Fic: On Wings Of Steel 2/5 (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: 4278
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.
*
The next drop didn't happen until two nights later but Dean was kept so busy he was glad he'd made a point of tackling the wings that first night. He did make a point of watching the departure, or the tail end of it, anyway; he leaned against one of the aft chimneys, for once not caring about the ship swaying as he watched Castiel strap on his gear. He could tell the guy knew instantly something was different. Castiel looked around the deck and Dean made a point of meeting his eyes; probably it would be smarter to keep it quiet but Dean couldn't bring himself to do it. He wanted Castiel to know.
Dean didn't know what the hell was wrong with him.
Castiel held the eye contact for a full two seconds before turning away. Dean felt his heart climb into his throat as Castiel fastened his goggles and threw himself over the side. As the rest of the crew milled around, dealing with the usual post-drop chaos, Dean approached the edge of the deck with every instinct he had screaming what are you doing? He ignored the fear and crept close enough to peer over the edge, one of the artillery ropes wrapped tight around his hands as he stared down into the endless swirling gray clouds.
Already far below Dean caught the glint of light on metal, a flash that came and went so quickly it was gone by the time he could blink. Dean finally backed away, barely noticing that he'd held onto the rope so tight the grooves were deep and red in his hand. He shook his head, forcing all of that down. It looked like it was about to storm and there was a whole list of things that needed to get down to prep for that.
At this point he'd welcome anything that would distract him from wondering why Castiel had looked at him like that before he jumped.
***
Less than an hour before dawn Dean heard the lock on his door pop open. It wasn't like he'd been able to sleep anyway; he turned over, ready to chew out whoever'd decided to just stroll in without so much as knocking.
The words died off when he saw Castiel standing in the doorway. Dean had left the gas lamp on and the weak light made Cas look pale and tired, an effect only helped along by the fact he was sopping wet. Dean wondered if he'd come straight from debriefing; he even still had his harness on, the wings not completely folded away. “Guess you all got caught in this, huh?” he said, gesturing at steady rain that had been keeping him up for the past few hours.
Castiel didn't answer. Dean began to wonder if this was going to be a fight. “Say what you're here to say,” he said, leaning up on his elbows.
“Did you tamper with our apparatus?”
Dean rolled his eyes. “I didn't 'tamper' with them. I fixed them. Did it hold?”
Castiel looked like he was trying hard to be angry for a few more moments, then he dropped his gaze. “Considering the conditions I'm not sure the drop would have been successful if you hadn't.”
“Good. That's pretty much the point.”
“Which one of them approached you?”
Dean sat up on the edge of the bed. “I did the approaching. Don't come down hard on them.”
Castiel's eyes made a little sideways cut that told Dean he already knew, probably just through process of elimination. “You'll be lashed if this becomes known.”
“And what about you? From what I've heard the lash is considered having a soft touch in your corps.”
Castiel took a deep breath, his shoulders slumping. “No worse punishment than I would receive for coming to you now,” he admitted. He took a step forward, casting a furtive glance around the room as if he thought someone might be hiding in the shadows listening. “One of Rachel's wings threw a rod on the return.”
“She okay?”
Castiel nodded. “The apparatus is still flight worthy, so the piece doesn't seem vital. I'm...the repair won't be considered a priority because of that.”
“I'll take a took at it,” Dean said, answering the unspoken question. “I'll take a look at all of your crew's stuff, if you like.”
Castiel nodded absently, like he could barely believe he was doing this. “I'll make the arrangements.”
“Y'know, me and some of the other engine corps get together once a week. Nothing formal. One of your boys has already shown up, you're more than welcome to come too. Jo likes getting him drunk.”
Castiel just shook his head. “It wouldn't be proper behavior.”
Dean could only roll his eyes at that again. “Life's too short for 'proper.' Especially for someone who spends his life jumping off of airships.”
“My superiors would call that blasphemy.”
Dean shrugged. “Only if they find out.”
Castiel turned away, one hand on the door lever. “Why do you take such an interest in me?”
Dean lay back on the bed, glad Castiel couldn't see how red his face must be now. Guess I'm not as slick as I'd hoped. “You probably don't remember, you must've done it hundreds of times since then but you saved my life during one of those drops....”
“I pulled you from Perdition,” he said, the rasp in his voice running through Dean like razor wire. He looked at Dean over his shoulder, just the way he had that night. “Of course I remember.”
Then he was gone, the lock gears clicking shut behind him.
***
Once you heard artillery fire up close and personal you could never mistake it for anything else. And the sound carried.
The first blast of canon fire jolted Dean out of sleep so hard he wound up on the floor next to his bunk. For a few seconds he stayed there frozen, back to dodging the canon pits that littered the Perdition Fields. Then came a second shot and that was enough to shake Dean out of it; the sound was too faint, too far away to be a threat to him here. He felt the ship tilt as it pulled up into higher cloud cover and braced himself against his bunk, taking a hit from his flask to settle his stomach.
