd been no alarm raised so it wasn't a fix-it-or-we-all-die emergency. Dean supposed he could give thanks for small favors.
The first thing he noticed when he opened the door was no work order on the trunk. He looked it over to see if there was a even a delivery time written anywhere but there was nothing, just a big black trunk. Dean shrugged and dragged it inside; other people's sloppy paperwork wasn't his problem.
He crouched in front of the trunk and turned the different sides of the gear lock. For a second he thought it might have been delivered to the wrong bunk - as much as Dean liked his flask some of the delivery boys knocked back enough grog to get an elephant drunk - but when he dialed in the last number of his personal code the lock popped open.
Dean sat back on his heels when he saw what was inside. Inside their protective cases were five sets of neatly collapsed mechanical wings. Dean wondered if Inias had come up with a story or had just resorted to theft.
Like they were made of spun glass instead of steel Dean took each one out of their case and laid them out on the floor; there wasn't room to keep them all open but Dean could inspect them all one by one easy enough, making notes of the worn spots and any areas where rust might get started.
One of the cases had a black captain's stripe down the center and Dean gave that one a little extra attention. Castiel's wings needed more attention than the others anyway; either the guy was careless with his equipment - Dean could barely even finish the thought without chuckling - or when he put the squad's gear in for maintenance he queued theirs as priority. “That's the kind of thinking that's gonna get you killed someday, Cas.”
Dean went over the apparatus with a mental fine tooth comb, keeping in mind to find weak spots that could fall prey to icing. He finally hit pay dirt at the joint midway across the span; there were a double series of gears surrounding the guideline wire and that set up was just begging to get jammed. He took the joint apart, laying the pieces around him and grabbed his tools. To make any real substantial repairs he'd have to block out time in the shop but this was a fix he could do right here. By the time he heard the horns blow first bell he'd replaced the fragile gears on the whole set with slightly thicker, stronger ones that could stand up to a layer of ice and replaced the wires with better insulated ones that would move more smoothly.
Best he could do for one night; Dean put all the wings back into their cases, cases back into the trunk and parked it back outside the door. It wasn't very long before he heard the sound of someone lurking outside the door and the scrape of the trunk being moved. Dean wondered if Inias had been watching the whole night. Dean knew he would have.
Dean had just enough time to lay back on the bed before the signal bell started ringing. Dean dragged himself out of bed and raked one hand through his hair. Time for a long, long shift.
For once Dean didn't really mind it.
- On To Chapter 2 -
- Back To Masterpost -
Author: misachan
Fandom: Supernatural; Streampunk AU
Pairing(s): Dean/Castiel
Rating: Explicit
Word Count: 3408
Content Notes: Explicit sex, violence, minor character death
Summary: They may serve on the same airship but Dean knows regular crew and the elite who wear the Seraphim Star aren't supposed to have anything to do with each other.
It's a regulation Dean's more than willing to break.
*
There was no ignoring the commotion on deck. Not that Dean didn't give it his best shot; there was no such thing as “off duty” for the engine corps, Dean knew that better than anyone, and time for shut eye was to be prized above anything.
The next jolt from above was loud enough to make Dean finally give up. And anyway, if the Angels were back it just meant work was about to start anyway.
Dean climbed the ladder to the upper deck, the airship taking a sudden lurch that drove his stomach up into his throat. Unlike most sailors Dean could never quite put out of his mind that they were all flying in a two ton hunk of metal thousands of feet in the air. He could work through it, his air legs were as steady as anyone's but that never meant he had to like it.
Dean realized he was still standing midway up the ladder. He took a deep breath, reminding himself that these advanced steamships hardly ever crashed (except for all the times they did) and forced his legs to carry him the rest of the way up to the swirling smoke and steam of the deck.
The air was heavy and humid; Dean guessed they were climbing back up through the cloud cover and pulled his goggles over his eyes to keep out the engine steam. He wasn't the only crew member who'd come up to gawk; he caught Ellen's eye as he pulled himself on deck. She put one finger over her lips and nodded over toward mid-deck; Dean crouched next to her, giving the deck a visual sweep.
He almost fell over when he spotted Michael standing barely twenty-five feet away. Tall and blond and arrogant the Seraphim general all but demanded attention but Dean couldn't remember the last time he'd deigned to grace the deck with his presence. Dean hadn't even known he'd been on board. “When did we pick him up?” he whispered to Ellen.
“Last supply drop,” she said. “I heard he's doing a tour of the fleet, guess it's our turn.”
“He don't look happy.”
Ellen rolled her eyes. “I don't think his gauge goes up to happy.”
