Part 1
ll Part 1 ll Part 2 ll Part 3 ll Part 4 ll Part 5 ll
Castiel gets out of the car and straightens slowly, eyes moving to finally glimpse the ship that he’s been told so much about, that everyone around him is so fanatically excited to see. And, well… really, he thinks, as he examines it carefully… it’s a ship. A big, new, fancy ship - but just a ship all the same; wood and paint. It does nothing to make him any happier about the voyage.
He turns to the blonde man that comes out of the car after him and shrugs. “It’s just a ship, Balth. I was expecting something a little more…” He quirks his lips a little and sarcastically uses the same words that had just been said to him on the trip over, “Stupendously mind-blowing.”
The other man snorts, grinning fondly at him for a moment, before turning to help his sister, out through the automobile door, addressing her with a chuckle.“Cassy’s being difficult again, Rachel.” There’s a put-on pout in his voice, and the woman shakes her head in response, swatting Cas lightly on the arm before moving to dust off the long folds of her skirt.
Normally, Cas would respond by nudging her back or making a face, but right now he isn’t in the mood to be teased, and doesn’t soften his expression. Another sigh comes his way from Balthazar, the tenth one today, and the man speaks again.
“Perhaps when you show him the library, he’ll find something that’ll cut through that scowl. I’m afraid all my best moves have failed me.” He sighs again, eleven, as the words have no outward effect, and gives Cas a kiss on the cheek, turning away to try and figure out what to do with their rather immense amount of luggage. Rachel, despite all assurances that she would be given whatever she needed upon their arrival in America, had insisted on packing every last piece of her wardrobe, which has amounted to a rather large number of boxes.
Cas, had packed far less, just whatever he often wore of his clothing, the last of his father’s art collection - the rest having been long sold away - and his favorite books, those he refused to leave behind. . He sends a scowl at Balth’s back for knowing how to play him too well, because secretly, he must admit, even if just to himself, that a library does sound appealing. But he flat out refuses to let it show on his face and puts it out of his mind as he turns away to look at the sea of people around him. Besides, all the libraries in the world wouldn’t be enough to make up for trapping him on a ship with people he detests for days. For dragging him away from his home.
Behind him, Rachel starts to loudly admire the ship and Balth pays someone off to take care of their bags, but he joins in with neither of them. He has no wish to leave England or to see America. They’re moving a continent, not just down the street, but no one except him seems to find that to be a problem.
And since his sister is older and his boyfriend richer, together they out-vote him. He feels a prickle of anger even thinking about that conversation, which ended with him promising both of them that he would go, much to his own displeasure. However neither he nor they had said anything at all about having to be pleased about it. So he won’t be. If they are going to insist on this madness, they will have to deal with his very honest response to it, and right at this very second, his response is a scowl. Maybe he’s being petty, but he’s never complained about anything before, had supported Rachel when she’d gotten divorced, his father when he’d quarreled with his business partners, and Balthazar when he’d accidentally insulted the wrong people. He just wishes they could stand by him, now, when something does actually matter to him.
He’s also loathe to leave behind some of his friends, much as Balthazar assures him that he can write. Especially in favor of spending a long journey with many people who are either boring or rude; with the exception of the two around him, of course, the rest of their companions are elitist prats who just want to gossip about one another. Not exactly his idea of a fun trip. It’s him who sighs this time.
But it’s too late now, and sooner than he’d like, they’re boarding, the salty sea breeze whipping against his face, the sound of thousands of people echoing through the air as hundreds of them flood onto the different decks below him. There are dirty faced children, sharp tongued foreigners, elegantly dressed Americans on a journey home. He’s never seen quite this much variety in one place and hundreds more wave their goodbyes from the dock. It really is a sight to behold, and for just one second, despite himself, even he gets carried away by the spectacle, his breath catching in his chest, excitement flooding his veins.
But no matter how amazing it is, he reminds himself, no matter what a grand adventure this may be for everyone else, this is still just the thing that’s taking him away from everything he’s ever known, from everyone he’s ever known, from his childhood friends, and his house and the ability to visit his parents’ graves.