There was another round of canon fire, a quick 1-2-3 burst, then a few seconds of silence, just enough for Dean to feel his nerves start to settle before another round broke through the silence. He doubted they were firing at the ship; canon range didn't reach up to this level of cloud cover and the airship's own guns weren't answering. It would need to be heavy canon to damage a ship this size anyway, and Dean didn't think the echo was deep enough for heavy shot. Grape or chain, then, not that those were any more fun to be caught in.
It hit Dean then there had been a drop that night. Whatever warmth he'd managed to get from the hit of booze evaporated; he'd been tending to the engines at the time and didn't know which squad was out there in all this, just that he was damn sure they hadn't come back yet. That would have woken him, it always did.
Dean dressed in a hurry, needing two tries to button up his shirt. He'd just managed to throw on his coat and pull his hat down to shade his eyes when he heard the thud of something slamming hard into the deck. Dean didn't think he'd ever climbed the ladder faster.
Just as he got his elbows braced on the deck he saw two shapes touch down; he recognized Inias right away and that made the already present dread settle in nice and deep. Dean finished pulling himself up and things started moving very quickly; from the tangle of metal already on deck Dean saw Balthazar push himself to his hands and knees, shaking his head. The on deck lamps were out but the moon was bright enough for Dean to see blood streaming down his face and spattered on his uniform. Then the other shape crumpled on the deck groaned and Dean felt the air on his arms stand on end.
Dean didn't remember crossing to mid deck; as far as he knew one second he'd just climbed up from lower deck and the next he was on his knees helping Balthazar turn Castiel over. “Shit. Shit, shit, shit.”
The blood all over Balthazar wasn't his his own. Chain. Definitely chain shot. From the shape Cas was in Dean guessed the shot had hit the left wing; that had saved him from losing his head but the impact had been hard enough to turn the wing into shrapnel. His whole right side was peppered with splintered shards of metal, from his shoulder and chest down to his thigh; when Dean eased Cas' goggles off his eyes were wide but not focusing. “Cas, you hear me? You in there?”
Castiel answered in a language Dean didn't know. Balthazar did, though; when he spoke Cas' head turned toward his voice. Balthazar looked like he was all but out on his feet himself; when he reached over to start removing shrapnel Dean grabbed his wrist. “He'll bleed worse,” he said.
That Balthazar didn't take his head off for touching him told Dean everything he needed to know; instead he just nodded, squeezing his eyes shut like he didn't know what was wrong with him. “I know. I know that.”
“You look like you got clocked on the head pretty good, I'm surprised you're talking straight.”
“I'm fine.” He barked an order to Inias, who was watching from a distance like a kicked puppy. Dean didn't know the words but Inias jumped to attention, grabbing...Hester, Dean saw, before pulling her after him below deck.
Cas groaned again, shivering as shock sank its claws in deeper; Dean draped his coat over him and hoped Balthazar had sent the other two after the medics. “Keep him awake.”
Balthazar said something to Cas in their language but Dean doubted any of it got through; Cas' gaze swept across the deck as he started push himself up like he was trying to stand. Cas grabbed for Balthazar's arm, agitated the way only someone in shock could get. Dean couldn't make out the words but they were inflected up like a question, although when repeated it Dean thought he made out the word Rachel.
Dean locked eyes with Balthazar, who just shook his head. “Lie,” he whispered, putting one hand on Castiel's shoulder to hold him down.
Balthazar rolled his eyes, all but radiating Thank you, I hadn't thought of that and that actually made Dean feel a little bit better. Before Balthazar could say a word someone grabbed him by the collar and hauled him to his feet. When Dean looked up instead of the medic he'd hoped to see he saw Michael standing there, as cool and calm as if one of his soldiers wasn't bleeding out at his feet. “Get below with the others.”
Castiel tried to snap to attention at Michael's voice, forcing Dean to hold him down again. “Dammit, hold still,” he said, keeping one eye on the confrontation building in front of him as Balthazar shrugged Michael's hand away.
“I signaled there was live artillery, why didn't you delay the drop?”
Michael didn't so much as blink. “We had a narrow window and the mission was high priority.” Balthazar hauled off and punched Michael right in the mouth. Michael rolled with the punch, smiling for an instant before taking one step closer and grabbing Balthazar by the collar. For a second Dean thought Michael was going to toss him overboard. “Get. Below.”
He let Balthazar go with enough force that he staggered, the weight of the wings throwing him off balance. He caught himself before he could fall. Dean saw Balthazar's fist clench again but he didn't take another swing; while those two stared each other down Dean turned his full attention back to Cas, kneeling over him to try to calm him down. “Cas, look at me, okay? Don't pay attention to anything but me.” When Cas still tried to look back at Michael and Balthazar Dean physically turned his face back to him. “That's right. You look at me.” He saw something close to awareness spark in Castiel's eyes. “There you go, Cas. You know me.”
Castiel reached for his shoulder, grabbing a tight hold of Dean's shirt. When Cas spoke the only word he could make out was Perdition.
