The World Has Moved On, Ch. 4
Title: The World Has Moved On (4/?)
Author: phar_ahkmenrah (halfblood alchemist)
Genre/Pairing: Dean/Castiel, AU
Rating: NC-17 (for strong sexual content, blood and gore, violence and language)
Spoilers: None (AU)
Wordcount: WIP
Warnings: This fic will be riddled with strong sexual scenes, violent deaths, torture, graphic imagery, and scary scenes. Far far future fic, modeled after “the Gunslinger” series by Stephen King. NOT A CROSSOVER! (Has similar concept as the Supernatural series, but different presentation. *Character parallels, concept parallel etc*)
Summary: As a great author once said, too many years long since passed, “The world has moved on…”. Two brothers find themselves travelling across the lands of a world that time forgot, travelling to avenge the destruction of their village, and the death of their family and friends. On their journey they discover their destiny lies in the secret profession of their late father and find their world turned upside down when they discover a dark force is threatening to destroy mankind. Left to stop this devastation from wiping out their whole world alone, they find allegiance in the unlikeliest of partners: a young, inexperienced mage, renegade from his clan and rebellious to their arrogant, narrow-minded ways. This rag-tag trio of heroes holds the fate of the world in their hands… if they can face the truth.
~*~
Chapter 4
The sun raised high over the plains, basking the golden grains an ominous red hue. Nary had a bird call broken the unnatural silence that befell the landscape; the wind beat a slow breath across the prairie grass, as finally the eerie silence was broken by the sound of foot falls. A marauding group of travelers broke through the landscape, bloody sunlight staining their already pale features a washed out tint and where they tread, the landscape fell back into a nearly deafening silence.
Even the very earth knew when to fear, for the group that passed was unlike any other. Nomadic, pillaging; these were no mere travelers, for they too possessed a sort of magic to rival that of their counterparts, their enemies.
Everyone in the land knew of these people; the very mention of their names struck a chord of terror through the hearts of even the bravest of individuals for they were a dreaded foe indeed. Many believe them to be a terror story to tell disobedient children; and even those that managed to successfully encounter these people barely lived long enough to tell of their terrifying encounter before strange, horrifying deaths befell them, curses ravaging the landscapes, unimaginable terrors abounding.
No one lived long when they encountered the Daemons.
Now, as the dark mages traversed the countryside their leader, a tall blonde man with piercing eyes, paused mid-step, eyes of ice scanning the bloody horizon curiously. His followers also stopped, looking to their leader for confirmation. Minutes passed, and still the head of the Daemons did not move, his gazed fixed on the brightening sky before them.
After a moment one of his followers stepped forward, addressing their leader. “My Lord, what troubles you so??” he inquired, twirling a long knife in his hands impatiently. It was rare to see their self-proclaimed “god” figure look so… indecisive.
The blonde man raised a hand, steadying the twirling blade with a simple touch. “Peace, Alistair. There is no reason to fret.” He replied finally, his voice a soothing tone. He turned to face the Daemon by his side, looking almost smugly at him.
Dropping his grip from Alistair’s wrist, the blonde man turned to the others, raising his hands to silence the murmuring crowd. “Rest well; it has been a long night of traveling.” Upon seeing the skeptical looks on his followers faces, he smiled, ice blue eyes flashing in the growing sunlight. “Do not fear, for our journey is not in vain.”
“What is the meaning of this, Lucifer??” one Daemon shouted, rallying a cloud of murmurs from the others.
Lucifer nodded to him, unsheathing his sword and etching lazy lines into the dirt before him. “We have found our destination at last…” he replied simply, gesturing over his shoulder. Eyes strained to see what their ruler had spied and sure enough, keen eyes caught the nearly indiscernible shape of a far off quarry, eroded by years of disuse yet seeming to beacon to the travelling mages of darkness. An eager cry rose up from those gathered as they laid eyes upon their final destination. It had been many long weeks of hard travel to find this particular quarry, for within its shale and sandstone walls lay there most-sought after prize… dominance and defeat over the despised Enochians. They had great plans to conquer them, and if the people of this sad, little world perished in the crossfire, they were of no importance to them. What were a few casualties?