So he hates it, he hates all of it.
__
__
He pretends not to care when the thick-headed European across from him puts down the ticket, smirking self assuredly as he does, laughing something back to his friend, who’s watching the round unfold, eyes narrowed. But he does, he wants it, wants it more than anything else he can imagine. For weeks on end he’s been walking past the signs every day, telling himself, tomorrow, tomorrow I’ll finally make enough to get my hands on one of those, but no matter how hard he worked, how many extra damn shifts he’d put in, he just hadn’t managed to come up with enough cash. And fuck, this is it, zero hour, the last day, and these idiots happen to fall into his lap. It just has to mean fucking something… and good thing he’d packed up his things, with every intention of stowing away.
Because that ship, right now, means his little brother. He could care less if it’s unsinkable or brand new or a damned bucket with oars, he just needs to get on it, to get to America. It’s been ages since he saw Sammy, well three years, but that’s ages when your little brother picks up and leaves to go to some fancy-ass school across the ocean - and all the slow ass letter writing in the world isn’t going to make him feel closer to you. So when this whole Titanic, or whatever, thing started up, Dean had decided.
He’s taking the Titanic and he’s going to see Sammy. He’s been telling himself for ages he’s going to break down and do it and, with the word “America” on every damn storefront and newspaper, it can’t not be now anymore. He doesn’t think he could take it.
And hell, it’s not like he’s going to be leaving anything behind, just some random back-breaking jobs and his little art business - if you can call it that, even his one little room is rented by the month. Besides, last time he checked, there were plenty of back breaking jobs and people who’ll buy art in America, so he’ll be just fine over there, well, just the same anyway… as long as he can get this ticket.
He looks up and draws another card, adding it to his hand before sliding a different one down to the man across from him on the table. He’s way better than this overly cocky idiot, he knows that much… he just needs a little luck, for once in his life.
The guy isn’t looking that cocky any more though, for all of his bravado at the beginning of the round, he seems strung up and worried - bushy brows creasing together as he nervously picks up the card sent his way and draws another, fingers twitching a little. Dean raises his eyebrow as the man starts drumming anxiously on the table, tap, tap tap, tap, tap, biting his lip, even as he pastes a smirk on his lips and pushes more cash into the center of the table.
He’s got nothing, nothing at all, the thought pops itself into his head as his eyes follow the fingers drumming on the table; a tell, he’s sure of it, has seen more than his fair share of them hustling his way through several countries. Smirking, he draws another card and jerks his head at the other man.
“Well….” He can feel his fingers closing around the piece of paper already and he just wants this done.
“I…” the muttered words are heavy with a Russian accent, “I have nothing.” He lays his hand on the table and Dean chuckles, relief and disbelief crashing through him. Sure, he thought he’d won thirty seconds ago, but now, now he’s actually won - all his cash back plus and the fucking ticket, all his. He’ll be able to see Sammy, he’ll be able to buy new charcoal, he’ll be able to - he takes a breath and forces himself back to reality, have to finish this sucker up before he’ll be able to do anything at all. Reality first, then fantasy, he’s always been good at that.
“Well, that’s just too damn bad, isn’t it?” He does let himself grin widely though, even if he can’t lose himself to daydreams just yet, genuinely happy for the first time in a long time as he throws his full house on the table. “Guess one of you’ll have to make other plans for tonight, boys.”
And then, chuckling, he grabs everything off the table, says a cheerful goodbye to the two men - and dances away before either of them can get their thoughts together enough to jump him or change their minds. Then he’s out the door, money in his pocket, ticket in hand, scanning it furiously and cursing loudly, because damn, the thing says the boat leaves at noon and it’s goddamn ten of.
Fuck, he is not missing this. Not this close.
He almost bowls over ten people as he cuts into a run, suitcase barely staying on the tips of his fingers, coat falling off his shoulders. But fuck, he’d go naked, without anything, if he had to.