Dean felt his chest squeeze tight. “Yeah, you found me. You've been looking for me, right?”
Cas nodded, his breathing faster and more shallow than Dean liked but at least somewhat calmed down. “You keep your eyes open and on me, okay? No point losing track of me after all that work.” Cas nodded again, his jaw tightening like he was daring Dean to get away. From the corner of his eye Dean saw the medic team finally show, pushing past Balthazar who'd retreated back enough to be out of Michael's orbit but still keep his eye on things. When the medics reached Cas and got to work Dean felt Balthazar's eyes lock on him for a second before disappearing below, a clear threat if Dean had ever felt one.
Dean guessed he couldn't blame the guy. When the medics touched him Cas startled, the panic starting to come back. His hold on Dean got tighter as the medic fit the mask over his face, the sharp tang of ether filling the air. “Yeah, I don't like that shit either,” Dean said. Cas tried to get up again and Dean pressed him back down to the deck. Cas glared at the medics, trying again to get up and Dean realized Cas thought they were trying to get to him. “Hey, hey,” he said, holding him still. “Stop fighting the gas. No one's gonna get me. You wake up, we're gonna be back on the ship safe and sound.”
Dean could see the ether starting to take hold and the disorientation from that was mixing with the shock. “Shh. Calm down. I'm not going anywhere.” Cas' eyes blinked twice and then rolled back, his whole body going limp. Dean stepped back to let the medics load him on the gurney, grabbing one of them by the arm as they turned to leave. “I know where you two sleep. Remember that.”
Dean sat back on his heels as he watched them carry Castiel away. That probably hadn't been necessary, Dean hadn't heard anything bad about either of them but he didn't know them. The angels kept everything about their operations so separate they might as well be on another ship sometimes and Dean wanted to make sure they knew Michael wasn't the only person who they had to worry about. He wanted them scared enough that they treated Cas like he was made of glass. Dean knew he'd earned a reputation in the Perdition Fields and he was absolutely not above putting it to good use.
And speaking of Michael. The angel general hadn't so much as moved, standing there studying Dean with his head cocked to the side like Dean was a specimen pinned to a slide. “Why did you come up on deck?”
Dean narrowed his eyes. He had to choose his words very carefully now and that was never a skill he'd mastered well. “That true what your boy said? You dropped your own into the canons?”
“Soldiers are expendable. Missions aren't.” He crossed his arms, his chin raised as he stared Dean down. “Do you want to know how many of my brothers I lost retrieving you?”
No, Dean thought he really didn't need to know that. “Sounds like you regret giving that order.”
“I'd rescinded it, actually. So you can imagine how much blood we spent.” Dean felt a chill snake through him and blamed it on the wind. “Fortunately for you Castiel was already on the ground and didn't know.”
“Don't know why you bothered.”
“Because your brother has a unique mind and we wanted to secure his loyalty. He was the one the enemy wanted in the first place, after all.” Michael stepped forward and Dean had spent enough time around sadists to recognize the gleam in the angel's eyes now. “How are Sam's studies going? Oxford, isn't it?”
Dean wasn't sure when his hands had first balled into fists. “Cambridge.”
“Of course.”
“Don't talk about my brother.”
“Don't interfere in my dealings with mine.” Dean would have to be deaf to not hear the threat there.
Dean had never dealt well with threats. “You don't give me orders.”
Michael smiled like a nobleman condescending to the peasants. “I give everyone orders. And the correct response is 'Sir, yes sir.'”
“When pigs fly.”
“Science is making new advances everyday,” Michael said. “Stay out of our business. You're an important pawn but only a pawn.”
“'Cause you'll sacrifice pawns without a second thought, right?”
There was that smile again. “I'm glad we understand each other. Now, I have a soldier to discipline so I'll have to take my leave.”
It took every ounce of self-control Dean had to not tackle Michael right off the deck as he turned to walk away.
***
“'The correct response is 'Sir, yes sir,'” Dean mimicked under his breath, tucking his elbows in to fit in the narrow part of the vent. There were easier ways to get to the angel infirmary but none that wouldn't attract notice, and after the scene with Michael up on deck notice was the last thing Dean wanted. It had been stupid to make a scene with the guy in the first place; airships ran on gossip even more than they did on steam and Dean knew everyone from the navigators down to the coal shovelers were talking about the engine head mouthing off to a Seraphim general. He'd earned a lot more eyes on him than was good for anyone.
And so the vent shortcut. Well, that was one of the reasons; Dean knew every galley and bolthole and gear in this ship, even the parts he wasn't classified to know and the angel side of the infirmary fell squarely into that category. It wasn't publicly acknowledged that the angels even needed infirmaries; no one published casualty reports for them and their statistics were never included in battle reports. Dean wondered how many of Castiel's Seraphim brothers and sisters had disappeared over the side of one of these airships since this war began.
Although if he was going to be honest with himself Dean knew it was one particular angel he was worried about disappearing into the aether.