Lucifer smiled at the sight of his faithful followers looking so jubilant. He sighed, sheathing his sword and turning to stare off into the brightened horizon, the edges stained a light blue as the sun climbed higher into the clouds. A sudden sensation filled his being and he turned, staring into the direction the pulse came from. It was strong… very strong. Suddenly the king Daemon laughed outright, crossing his arms over his broad chest with a nod. So it was true… the prophecy would come to pass after all. How exciting! He knew it was just a matter of time, but the wheel had been set into motion the very moment Lucifer obtained the quarries. It was too perfect. Now all he had to do was wait for his plan to fall directly into his lap. Too perfect.
~*~
The days passed in a flurry of events as the brothers were welcomed into the society that they had unwittingly fallen upon. Sam found solace in the extensive libraries of the Enochians while hardly seeing much of his older brother since their arrival. He smiled to himself as he poured over an ancient tome, thinking of the events of the past several days.
It was rare to see Dean and Castiel separated for more than an hour at a time. It could easily be said that the two had taken a shining to the other, and Castiel seemed rather watchful of the elder brother. Dean, in particular, turned out to be possessive of the mage, and his temper took a turn whenever Cas was called away by his fiancé to assist in preparing for the events of the bonding ceremony. But when confronted about this, Dean simply banished the thoughts with a shrug.
“You think foolishly, Sam. There are no hard feelings to this event.” Dean would reply casually. After the third questioning, however, Dean’s answer took on a suspicious intonation. “You speak strangely of my emotions, Samuel. What are you thinking???”
Sam had then replied with his own admittance of flippancy, returning his gaze to the book in his lap. “I merely asked, Dean. There is no reason to become so defensive… unless there is reason to feel such.” He added slyly.
Dean stiffened, but regained his composure. “There is none.” He answered shortly, rising to his feet and striding from the room with a sense of lost purpose.
Sam smiled, remembering that little encounter. It seemed that Dean had indeed taken a shining to the mage, but both knew it would be futile to pursue any further attachment between the two. They would be leaving in mere hours, after the final rites of Castiel and Annahriel’s bonding ceremony. Castiel had specifically requested that they remain in the village until after the bonding ceremony. He had made mention that it would be rude to leave before such a large event and the others in the community would take it as an offence. But Sam had an idea that it was mostly because of Dean. He couldn’t blame him, although it didn’t make the impending hours any easier.
Both brothers had agreed to leave the Enochian culture behind without a glance back, taking minimal information with them. Such a sacred culture needed not to be exposed to the selfishness and naivety of human civilization. They weren’t worthy of such revelations. However, this didn’t change the disappointment both felt at having to leave behind such an amazing world to continue their secret quest.
Sam sighed, closing the tome and setting it on the carved oak table next to his chair. He stood and stretched his back before making his way from the private library and outside. The younger Winchester made a beeline for the stables, a small smile beginning at the corners of his mouth.
Impala and Jess had been fetched the day they were welcomed even temporarily into the community and were given the best care the equines had received in a long time. The Enochians proved they were skilled horsemen and nursed the two beasts with tenderness that even Samuel envied. He strode into the stables and clicked his tongue quietly; immediately two horses poked their heads over the wooden gates barring them to their respective stalls.
Jess nickered happily to see her master, tossing her head impatiently. Sam smiled and ran his fingers gently through her yellowed mane, untangling a wayward strand before pressing a kiss to her blaze. “I indeed missed you as well, Jess. There is no fear, though. We will be back on the way soon; I know how eager you are to be on the open range. You too, Impala.” He added, turning to pat the black mustang fondly.
Impala snorted slightly, whinnying quietly for his own master. Sam laughed, leaning a hip against the wooden stall door. “I’m sorry; Dean is not here at the moment. He’s off gallivanting with that mage of his. You know Impala, I’d say that he may have a new friend to travel with…” he teased the mustang. Impala gave the younger Winchester a pointed look, swishing his tail impatiently.