Either the wind or the ship changed direction, it was hard to tell sometimes, but all Dean cared about was that now he could hear what they were saying. “...ask you again, did anyone see you?”
Dean shifted over a few feet for a better view; that was Castiel's unit getting chewed out, Rachel and Hester and Inias with Cas standing in front like he was getting ready to jump on a grenade. The right side of Castiel's face was red and looked like it was swelling up, too fresh to have happened on the ground. Dean wondered if Michael had hit him.
Michael was not winning a whole lot of points with Dean Winchester.
“No,” Castiel said, his eyes lowered but his hands tight fists at his side. “As I've already said. Sir.”
“Then why do I have reports from the ground telling me otherwise?” Dean saw him pull a handful of telegraph dispatches from his coat pocket. “'Shapes in the sky.' 'Enormous birds.'” He threw the dispatches to the ground with a dramatic flourish that made Dean wonder if he'd practiced it. “Those sound like 'sightings' to me.”
“Well...not legally.”
Dean grinned, silently congratulating Cas on finding some wiggle room. Class one sightings weren't write up offenses and these didn't even sound up to those standards. He didn't know what Michael was getting so bent out of shape about.
Whatever it was, Michael didn't seem like he was about to let it go. “Captain,” he said, and Dean saw Castiel go to tighter attention at that, his hands behind his back. “Tell me the two core principles of the Seraphim..”
Castiel swallowed hard enough for Dean to notice. “Secrecy and silence.”
Michael nodded. “That's right. I don't know what kind of discipline you've been operating under -” Dean saw Cas' hands clench at the criticism - “but any ship I set foot on will be the tightest in the fleet. Is that understood?”
Castiel nodded but for reasons Dean couldn't fathom Inias chose that moment to speak up. “It's not the Captain's fault sir, it....”
Castiel put up one hand to shut him up but the damage was done. “It's beginning to look like poor discipline is epidemic on this ship,” Michael said, looking right at Castiel. Dean noticed Rachel staring daggers over Castiel's shoulder, followed her sight lines and saw Balthazar skulking against one of the bulkheads. Dean wondered if she expected him to speak up too; he was the unit's outflyer, the one who scouted the drop; if there was something wrong with the placement that was probably on him.
Not that it mattered, really; Castiel wore the captain’s stripes, that meant he had to stand there and get chewed out. Military was military and Dean had absorbed enough marine training from his old man to understand that. Didn't like it, but understood it. The next thing Castiel said did prick Dean's ears up, though: “I've reported the apparatus' icing problems more than once. If my unit can't maneuver I don't know what you expect -”
“I expect perfection. Is that understood?” Michael stepped forward right into Castiel's face. “Answer, solider.”
“Yes, sir.”
“We will not have this conversation again. Dismissed.”
Dean watched as Michael stalked off without a backward glance, heading below deck to where Dean knew the cushier private quarters were located. “Guess that's why that level was being spit shined all last week,” he said, mostly to himself. He nudged Ellen, nodding back to Castiel's group; the wind had changed again and he couldn't hear what orders Castiel was giving them, although none of them looked happy. “You ever hear anything about those things icing up?”
“Stop it.”
“What? I didn't do anything!”
“You're thinking about doing something.”
“I can't ask a question?”
Someday maybe he'd be able to bullshit Ellen Harvelle, but it didn't look like today was going to be that day. “You're engine corps. You're head of engine corps. You have enough work, we all do.” Which was true; the engines on these big ships were intricate, terrifyingly delicate wonders; if even one gear went missing a whole ship could disappear down beneath the clouds and never be seen again. Then Ellen sighed. “And yes, I have. It's been a problem since the weather turned. They've lost a few to it.”
“Who's in charge of their gear?”
“You know our side and their side aren't technically supposed to acknowledge each other's existence, right?” Dean gave her a sideways look, earning himself another sigh. “I'll run interference for you.”
“Run interference for what?” he said, already only half listening. He watched the way the gears and levers fit together and Castiel and his group folded down their gear, trying to draw the mental blueprints in his head.
If he could fix the engines taking a crack at those should be no sweat at all.
He startled when Ellen patted his shoulder as she got up to leave. And anyway, the little confab Castiel was holding broke up at the same time and Dean took note of the directions everyone headed in; Castiel started to make his way over to where Balthazar was still lurking, rubbing what Dean could already tell was going to be one hell of a bruise on his face. He spotted Dean then, stutter stepping for a second and Dean could see all over his face that he knew Dean had been there the whole time. Dean tried to give him a sympathetic look but Castiel looked away, flushing like he was embarrassed. Dean saw Balthazar look from Cas to Dean as Cas made his way over to him, then roll his eyes before clapping one arm around Castiel's shoulders and herding him away, Dean hoped to get the guy good and drunk. Balthazar gave him another dirty look over his shoulder before they disappeared below deck and Dean was all too happy to return it; most of the angels pretended the rest of the crew didn't exist but Balthazar had done nothing but treat Dean like a literal grease monkey from the moment they'd met. Dean would never admit it out loud, but it was kind of fun antagonizing the guy.