Asking for a report would just get stonewalled, even if he went the unofficial route; if he wasn't classified to know the infirmary existed he sure as hell wasn't classified to know the condition of someone in it. Dean knew from ugly experience that for someone torn up the way Castiel was the first night was crucial.
Dean remembered that long, cold night when Castiel found him. The canons had been awake then too, keeping Castiel grounded to his obvious frustration. Although he'd tried his best to hide it; Rest, Dean remembered him saying, his hand on Dean's shoulder and his voice as calm and steady as if they were at a resort. I'll keep watch. Dean thought that had been the first night in his stay in Perdition he'd actually slept.
Dean figured it was about time he returned that favor.
He popped the vent screen and slid it to the side as he dropped down, wincing at the echo as his boots hit the floor. He froze, waiting for some security goon to come in and drop him but nothing happened. Dean didn't think he could get more pissed off at Michael but the guy hadn't even bothered to post a watch.
The ward was silent. Dean felt like an invader as he passed the first pair of empty beds, every inch the unwelcome interloper he knew he was. He tried to keep his steps quiet but nothing stopped the echo, the sound announcing his presence like an on deck horn. Focusing on the noise kept him from imagining what he would do if he didn't find Castiel in one of these beds. Disappeared into the night like so much steam.
When he found Castiel out cold in the last bed next to the wall it took Dean an instant to believe it, he'd already braced himself for disappointment. “Hey, Cas,” he said, even a whisper carrying in that room. There were no chairs so Dean crouched next to the bed, his trained eye studying Castiel for a few long moments. He was pale, paler than Dean thought he should be; Dean wondered if they'd transfused him yet and if not, why. “Probably don't want to waste the blood,” he muttered, checking Cas' pulse. It was weak but steady, about the best he could hope for under the circumstances. The bandaging looked competent, and Dean didn't see any fresh bleeding. That was something, at least. “I'm gonna get into big trouble if they find out I'm down here, so you better not die or I'm gonna be pissed.” Cas didn't respond. Dean supposed it really wasn't much of a threat. “Your CO is a huge dick, by the way. I'm betting he's got the rest of your crew on lock down. I'm surprised he didn't put that jerk buddy of yours in the bed right next to you.”
Dean watched Castiel's chest rise and fall for a few minutes. “When you wake up your ears are gonna ring for probably the whole day,” Dean said, arranging the thin blanket up around Cas' shoulders. “That's from the ether, so don't get worried about it. And you'll probably feel sick too, that usually takes a day or two to pass. Don't let them give you laudanum if you can stand it, that stuff sneaks up on you.” He rested his arms on the bed. “Hey. I'm sorry about Rachel. That doesn't mean you try to follow after her now, you hear me?”
Dean hoped Cas did. After an instant's hesitation he took Cas' limp hand; Cas' hand felt like ice and Dean thought about stealing a second blanket from one of the nearby beds. If he touched anything they'd know he'd been here.
Hell with it. Dean grabbed a blanket and tucked it around Castiel, careful not to jostle him too much. Dean crouched back down next to the bed and took his hand again. “So here's the deal,” Dean said, running his thumb along the callouses crisscrossing Cas' palms from steering the wings. “This time you rest, okay?” he said, leaning close to Cas' ear. “I'll keep watch.”
Dean sat on the floor and leaned his head against the edge of the bed, squeezing Castiel's hand once. He listened to Castiel breathe until his own eyes closed.
Dean startled awake at five bells. Castiel's hand was still tight in his and Dean thought his color looked better. Even his pulse was stronger. “Good job,” Dean whispered, tucking him in again. He heard the thud of boots on the above deck and knew the first shift crew would be coming on duty. “I gotta go, Cas,” he said with a sigh. “They're gonna wonder where I am before too long.” He thought he felt Cas' hand tighten in his for just an instant and grinned to himself. He stood and stared at him for a few long seconds before retreating back up through the vents.
***
The next time Dean lay awake long after his shift ended his drafting table caught his eye. That familiar black trunk had appeared outside his door two nights before and the table was full of half done sketches and repair blueprints, mostly for Castiel's set. The damage of the right wing was bad enough that he was practically rebuilding it from the ground up and had exposed all kind of defects in the original design. The wings shouldn't have splintered under chain shot the way they had. Dean may not have a fancy Oxford engineering degree but he knew damn well he could build a set of wings better than these.
From the moment he'd first had that thought Dean hadn't been able to shake it. Dean pulled out a fresh sheet on the pad and started a new sketch. One of Castiel, complete with his standard issue wings; when that was finished Dean leaned back on his stool, his eye picking out every correction he would make.
He could build a better set of wings.
That he could hear Michael call what he was thinking about blasphemy was the final piece that let him pick up the pencil.
Dean worked until first bell and felt as rested as if he'd slept like a baby the whole night.