Before Sam could respond to the mustang’s obvious glare, two men entered the stable, looking directly at him. “Samuel. Come with us. The elders wish to speak with you on… special circumstances.” One mage said quietly, motioning to the younger brother.
Sam gave them both a look of suspicion before nodding his consent. He glanced back at the two equines before following the men out of the stable and towards the main house.
~*~
Castiel stood within the mother house walls, pacing slightly. The ceremony had been looming for three days, and never before had he been more uncomfortable about leaving bachelorhood than before. It had never really occurred to him that he was taking such a huge step; it was customary. Everyone did it. But…
Castiel ran a hand through his hair, looking out the window once again in exasperation. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for but… something felt missing; like a presence was not where it should be. The eye tattoo crinkled in disconcert, the warm noonday breeze doing nothing to lift his senses. He repeated a mantra of calm, reminding himself that this day should be a day of rejoicing, the day he joins his betrothed in the most sacred of bonds. He should be happy for this…
Castiel looks down at the large silver ring clutched loosely in his fist, running a thumb over the sigils carved into the exterior. Unlike other bonding ceremonies, this one was much more intimate. In other ceremonies, dual rings would be exchanged between the partners before the two were bonded in pledge; this ritual was much different. Whereas two rings to be worn on the hands (a very commonplace ritual meant for those of lower class and status), this ritual required only one ring, about the diameter of the male’s forearm. The bonding sigils were carved into the metal, reminiscent of each partner’s origin, and presented at the ceremony.
Once the silver ring was presented, each partner would present his or her eternity rose -a white rose for the female, and scarlet for the male- to be blessed by The Father, before tied in an intricate braid to the ring itself. Once tied, the “legal” portion of the ceremony would be set and the full sealing of the souls would occur with the fire bond the following evening. Consummation was the final step of this intricate process, but only after each partner had fully marked his/her possession of the other.
Castiel sighed again, pocketing the ring before turning to hear the main hall door creak open. The hand servant- Maion was his name -, stepped in, holding an elegant red robe folded over his thin forearm. He bowed to the high warrior, before presenting the lush scarlet velvet to him.
“Sir, the ceremony will begin shortly. Your presence is requested at the dais.” Maion said quietly, his voice trepid. His eyes did not even connect with Castiel’s as he spoke.
Castiel smiled to the young boy, taking the soft fabric from him, and patting him on the shoulder. “Many thanks, Maion. You may go now; I am capable of dressing myself.”
When the boy left, Castiel stripped his white robe and paused, gazing at himself in the looking glass. It was not customary to wear his warrior’s garb to such an event, but he could not find it in himself to strip completely. It felt wrong. With a quiet shrug, he slipped the red robe over his own clothing, cinching the leather belt at his waist. Once this task was complete, he strode over to the round table where his own eternity rose was resting in vase of cool water. Plucking it up gently, he slipped the thorny stem into his belt and left the hall, headed towards his fate.
~*~
Sam was escorted into the main conference hall of the courthouse, where he spied Dean already indulging in the proffered wine, a cheeky grin plastered on his face. Sam cocked an eyebrow, confused, when Dean waved him over.
“Come, brother. We have great need of celebration!!!” Dean called to him, clasping a heavy hand on his younger brother’s shoulder.
“Dean, you act strangely. What is this news you wish to speak of?” Sam asked, nevertheless taking his own goblet and draining the bittersweet liquid in one swallow.
Before Dean could respond, the door opened once again and Zachariah strode in, inconspicuously locking the door behind him as he smiled warmly at the two men. “I can be of assistance in your inquiry, Samuel. It pertains to your presence here in our clan.”
When Sam gave him an incredulous look, Zachariah walked over to the table and poured them each another hearty helping of wine, taking a dainty sip from his golden chalice.
“You and your brother have caused quite a fuss amongst our people. One in particular finds your company to be quite… delightful.”T he elder Enochian said, gauging his words carefully before speaking. Dean and Sam both bowed respectfully to the elder man in response.
“Thank you, good sir.” Dean added, toasting his glass to the hall. He turned to Sam, winking as the hand servant slipped silently into the room, whispering into the ear of the elder.