But enough of that. Dean had already moved on to bigger, better, and technically illegal things.
***
Dean found Inias huddled in one of the mid deck compartments, looking as miserable as Dean had ever seen someone. Picking him out had been intentional; of Castiel's crew Hester and Rachel both carried themselves with the full amount of disdain expected for those who didn't wear the Seraphim star but Inias had always seemed decent enough. And he had tried to stand up for Castiel, which Dean thought should be rewarded even if he knew the Angel's superiors wouldn't agree.
Inias moved over to make room when Dean plopped down beside him but didn't get up to leave, which Dean could only take as the best kind of sign. “Your CO was rough on you guys,” he said, looking straight ahead to continue the fiction that they just happened to be sitting there.
“Our CO is rough on everyone.” He wrapped his arm around his knees. “The captain could have avoided that if he'd left me behind. I was the one who fell out of position.”
“That's stupid.”
“But it is the rule. It's possible I could have been recovered, the enemy hasn't advanced as quickly as projected.”
“The front lines change every second so again, that's stupid. And your captain doesn't seem like the type to be up for that, anyway.”
“You would know that better than most,” he said, giving Dean a sidelong glance that was almost but not quite eye contact.
Dean forced down the old nightmare that brought up and fished out his hip flask. “Here,” he said, offering Inias a taste. “The day you had, you've earned some.”
“We're not permitted to fraternize.”
“Dude, c'mon. Grog isn't fraternizing. You need real rum for that, minimum.” Inias gave him a doubtful look but Dean supposed that logic held because Inias took a long swallow from the flask, wincing at the taste. Dean wondered if the angels weren't allowed to drink either. This was going to get real fun real fast if that was true. “I heard C---the captain mention the wings were icing. I could take a look at them, if you want. Gotta be a way around that.”
Inias raised an eyebrow. “You're not certified for it.”
“Yeah, well, doesn't look like whoever is certified is doing much good.” He shifted around enough to force eye contact. “I won't let anyone know. I just want to see what I can do.”
Inias looked away but Dean knew temptation when he saw it. He took another quick, guilty swallow before handing the flask back to Dean. “That isn't as terrible as its reputation would lead one to think,” he said, which Dean translated as a thank you. “The captain might like some, after the day he's had.”
Dean stared at him for a long second, trying figure out what he was trying so hard not to say. “He's welcome to come have some.” He shook his head. “But probably not tonight, he's in hot water enough. Michael catches him with one wing out of line he'll probably get lashed.”
“Our commanders don't indulge in anything as tender as lashing” Inias looked over his shoulder, like he expected Michael to be lurking around the corner. “I should go. I'll be missed before too long.”
“Hey, remember what I said, okay?”
“I will.” He looked at Dean over his shoulder. “Do you know why we're not permitted to fraternize?”
Dean shrugged. “Because your wings run on high-and-mighty, not steam. You mix too much with the common folk you might get them dirty.”
“I'm sure some of us believe that.” Inias shook his head. “It's more that it's a distraction we can't afford.”
“Yeah, right. 'Cause mixing with your lessers might make you screw up.”
“More like we might start caring if we come back.” He nodded to Dean. “Thank you for the company.”
“Hey.” For a second he wasn't sure if Inias would turn around. “Me and the rest of the engine corps get together at the end of the week, blow off some steam. I'm sure no one would mind if you and yours stopped by. Grog only, promise.”
Inias nodded, chancing eye contact one more time before he disappeared around the corner, leaving Dean to finish his flask alone and wonder what those last words had meant.
***
The nightmares came that night anyway. Dean didn't know how long he'd spent behind enemy lines, given up for dead in the no man's land the old timers called Perdition. He'd given up counting the days. There had been no point, no one ever came back after being swallowed up by Perdition Fields.
Dean didn't know why the universe had decided he should be the first.
The nightmares were always of the Fields but with something different to have him waking up in a cold sweat every night. Sometimes it was sleeping in a trench with a dead body for company. Having enemy troops pass within a foot of where he'd been hiding. How long it took to scrub the blood from under his nails once he'd gotten out, and how sure he'd been everyone could still see it. More often than not the dream was that night Alastair found him half starved and full of frostbite. Found him and smiled. “Well, look what I've found.” Dean had never met anyone else who spoke with that sing song cadence and thought he'd throw up if he ever did. “Why don't you come out of there?”