- On To Chapter 3 -
- Back To Masterpost -
- Back To Chapter 1 -
Author: misachan
Fandom: Supernatural; Streampunk AU
Pairing(s): Dean/Castiel
Rating: Explicit
Word Count: 4278
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.
*
The next drop didn't happen until two nights later but Dean was kept so busy he was glad he'd made a point of tackling the wings that first night. He did make a point of watching the departure, or the tail end of it, anyway; he leaned against one of the aft chimneys, for once not caring about the ship swaying as he watched Castiel strap on his gear. He could tell the guy knew instantly something was different. Castiel looked around the deck and Dean made a point of meeting his eyes; probably it would be smarter to keep it quiet but Dean couldn't bring himself to do it. He wanted Castiel to know.
Dean didn't know what the hell was wrong with him.
Castiel held the eye contact for a full two seconds before turning away. Dean felt his heart climb into his throat as Castiel fastened his goggles and threw himself over the side. As the rest of the crew milled around, dealing with the usual post-drop chaos, Dean approached the edge of the deck with every instinct he had screaming what are you doing? He ignored the fear and crept close enough to peer over the edge, one of the artillery ropes wrapped tight around his hands as he stared down into the endless swirling gray clouds.
Already far below Dean caught the glint of light on metal, a flash that came and went so quickly it was gone by the time he could blink. Dean finally backed away, barely noticing that he'd held onto the rope so tight the grooves were deep and red in his hand. He shook his head, forcing all of that down. It looked like it was about to storm and there was a whole list of things that needed to get down to prep for that.
At this point he'd welcome anything that would distract him from wondering why Castiel had looked at him like that before he jumped.
***
Less than an hour before dawn Dean heard the lock on his door pop open. It wasn't like he'd been able to sleep anyway; he turned over, ready to chew out whoever'd decided to just stroll in without so much as knocking.
The words died off when he saw Castiel standing in the doorway. Dean had left the gas lamp on and the weak light made Cas look pale and tired, an effect only helped along by the fact he was sopping wet. Dean wondered if he'd come straight from debriefing; he even still had his harness on, the wings not completely folded away. “Guess you all got caught in this, huh?” he said, gesturing at steady rain that had been keeping him up for the past few hours.
Castiel didn't answer. Dean began to wonder if this was going to be a fight. “Say what you're here to say,” he said, leaning up on his elbows.
“Did you tamper with our apparatus?”
Dean rolled his eyes. “I didn't 'tamper' with them. I fixed them. Did it hold?”
Castiel looked like he was trying hard to be angry for a few more moments, then he dropped his gaze. “Considering the conditions I'm not sure the drop would have been successful if you hadn't.”
“Good. That's pretty much the point.”
“Which one of them approached you?”
Dean sat up on the edge of the bed. “I did the approaching. Don't come down hard on them.”
Castiel's eyes made a little sideways cut that told Dean he already knew, probably just through process of elimination. “You'll be lashed if this becomes known.”
“And what about you? From what I've heard the lash is considered having a soft touch in your corps.”
Castiel took a deep breath, his shoulders slumping. “No worse punishment than I would receive for coming to you now,” he admitted. He took a step forward, casting a furtive glance around the room as if he thought someone might be hiding in the shadows listening. “One of Rachel's wings threw a rod on the return.”
“She okay?”
Castiel nodded. “The apparatus is still flight worthy, so the piece doesn't seem vital. I'm...the repair won't be considered a priority because of that.”
“I'll take a took at it,” Dean said, answering the unspoken question. “I'll take a look at all of your crew's stuff, if you like.”
Castiel nodded absently, like he could barely believe he was doing this. “I'll make the arrangements.”
“Y'know, me and some of the other engine corps get together once a week. Nothing formal. One of your boys has already shown up, you're more than welcome to come too. Jo likes getting him drunk.”
Castiel just shook his head. “It wouldn't be proper behavior.”
Dean could only roll his eyes at that again. “Life's too short for 'proper.' Especially for someone who spends his life jumping off of airships.”
“My superiors would call that blasphemy.”
Dean shrugged. “Only if they find out.”
Castiel turned away, one hand on the door lever. “Why do you take such an interest in me?”
Dean lay back on the bed, glad Castiel couldn't see how red his face must be now. Guess I'm not as slick as I'd hoped. “You probably don't remember, you must've done it hundreds of times since then but you saved my life during one of those drops....”
“I pulled you from Perdition,” he said, the rasp in his voice running through Dean like razor wire. He looked at Dean over his shoulder, just the way he had that night. “Of course I remember.”
Then he was gone, the lock gears clicking shut behind him.
***
Once you heard artillery fire up close and personal you could never mistake it for anything else. And the sound carried.
The first blast of canon fire jolted Dean out of sleep so hard he wound up on the floor next to his bunk. For a few seconds he stayed there frozen, back to dodging the canon pits that littered the Perdition Fields. Then came a second shot and that was enough to shake Dean out of it; the sound was too faint, too far away to be a threat to him here. He felt the ship tilt as it pulled up into higher cloud cover and braced himself against his bunk, taking a hit from his flask to settle his stomach.