Zachariah smiled to the young boy, patting his head affectionately before sending him on his way. “We will make this quick… Castiel’s ceremony will begin soon, and I know how much he wishes for your presence there, Deanolo.”Dean beamed slightly, his ears tinting pink, before the elder continued.
“I wished to speak to the two of you on your actions. Your names are not unknown to us, as you are probably aware. Your prowess and cunning are valiant traits that we wish to enforce our side with. You see…” Zachariah said carefully, walking around the width of the table to finger a small statue on the mantle with care. “We are not the only mages in this land. Our hated enemies have been honing their skills tremendously as we have, but they have one thing we do not possess and we do not wish to partake in… a brute strength and malice that rivals our won piety. They use their strength to their advantage, making them a frightful foe indeed.”
Sam nodded, understanding. “Daemons…” he breathed, looking at Dean. His older brother tensed at the name, and Zachariah smiled at their understanding.
“Indeed… the Daemons are infamous outside our own ring of informants, I see. This is suitable… we wish to employ the strength of a Winchester to our forces to defeat them once and for all.” His eyes locked with Dean’s for a moment, but Sam caught the wording quickly, and frowned.
Dean placed the goblet down on the table, nodding to the elder. “We will assist you as we can, Zachariah.” He agreed immediately, hand resting on the pommel of his sword. However, his pride was short lived, as Sam spoke next.
“You say A Winchester… singular.” Sam added, his voice taking on a suspicious tone.
Zachariah sighed, and nodded. “Indeed, I can only employ the work of one of you… the worthy brother. And unfortunately, Samuel, it is not you. Michael, our second in command has requested that he take Dean under his wing to defeat the Daemons once and for all.”
Dean shook his head, his brow furrowing. “We fight together, or we do not fight at all.” He added stubbornly, taking his brother’s side.
Zachariah sighed, grabbing an ancient tome from the mantel, flipping to a well worn page. “And the High Order spake, and took upon one Hunter to guide them to victory over the darkness of the land. Sacrifice is not lost, as the Dark Sibling was cast out from the presence of the Enochians. The Dark Sibling was thrown to the pit, where his allegiance was twisted by the wroth of the Daemons and turned against his brother and his just cause. And brother shall turn against brother, smiting the darkness from his being and salvation shall dress the land in honor and light.” Zachariah read, closing the dusty book with a thud. “You see boys… Samuel is not welcome in our order. He will turn against us… as is prophesized.” He growled, his voice taking on a menacing tone.
Sam and Dean immediately took the defensive, standing together. “Samuel will not turn against us. Our cause is just, Zachariah!” Dean spat, drawing his sword quickly. Suddenly, the door burst open as the guardians of the village entered the room, swords drawn and ready.
Zachariah smirked darkly, turning to face the brothers. “Deanolo and Samuel Winchester… the only survivors of the Daemon attack of the High Plains people. Samuel was marked on his soul from that time, having come in direct contact with the dark power of their leader, Lucifer. He is not worthy, nor welcome. And if need be… we will smite the darkness before it takes hold and destroys us all!”
Dean backed his brother up fully, the two inching towards their only option of escape, eyes locked on Zachariah’s. “Over my dead body, Zachariah!” he hissed, gripping his sword tightly. Samuel balled his fists defensively… his cross bow had been taken from him when they entered into the community.
Zachariah smirked, rising is hand up for the final signal to his men if need be. “Very well then…”
~*~
Castiel stood on the raised stage, across from Annahriel, their eyes locking as Raphael read from an ancient book, the words floating over the land as the audience watched with bated breath. Castiel’s hands twisted in his red cloak nervously, the silver ring resting on the altar before them.
His eye flickered over the crowd, scanning the area for Dean and Sam. They were nowhere to be found, and Castiel found this to be rather discomforting. He sighed, turning back to the other two, smiling sheepishly at the angered look on Annahriel’s face for his inability to focus on the ceremony. Raphael cleared his throat, looking at Castiel expectantly.
“I said you may present your rose, Castiel.” The priest repeated, gesturing to the warrior’s belt. Castiel nodded, pulling the red rose from the leather belt. He had just reached across the table to take Annahriel’s rose and begin the braiding, when a sight caught his eye, basking him in a sense of dread.