He is getting on that fucking boat.
__
__
Castiel snorts when he sees their rooms, rich and splashy, plush and ornate, lovely but lifeless, all dark red velvet and flowery silk curtains, the whole thing decidedly not to his tastes. He doesn’t really understand how this can be to anyone’s tastes. He sits down on the couch, frowning into air as the ship’s men begin to begin to unpack their things.
“I’m sorry, darling,” Balthazar rolls his eyes from where he’s leaning against the large window, watching the wide, blue expanse in front of him, reading the other man’s displeasure without even needing to turn around. “I should have recalled that you have no desire at all to be comfortable and had them remove everything, send it down below, and bring you up a little moth eaten mattress. I’m sure the entirety of the third class would have been overjoyed.” He smirks, “Though on second thought, I do intend to spend an inordinate amount of time on your mattress darling, so perhaps as a special treat to me, you’ll keep just that one thing. Everything else though - let’s send it away!”
He laughs again, turns to pour himself a glass of champagne, eyes flitting up to the face Cas pulls. He momentarily ignores the frown in favor of offering a glass to the other man, who declines, and Balthazar shrugs and pours out the second glass anyway. “I did, however,” he continues, as he moves across the room to the mountain of suitcases and boxes, rummaging through them until he reaches a rather small stack of neatly tied brown boxes, “remember to tell them to bring up your books and those paintings you like so much, while you were busy pouting outside. Though clearly, I should have simply let them put them all down below.” He looks back at Cas, “judging by that look on your face, not even they can-“
But Cas is over at his side before he can even finish the sentence, blue eyes finally giving an inch, and he looks happier than he has in the past couple of days. He opens up one of the boxes and starts pulling out book after book.
“Thank you, Balth, I thought they’d be…” He finally says, quietly, tearing his eyes up from the binding of one of the novels to look at the blonde. “Thank you.”
Balthazar chuckles and reaches out to ruffle his hair. “I trust they will make your stay in this horrid, horrid, room, just a little more palatable.” He smiles again as Cas opens up his mouth once more and waves away his continued gratitude, turning instead to snap his fingers, bringing the ship’s men to sudden attention and they move, at Balthazar’s indication, towards the rest of the small pile.“Just tell them where you want everything to go.” Absentmindedly, he grabs the second glass of champagne, twirling it in his fingers, and snatches up one of the books Cas took out, settling down on the couch, leaving the men to look after his fiancé.
Cas doesn’t really like to order anyone around, would prefer to do all the unpacking himself, but it’s too much for him to put right on his own, and even his stubborn self has to recognize that, so he shrugs and doesn’t argue - kindly starts to explain where he wants what. But it is still art and it has to go up in a way that works so he can’t help being the slightest bit picky. He has the paintings moved from one place to another and then up an inch and to the right, and no, no, down again, and he does jump in here and there to put up some on his own, when he doesn’t manage to get across what he wants.
Slowly, piece by piece, the art goes up, and Cas draws the curtains back and turns the ugly bedspread inside out, and the room starts to become somewhat less unbearably stiff.
It’s really a relief for him. He’s going to be stuck here for days on end, after all, and if it had continued being the upper crust embodied, he would have gotten restless in twenty seconds flat - no matter how big the space is. He has to spend enough time with the actual “upper crust” as it is, he doesn’t need his private spaces to ooze with them as well.
But it’s okay now - it’s not quite his, but it’s not exactly a stranger’s anymore. He’ll manage.
Eventually, the last painting finds its place and Cas declares the art put up right and slumps down on the couch next to Balthazar, the men moving on to their other belongings.
“Satisfied?” The man asks smugly, putting aside the book in favor of slinging an arm around Cas’s shoulders.
Cas hmphs at him and reaches around to grab for one of the other books Balthazar had brought to the couch in the hour and a half he had spent distracted, but sends a smile at the blonde to let him know he at least appreciates the thought.
Still, his only thought as he settles into the cushions is that it’s going to be a hell of a long journey.