There was another round of canon fire, a quick 1-2-3 burst, then a few seconds of silence, just enough for Dean to feel his nerves start to settle before another round broke through the silence. He doubted they were firing at the ship; canon range didn't reach up to this level of cloud cover and the airship's own guns weren't answering. It would need to be heavy canon to damage a ship this size anyway, and Dean didn't think the echo was deep enough for heavy shot. Grape or chain, then, not that those were any more fun to be caught in.
It hit Dean then there had been a drop that night. Whatever warmth he'd managed to get from the hit of booze evaporated; he'd been tending to the engines at the time and didn't know which squad was out there in all this, just that he was damn sure they hadn't come back yet. That would have woken him, it always did.
Dean dressed in a hurry, needing two tries to button up his shirt. He'd just managed to throw on his coat and pull his hat down to shade his eyes when he heard the thud of something slamming hard into the deck. Dean didn't think he'd ever climbed the ladder faster.
Just as he got his elbows braced on the deck he saw two shapes touch down; he recognized Inias right away and that made the already present dread settle in nice and deep. Dean finished pulling himself up and things started moving very quickly; from the tangle of metal already on deck Dean saw Balthazar push himself to his hands and knees, shaking his head. The on deck lamps were out but the moon was bright enough for Dean to see blood streaming down his face and spattered on his uniform. Then the other shape crumpled on the deck groaned and Dean felt the air on his arms stand on end.
Dean didn't remember crossing to mid deck; as far as he knew one second he'd just climbed up from lower deck and the next he was on his knees helping Balthazar turn Castiel over. “Shit. Shit, shit, shit.”
The blood all over Balthazar wasn't his his own. Chain. Definitely chain shot. From the shape Cas was in Dean guessed the shot had hit the left wing; that had saved him from losing his head but the impact had been hard enough to turn the wing into shrapnel. His whole right side was peppered with splintered shards of metal, from his shoulder and chest down to his thigh; when Dean eased Cas' goggles off his eyes were wide but not focusing. “Cas, you hear me? You in there?”
Castiel answered in a language Dean didn't know. Balthazar did, though; when he spoke Cas' head turned toward his voice. Balthazar looked like he was all but out on his feet himself; when he reached over to start removing shrapnel Dean grabbed his wrist. “He'll bleed worse,” he said.
That Balthazar didn't take his head off for touching him told Dean everything he needed to know; instead he just nodded, squeezing his eyes shut like he didn't know what was wrong with him. “I know. I know that.”
“You look like you got clocked on the head pretty good, I'm surprised you're talking straight.”
“I'm fine.” He barked an order to Inias, who was watching from a distance like a kicked puppy. Dean didn't know the words but Inias jumped to attention, grabbing...Hester, Dean saw, before pulling her after him below deck.
Cas groaned again, shivering as shock sank its claws in deeper; Dean draped his coat over him and hoped Balthazar had sent the other two after the medics. “Keep him awake.”
Balthazar said something to Cas in their language but Dean doubted any of it got through; Cas' gaze swept across the deck as he started push himself up like he was trying to stand. Cas grabbed for Balthazar's arm, agitated the way only someone in shock could get. Dean couldn't make out the words but they were inflected up like a question, although when repeated it Dean thought he made out the word Rachel.
Dean locked eyes with Balthazar, who just shook his head. “Lie,” he whispered, putting one hand on Castiel's shoulder to hold him down.
Balthazar rolled his eyes, all but radiating Thank you, I hadn't thought of that and that actually made Dean feel a little bit better. Before Balthazar could say a word someone grabbed him by the collar and hauled him to his feet. When Dean looked up instead of the medic he'd hoped to see he saw Michael standing there, as cool and calm as if one of his soldiers wasn't bleeding out at his feet. “Get below with the others.”
Castiel tried to snap to attention at Michael's voice, forcing Dean to hold him down again. “Dammit, hold still,” he said, keeping one eye on the confrontation building in front of him as Balthazar shrugged Michael's hand away.
“I signaled there was live artillery, why didn't you delay the drop?”
Michael didn't so much as blink. “We had a narrow window and the mission was high priority.” Balthazar hauled off and punched Michael right in the mouth. Michael rolled with the punch, smiling for an instant before taking one step closer and grabbing Balthazar by the collar. For a second Dean thought Michael was going to toss him overboard. “Get. Below.”
He let Balthazar go with enough force that he staggered, the weight of the wings throwing him off balance. He caught himself before he could fall. Dean saw Balthazar's fist clench again but he didn't take another swing; while those two stared each other down Dean turned his full attention back to Cas, kneeling over him to try to calm him down. “Cas, look at me, okay? Don't pay attention to anything but me.” When Cas still tried to look back at Michael and Balthazar Dean physically turned his face back to him. “That's right. You look at me.” He saw something close to awareness spark in Castiel's eyes. “There you go, Cas. You know me.”