The red rose was wilted.
Castiel’s breath caught in his throat, as the signs began to connect in his mind. “Dean…” he looked up at the others, shaking his head. “I can’t… there’s trouble in the village!” he said suddenly, jumping down from the dais and taking off into the crowd, followed by confused murmurs and Annahriel’s angered voice in his retreat.
Castiel ripped the red robe from his back, making a beeline for the conference hall where he knew the elder Zachariah would be, drawing his dagger as he ran. He took the steps two at a time, darting past the oddly tense guards, taking not a second thought at their strange behavior. Pausing slightly in the vestibule, he listened for anything strange, and heard strained murmuring, his heightened senses tensing with anticipation. Gripping the pommel tightly, he slunk through the halls, shoulders tense. Something was very wrong with this situation and his brow knitted in suspicion.
The first thing he noticed was the presence of the guards gathered around the main conference hall, swords drawn, and he stopped short, eyes widening. Even from this distance, he could hear the voices within the conference hall, and the tone was hostile. Dean…
Castiel slipped out of the main hall and went about the back way, listening into the heated confrontation, resolve hardening in determination. Snatches of the conversation caught his attention specifically, as Zachariah spoke of the ancient prophecy. It didn’t take long before two and two clicked, and Castiel stopped short of his destination- an internal window to the conference hall- his heart a war-drum in his chest. The Winchesters… they were the prophesized brothers?
Finally, Castiel summoned enough determination to complete his trek, peering in through the internal window just in time to see the guards from earlier rush the room, pinning the brothers in. He heard Zachariah’s final words before his hand dropped in signal. An all out struggle ensued, the brothers fighting in vain against the well guarded soldiers. No, no, Castiel couldn’t let this happen!
Slamming his elbow into the feeble pane, he burst into the room with a spray of glass, sprinting to the brothers’ sides and parrying a deadly blow from Dean’s right with a shout. The room fell into pause, breaths a heavy rush against the silence that resulted.
“Castiel… stand down, now.” Zachariah ordered, his face taking on a hard look as he rounded on the young warrior. Castiel responded with only a firmer grip on his dagger, shaking his head.
“Never, Zachariah; I will not allow this.” He retorted, glaring at his superior. He looked back at the two brothers, nodding to them.
Once again, Dean felt a rush of warmth in his chest. Not once, but twice this man had saved him from death, and he smiled at him, knowing that he had at least one ally amongst these people; a people who had only just accepted them into their culture.
Zachariah rubbed his temple with annoyance plastered on his lined features, looking up at the young Enochian before him. “Defiance, Castiel… this is not like you…”
“I defy in the name of honor, Zachariah!” Castiel retorted, one hand loosening from the dagger slightly. The hand dropped to his side, fingers curling in a loose claw.
Dean paused, eyes widening. The tension in the air increased tenfold, and he looked back at Sam, the physical weight of the tension feeling as if it were rooting him to the spot. ‘Where had this sensation come from?’ His eyes asked, receiving an equally perplexed look.
Zachariah smirked suddenly, staring into the ethereal blue eyes of his new opponent, raising a hand before him. “Very well then, Castiel; join your fellow traitors in death!” He shouted suddenly, the soldiers lunging forward.
However, before a blow could even be landed, Castiel wrenched around, hand poised before him. He shouted an incantation in Enochian that shook the very floors of the hall. Dean and Sam clasped their hands over their ears at the sound of the powerful words, but this muffling did nothing to block out the sound of every glass object in the room shattering in an explosion of power. Even the foot soldiers were floored by the words, writhing in pain from the powerful magic that filled their very veins with a vengeance.
Castiel sheathed his dagger, grabbing both brothers’ by the wrist and wrenching them past the fallen soldiers, throwing them out of the door. “GO!” he shouted, the three of them fleeing down the halls towards escape.
Like a swarm of ants from their burrows, the soldiers flooded the hall, tailing the three men as they ran. Escape seemed impossible, but once again the young Enochian filled the air with the sounds of another all too powerful incantation, plowing through the men as the fled the building. “To the stables!!!” Castiel ordered, shoving them before him.