That was enough to startle Dean awake. He stared at the wisps of clouds drifting past his bunk's porthole as his heart jack hammered against his ribs. It helped to remember that as much as there was to go wrong up here what was lurking back on the ground was so much worse.
Finally after a few minutes of hyperventilating it felt safe to close his eyes again. The nightmares always cut short of the night all of that had ended but Dean could picture it so clearly it was like for that one moment he'd had a camera lens behind his eyes. He took a deep breath and pushed all the ghosts of Perdition back down deep; in their place Dean remembered the moon breaking free of the cloud cover for the first night in weeks, revealing the shadows of enormous wings. The shadows came first, then the moonlight showed the source: mechanical wings of gears and metal, the kind of technology only the military and the wealthy had and the kind Dean had always wanted to see up close. It had taken a moment to look past the wings to the man harnessed to them; Dean hadn't really taken in that Castiel was there until he'd looked over his shoulder, blood on his face. Dean never had found out whether the blood had been his own or had belonged to the dead enemy soldier at his feet. “Hello, Dean,” he'd said, the moonlight catching the blue in his eyes and making him look for an instant like the supernatural creature he imitated. “I've been looking for you for a very long time.”
Dean heard a loud thud outside his bunk door, ending any real possibility of sleep this shift. Nothing for it; Dean swung his legs out of the bed and stretched the ache of his back. Shipboard beds didn't lend themselves to sound sleep on the best of nights but Dean knew he was lucky to have what he did. For all that he'd been privately mocking Michael for cushy digs he knew his own were nothing to sneeze at: private, door that locked, bed instead of a hammock. Plenty of guys would toss him overboard for his room if they thought they could get away with it and Dean really couldn't blame them. Being head of one of the engine corps did have at least that much privilege.
Of course it also meant being on call all the damn time. So. Good and bad. Dean hauled himself over to the door to see what had managed to break down in the night; there'd been no alarm raised so it wasn't a fix-it-or-we-all-die emergency. Dean supposed he could give thanks for small favors.
The first thing he noticed when he opened the door was no work order on the trunk. He looked it over to see if there was a even a delivery time written anywhere but there was nothing, just a big black trunk. Dean shrugged and dragged it inside; other people's sloppy paperwork wasn't his problem.
He crouched in front of the trunk and turned the different sides of the gear lock. For a second he thought it might have been delivered to the wrong bunk - as much as Dean liked his flask some of the delivery boys knocked back enough grog to get an elephant drunk - but when he dialed in the last number of his personal code the lock popped open.
Dean sat back on his heels when he saw what was inside. Inside their protective cases were five sets of neatly collapsed mechanical wings. Dean wondered if Inias had come up with a story or had just resorted to theft.
Like they were made of spun glass instead of steel Dean took each one out of their case and laid them out on the floor; there wasn't room to keep them all open but Dean could inspect them all one by one easy enough, making notes of the worn spots and any areas where rust might get started.
One of the cases had a black captain's stripe down the center and Dean gave that one a little extra attention. Castiel's wings needed more attention than the others anyway; either the guy was careless with his equipment - Dean could barely even finish the thought without chuckling - or when he put the squad's gear in for maintenance he queued theirs as priority. “That's the kind of thinking that's gonna get you killed someday, Cas.”
Dean went over the apparatus with a mental fine tooth comb, keeping in mind to find weak spots that could fall prey to icing. He finally hit pay dirt at the joint midway across the span; there were a double series of gears surrounding the guideline wire and that set up was just begging to get jammed. He took the joint apart, laying the pieces around him and grabbed his tools. To make any real substantial repairs he'd have to block out time in the shop but this was a fix he could do right here. By the time he heard the horns blow first bell he'd replaced the fragile gears on the whole set with slightly thicker, stronger ones that could stand up to a layer of ice and replaced the wires with better insulated ones that would move more smoothly.
Best he could do for one night; Dean put all the wings back into their cases, cases back into the trunk and parked it back outside the door. It wasn't very long before he heard the sound of someone lurking outside the door and the scrape of the trunk being moved. Dean wondered if Inias had been watching the whole night. Dean knew he would have.
Dean had just enough time to lay back on the bed before the signal bell started ringing. Dean dragged himself out of bed and raked one hand through his hair. Time for a long, long shift.
For once Dean didn't really mind it.
- On To Chapter 2 -
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