Castiel reached for his shoulder, grabbing a tight hold of Dean's shirt. When Cas spoke the only word he could make out was Perdition.
Dean felt his chest squeeze tight. “Yeah, you found me. You've been looking for me, right?”
Cas nodded, his breathing faster and more shallow than Dean liked but at least somewhat calmed down. “You keep your eyes open and on me, okay? No point losing track of me after all that work.” Cas nodded again, his jaw tightening like he was daring Dean to get away. From the corner of his eye Dean saw the medic team finally show, pushing past Balthazar who'd retreated back enough to be out of Michael's orbit but still keep his eye on things. When the medics reached Cas and got to work Dean felt Balthazar's eyes lock on him for a second before disappearing below, a clear threat if Dean had ever felt one.
Dean guessed he couldn't blame the guy. When the medics touched him Cas startled, the panic starting to come back. His hold on Dean got tighter as the medic fit the mask over his face, the sharp tang of ether filling the air. “Yeah, I don't like that shit either,” Dean said. Cas tried to get up again and Dean pressed him back down to the deck. Cas glared at the medics, trying again to get up and Dean realized Cas thought they were trying to get to him. “Hey, hey,” he said, holding him still. “Stop fighting the gas. No one's gonna get me. You wake up, we're gonna be back on the ship safe and sound.”
Dean could see the ether starting to take hold and the disorientation from that was mixing with the shock. “Shh. Calm down. I'm not going anywhere.” Cas' eyes blinked twice and then rolled back, his whole body going limp. Dean stepped back to let the medics load him on the gurney, grabbing one of them by the arm as they turned to leave. “I know where you two sleep. Remember that.”
Dean sat back on his heels as he watched them carry Castiel away. That probably hadn't been necessary, Dean hadn't heard anything bad about either of them but he didn't know them. The angels kept everything about their operations so separate they might as well be on another ship sometimes and Dean wanted to make sure they knew Michael wasn't the only person who they had to worry about. He wanted them scared enough that they treated Cas like he was made of glass. Dean knew he'd earned a reputation in the Perdition Fields and he was absolutely not above putting it to good use.
And speaking of Michael. The angel general hadn't so much as moved, standing there studying Dean with his head cocked to the side like Dean was a specimen pinned to a slide. “Why did you come up on deck?”
Dean narrowed his eyes. He had to choose his words very carefully now and that was never a skill he'd mastered well. “That true what your boy said? You dropped your own into the canons?”
“Soldiers are expendable. Missions aren't.” He crossed his arms, his chin raised as he stared Dean down. “Do you want to know how many of my brothers I lost retrieving you?”
No, Dean thought he really didn't need to know that. “Sounds like you regret giving that order.”
“I'd rescinded it, actually. So you can imagine how much blood we spent.” Dean felt a chill snake through him and blamed it on the wind. “Fortunately for you Castiel was already on the ground and didn't know.”
“Don't know why you bothered.”
“Because your brother has a unique mind and we wanted to secure his loyalty. He was the one the enemy wanted in the first place, after all.” Michael stepped forward and Dean had spent enough time around sadists to recognize the gleam in the angel's eyes now. “How are Sam's studies going? Oxford, isn't it?”
Dean wasn't sure when his hands had first balled into fists. “Cambridge.”
“Of course.”
“Don't talk about my brother.”
“Don't interfere in my dealings with mine.” Dean would have to be deaf to not hear the threat there.
Dean had never dealt well with threats. “You don't give me orders.”
Michael smiled like a nobleman condescending to the peasants. “I give everyone orders. And the correct response is 'Sir, yes sir.'”
“When pigs fly.”
“Science is making new advances everyday,” Michael said. “Stay out of our business. You're an important pawn but only a pawn.”
“'Cause you'll sacrifice pawns without a second thought, right?”
There was that smile again. “I'm glad we understand each other. Now, I have a soldier to discipline so I'll have to take my leave.”
It took every ounce of self-control Dean had to not tackle Michael right off the deck as he turned to walk away.
***
“'The correct response is 'Sir, yes sir,'” Dean mimicked under his breath, tucking his elbows in to fit in the narrow part of the vent. There were easier ways to get to the angel infirmary but none that wouldn't attract notice, and after the scene with Michael up on deck notice was the last thing Dean wanted. It had been stupid to make a scene with the guy in the first place; airships ran on gossip even more than they did on steam and Dean knew everyone from the navigators down to the coal shovelers were talking about the engine head mouthing off to a Seraphim general. He'd earned a lot more eyes on him than was good for anyone.
And so the vent shortcut. Well, that was one of the reasons; Dean knew every galley and bolthole and gear in this ship, even the parts he wasn't classified to know and the angel side of the infirmary fell squarely into that category. It wasn't publicly acknowledged that the angels even needed infirmaries; no one published casualty reports for them and their statistics were never included in battle reports. Dean wondered how many of Castiel's Seraphim brothers and sisters had disappeared over the side of one of these airships since this war began.