Dean immediately took the offensive, slashing his way through the oncoming warriors as they ran, until the three of them finally engaged the stables, freeing their bucking equines from their stalls. Dean mounted Impala quickly, turning in time to see Sam grab the reigns of Jess. Once mounted, the two brothers galloped from the stables, plowing into the soldiers sent to exterminate them. There was something missing, Dean suddenly noticed, looking about wildly. “Where’s Cas?”
Before any response could be given, a war cry filled the air as a soldier lunged forward, spear in hand aimed directly at Sam. “SAM!” Dean shouted, unable to stop the forward motion of the massive spear. There was no way his brother could survive and spear thrust like that; he would be slaughtered instantly!
Jess squealed in rage, rearing up to strike down the soldier that threatened her master, but the spear was already unstoppable. A squelch of metal to flesh signaled impact as the steel spearhead pierced the belly of the palomino, the younger Winchester thrown from her back.
“JESS!” Sam screamed in horror, scrambling over to the dying horse’s side. Jess flailed painfully, nickering in agony as Sam, directly in the middle of the scrap, took hold of her reverently. “Jess… no…” he moaned, cradling her head in his lap. A quiet whicker from his equine signaled the end as she went limp in his arms, eyes glassy with her death knell. Tears ran down the young man’s face as he watched his beloved companion die in his arms.
Dean parried another blow, whipping around in the saddle as he overtook several soldiers in their attack. “Sam we have to go NOW!!” Dean yelled, slicing through the neck of one of the Enochian soldiers, turning in his saddle to the sight of the dead horse, his grieving brother. “No…” he murmured, watching his brother’s façade slowly morph from that of grief to utter rage. His companion had been slaughtered by the hands of those that had seemingly accepted them, and now they were being hunted. It was too much…
Sam stood a look of utter rage on his face as he rounded on the soldiers. “You bastards.” he hissed, standing ready to fight to the death if need be. But it never got to that point.
Suddenly another whinny filled the air as a snow white horse galloped into the fray, ridden bareback by a familiar sight. Castiel, ridden atop the white mare, ordered her in a short Enochian phrase. The mare bucked back, knocking two soldiers away with a deadly blow of her hooves, before he turned slightly on her back. He whistled a short, shrill blast, eyes determined.
Suddenly Sam and Dean both turned to see yet another saddle-less horse charged the group. This horse sported a dark, chestnut brown coat with a lighter brown mane and tail, a white blaze running the length of his snout. The chestnut whickered to Sam as the younger Winchester looked up at Castiel with confusion.
“Get on the horse!” Castiel ordered, already turning his white mare to flee with the brothers.
Sam looked almost confused, having never ridden barebacked before. Thinking quickly, he grabbed the saddle from the dead equine’s back and threw it on the back of the young stallion, cinching the belt around his belly loosely and clambering to mount. He would fix the setting later; as of right now escape was more urgent.
The chestnut bolted after the other two riders, Sam clutching his mane tightly; lack of reins made riding much more awkward at this point, but the young stallion was cunning indeed. He wove through the tree line after the black and white horses, whinnying to Sam, who only responded by clamping his knees tighter to either side of the horse’s belly, crouched low over his neck.
All of a sudden, the air burst to life with the whistling sounds of projectiles, an arrow firmly imbedding itself in the trunk of a small sycamore. “Duck!” Dean shouted, crouching low over Impala’s neck. Cas followed suit, the three weaving through the trees to make their targets more difficult to hit. But their success was short lived.
During their weaving gait, Dean’s horse leapt a fallen log, fully exposing his back to the arrows. A sharp twang of bowstring, hissing air, a solid thud of metal and flesh… Dean gasped in pain, the arrow piercing his back just above his shoulder blade, and he faltered, his position slipping nearly off of his mount. However, just as Dean thought his fall would be his last, a strong hand caught his shoulder, righting his position in the saddle. He looked up to see Sam’s worried face, the two horses riding side by side in matched pace. “Fuck…” he gasped, gripping the reins tighter, despite the coursing agony through his now maimed shoulder.