__
__
The days pass slowly for Dean - not badly or anything - but slowly, a kind of pleasurable drag, something that’s painfully evident as he stretches out on his usual bench, watching the sun move across the sky.
To be honest, this is probably more of a vacation than he’s had in ages, having worked straight through every single holiday and weekend for the past three years. He knows that that probably wasn’t the healthiest way to go about things, but he’d needed the money and didn’t really care about holidays, except for the fact that they meant bonuses, so he worked.
And at first, not working in favor of just lying on the deck or hanging dangerously far over the side of the ship to feel the spray against his face had been the greatest fucking thing ever. His muscles have stopped aching, his body feels less worn, and he knows what it’s like to wake up after it’s already light out.
…But now that the initial glee has worn off, he’s actually pretty bored. Dean enjoys this relaxing thing, he does, but working occupies time that doesn’t pass otherwise and his hands and mind need to do something. Something that isn’t losing too much money playing cards with his bunk-mates or re-reading the one book that he’d brought with him for the millionth time.
Fuck, he’d even snuck out onto the first class deck the other night, had tried to go to the library, but had been laughingly turned away and told that “it’s for first class only, sir”, and that if he didn’t want to be removed forcefully, he’d better climb right back down to where he belongs. It had taken quite a lot not to clock the man in the face right there, but the last thing he needs is to be thrown off the ship in the middle of the ocean. So, he’d sucked it up and silently walked away from the asshole. First class only, his ass, it’s not like they use it; he’s sure there are five people tops in there, not like he’d be bothering anyone.
But no one’s going to fucking listen to him, so instead he splits his time between watching the ocean and watching the people, occupies himself with observing. Sometimes he draws the water and the ship, but mostly he sits on the main deck until it’s way too cold and late to continue, and then sometimes past that, and sketches whomever or whatever he sees, letting his mind make up little stories for them as his fingers fly on the page. He’s always liked the details.
So far, he’s got a dog in a ridiculous, frilly little sweater being walked by an unhappy servant, a little girl playing jump rope with her friends, pig tails flying everywhere, and two plump, old ladies gossiping away about their sons. Oh, and he’d struck real gold late afternoon last night, the ship’s Captain having strolled by, a serious expression on his face, looking as though he had something mighty important to be taking care of.
Dean had snorted at the expression, but drawn it anyway. He’s pretty sure the biggest emergency that ever happens in first class is that they run out of champagne. But hell, the captain’s face is pretty famous, and maybe he can get someone to pay some good money for that particular sketch. Maybe sell it later in New York as a commemorative whatsit or whatever and make some money off his boredom.
It’s a good thought though, so he leans back, makes himself comfortable in his usual spot and pulls out his sketchpad and pencil. Sunshine warms his skin as he tries to figure out who his next target should be.
Slowly, his eyes move from person to person. That lady with the funny hair? Eh, not completely in the mood. That stuck up nanny with the poodle? Maybe, or - his gaze drags upward from the chubby three year old crying its head off to something that moves into the corner of his vision and makes him freeze. A striking figure suddenly standing at the edge of the first class deck.
When it comes to appreciating good looks, Dean’s pretty much an equal opportunity customer. He’s had his fair share of both men and women in his life… and in his bed, but really, none of them have ever looked quite like the man that’s gazing out at the ocean. Slender, but not too skinny, masculine but with just enough something to make him graceful - and when his eyes meet Dean’s, as though he can feel the other staring, they’re pretty fucking blue.
Even when the other breaks their gaze after a moment, Dean continues to watch him, mesmerized by the clean lines and the messy hair, watching as the man looks back at the sea, a slight frown settling across his features, but eventually his eyes flit back to where Dean is sitting , and it’s just as goddamn searing the second time around - in fact, the guy is looking just as intently.