Although if he was going to be honest with himself Dean knew it was one particular angel he was worried about disappearing into the aether.
Asking for a report would just get stonewalled, even if he went the unofficial route; if he wasn't classified to know the infirmary existed he sure as hell wasn't classified to know the condition of someone in it. Dean knew from ugly experience that for someone torn up the way Castiel was the first night was crucial.
Dean remembered that long, cold night when Castiel found him. The canons had been awake then too, keeping Castiel grounded to his obvious frustration. Although he'd tried his best to hide it; Rest, Dean remembered him saying, his hand on Dean's shoulder and his voice as calm and steady as if they were at a resort. I'll keep watch. Dean thought that had been the first night in his stay in Perdition he'd actually slept.
Dean figured it was about time he returned that favor.
He popped the vent screen and slid it to the side as he dropped down, wincing at the echo as his boots hit the floor. He froze, waiting for some security goon to come in and drop him but nothing happened. Dean didn't think he could get more pissed off at Michael but the guy hadn't even bothered to post a watch.
The ward was silent. Dean felt like an invader as he passed the first pair of empty beds, every inch the unwelcome interloper he knew he was. He tried to keep his steps quiet but nothing stopped the echo, the sound announcing his presence like an on deck horn. Focusing on the noise kept him from imagining what he would do if he didn't find Castiel in one of these beds. Disappeared into the night like so much steam.
When he found Castiel out cold in the last bed next to the wall it took Dean an instant to believe it, he'd already braced himself for disappointment. “Hey, Cas,” he said, even a whisper carrying in that room. There were no chairs so Dean crouched next to the bed, his trained eye studying Castiel for a few long moments. He was pale, paler than Dean thought he should be; Dean wondered if they'd transfused him yet and if not, why. “Probably don't want to waste the blood,” he muttered, checking Cas' pulse. It was weak but steady, about the best he could hope for under the circumstances. The bandaging looked competent, and Dean didn't see any fresh bleeding. That was something, at least. “I'm gonna get into big trouble if they find out I'm down here, so you better not die or I'm gonna be pissed.” Cas didn't respond. Dean supposed it really wasn't much of a threat. “Your CO is a huge dick, by the way. I'm betting he's got the rest of your crew on lock down. I'm surprised he didn't put that jerk buddy of yours in the bed right next to you.”
Dean watched Castiel's chest rise and fall for a few minutes. “When you wake up your ears are gonna ring for probably the whole day,” Dean said, arranging the thin blanket up around Cas' shoulders. “That's from the ether, so don't get worried about it. And you'll probably feel sick too, that usually takes a day or two to pass. Don't let them give you laudanum if you can stand it, that stuff sneaks up on you.” He rested his arms on the bed. “Hey. I'm sorry about Rachel. That doesn't mean you try to follow after her now, you hear me?”
Dean hoped Cas did. After an instant's hesitation he took Cas' limp hand; Cas' hand felt like ice and Dean thought about stealing a second blanket from one of the nearby beds. If he touched anything they'd know he'd been here.
Hell with it. Dean grabbed a blanket and tucked it around Castiel, careful not to jostle him too much. Dean crouched back down next to the bed and took his hand again. “So here's the deal,” Dean said, running his thumb along the callouses crisscrossing Cas' palms from steering the wings. “This time you rest, okay?” he said, leaning close to Cas' ear. “I'll keep watch.”
Dean sat on the floor and leaned his head against the edge of the bed, squeezing Castiel's hand once. He listened to Castiel breathe until his own eyes closed.
Dean startled awake at five bells. Castiel's hand was still tight in his and Dean thought his color looked better. Even his pulse was stronger. “Good job,” Dean whispered, tucking him in again. He heard the thud of boots on the above deck and knew the first shift crew would be coming on duty. “I gotta go, Cas,” he said with a sigh. “They're gonna wonder where I am before too long.” He thought he felt Cas' hand tighten in his for just an instant and grinned to himself. He stood and stared at him for a few long seconds before retreating back up through the vents.
***
The next time Dean lay awake long after his shift ended his drafting table caught his eye. That familiar black trunk had appeared outside his door two nights before and the table was full of half done sketches and repair blueprints, mostly for Castiel's set. The damage of the right wing was bad enough that he was practically rebuilding it from the ground up and had exposed all kind of defects in the original design. The wings shouldn't have splintered under chain shot the way they had. Dean may not have a fancy Oxford engineering degree but he knew damn well he could build a set of wings better than these.
From the moment he'd first had that thought Dean hadn't been able to shake it. Dean pulled out a fresh sheet on the pad and started a new sketch. One of Castiel, complete with his standard issue wings; when that was finished Dean leaned back on his stool, his eye picking out every correction he would make.
He could build a better set of wings.
That he could hear Michael call what he was thinking about blasphemy was the final piece that let him pick up the pencil.
Dean worked until first bell and felt as rested as if he'd slept like a baby the whole night.
- On To Chapter 3 -
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