Castiel’s eyes widened at the sight of the wounded man, and he reined the white mare in, turning to face the advancing soldiers. He raised a hand before him, chanting a slow, rhythmic line, over and over; a mantra that seemed to crescendo within itself. The trees echoed as the spell grew in strength, overpowering everyone.
Dean looked back to see Castiel just waiting for the soldiers and he tensed. “No Castiel.. Get out of there!! CAS!!!” he called, trying to turn Impala around, despite Sam’s protests. He didn’t get very far.
The trees suddenly were alight in brilliant golden flashed, impenetrable flames licking at the foliage and barring the soldiers from passing. The flames were unlike anything the brother’s had ever seen; unquenchable, unbreakable. They watched in awe as Castiel turned to them again, riding up quickly.
“We must move now, place as much space between ourselves and the Enochians as we can. They will break the barrier in due time.” He answered their incredulous glances, leading them off at a brisk gallop, away from the prophecy crazed Enochians… away from Castiel’s home.
~*~
Dean lay by the quickly forged fire, his hand gripping his bloodied shoulder painfully. Castiel had long since stripped him from his shirt, the man sitting before his brother and the Enochian shirtless. Castiel knelt next to Dean, touching the arrow gently. In his other hand he gripped a rag doused in some form of fluid that the Enochian promised would help Dean.
Dean shrugged, turning away as Castiel took his dagger and made a tiny slit in the skin of his shoulder, pulling the serrated arrow head from his skin without tearing the flesh. He winched from the pain, but said nothing, waiting until Castiel had removed the projectile from his flesh and began cleansing the wound heartily. “Easy there, Cas…” he growled, gritting his teeth.
Cas sighed, softening his touches. “My apologies Dean…” he said quietly, wiping the dried blood from his companion’s back, before returning his attention to the wound.
Sam was not attentive to the occurrence. He was busy tending to the three horses, remorse for the death of his own equine still a heavy weight on his heart. Impala also sensed the absence of the palomino and snorted quietly, sadly.
The Enochian horses, however, were far from distraught. The white mare stood ready, muscles tensed in preparation, as she always was. The other horse was amusing himself by tugging at the saddle blanket incessantly; nickering almost in amusement each time Sam readjusted it. Then the process would begin again.
After several minutes of struggling with this, Sam gave up and let the chestnut have his way with the saddle blanket, turning to the other two. “Castiel… might I ask who I shall be addressing these two equines as?” he asked, feeling a tug on the back of his tunic. He turned to see the chestnut look away almost innocently, tossing his mane with flippancy. However, when Sam turned back to face the others, the chestnut turned and nipped at his back again, whickering.
Castiel turned to Sam and smiled, nodding to him. “The white mare is my own mount. I had raised her from the time of her birth. Her name is Iofiel, thus meaning “Beauty of God”. As you can see, Iofiel prefers bareback riding to the saddle. I was never successfully able to train her to use the saddle… So I trained myself instead. Now we are impossible to challenge on horseback. Bareback riding has proven to be much more successful… we have a closer connection, are able to reach each other much better than with the use of saddle and reins. “ as if to emphasize his point, Iofiel whickered to her master, pawing the ground before Cas raised a hand to her, smiling as the horse went still.
Sam smirked, turning to the other… peskier horse. “And who is this gentleman then?” he asked as the chestnut tossed his head impatiently for being ignored. He whickered in content when Sam ran a hand down his blaze, nudging his hand with his nose.
Cas sighs slightly, smiling as he turned back to finish tending to the wound in question. “That… he is our most mischievous of the brigade, but one of our most talented rides in the whole garrison.” He said, as the chestnut whinnied again, pulling the saddle blanket from his back again and looking proud as Sam sighed in defeat. “Samuel… meet Gabriel.”
A/N: Iofiel doesnt exist in Supernatural I know that. But she's so pretty I had to use her name!!! Also Im very sorry this chapter took so long to update... school's a pain in the ass. hopefully chapter five wont take as long to update... >.>
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