It certainly doesn’t hurt, Dean decides, as his gaze drops from the man’s face… lower. That the clothes the other is wearing fit him to a damned tee, which only makes thoughts of what lies underneath pop into his head. And yeah, Dean’s mind has gone well and truly into the gutter, because damn if he’s not imagining his lips all over that pale, soft looking skin, fingers twisting into soft hair, his touch shattering Blue Eyes in all the best ways…
Fuck, he mentally scolds himself, he really, really, needs to get laid if this is how he’s reacting to the first smoking thing that crosses his line of sight. Get laid and stop ogling pretty boy types that are way out of his league. The girl in the next room has been eyeing him since the start and that’s what he should be friggin’ thinking about. But even as he tells himself that he should look away, he can’t convince himself to be the one to do it.
His dilemma ends abruptly, however, when an arrogant-looking, though, Dean grudgingly admits, also attractive, blonde man, nose firmly in the air, wanders over to where Blue Eyes is standing and wraps a decidedly more than friendly arm around his waist. Blue Eyes blinks, jumps and turns to smile at the other, saying something Dean can’t hear, before giving the man a quick kiss and heading back in the direction of the cabins. His eyes only flit over to where Dean sits once, before he leaves, but he never fully looks back.
Dean feels stupid for feeling disappointed.
Blondie watches the man go for a moment and then, before Dean can look away, turns his gaze down sharply and their eyes meet as well, a very different color blue staring through him searchingly before the confusion turns into a glare and the eyes narrow at him, becoming icy cold. Dean feels suddenly defensive, tension crackling between them, but defiantly stares back. He wasn’t doing anything wrong, hell, he wasn’t doing anything. Blondie should take it up with his boyfriend, or whatever the hell the two are to each other if he has problems with the guy staring at other men. Dean was just admiring.
It’s not his fucking fault the guy wanted to admire back. He raises his eyebrow and the glare deepens, but then the man’s lips curl in a smirk and he nods down at Dean dismissively and moves away as well. Dean glowers at his back. He hates being sneered at like he’s fucking less than, bastard.
For once, it’s a damned good thing that he can’t just go strolling up into the higher decks because right now he’d deck the blonde and kiss the brunette and probably end up arrested. He’s willing to bet everything in his pocket - a toothpick and button - that they both have more money than he’s ever seen, that it wouldn’t even take a nod of that arrogant little head to get him tossed into handcuffs.
So he forces himself to take a few deep breaths, swallows down his frustration as best he can, and brings his eyes back down to what’s around him, refusing to look up again, not in the mood for any more staring contests today. He’s better off finding something safer to look at, like the old grandfather snoring away in his chair, than getting wrapped up in things above his pay grade. He snorts and puts his pencil to paper. He hopes the two are very fucking happy together.
But even as he starts the contours of the old man’s beard, he can’t quite erase the image of dark hair and blue eyes from his mind, the fading anger leaving room for him to fixate on the image despite his efforts.
When he finally looks down at his sheet, he’s only slightly surprised to find Blue Eyes staring up at him.
Dammit.
__
__
It’s late and while Castiel started feeling a little stir crazy this morning, it’s just really eating away at him now. He wants so badly to be able to go somewhere and just be for a moment, to a park or a shop or an anything, to escape the prying eyes and the high pitched voices, but there’s nothing but this damned ship. Especially right now, the ship having docked briefly this morning to pick up even more people, the chaos is inescapable.
His sister is off somewhere with some friends she’s made and Balth is at dinner with one of his old school mates, Gabriel, who’d been one of the people to come aboard earlier in the day, leaving Cas all alone with his thoughts. He’d been invited to join them for dinner, of course, but he feels like they want to catch up, after not seeing each other for ages, and that means a lot of things he doesn’t really have a part in and a lot of things that are probably about him, so he declines, tells them to have a good time, that he’ll be happy with his books.
At the time, he hadn’t thought that would be a lie, but even the most interesting of his novels can’t keep a hold of his attention for very long, restlessness eating away at him from the inside out. And really, if he’s going to be honest, he doesn’t think Balth’s company would help him much right now. He doesn’t need company, he needs anti-company.
Eventually, no matter how many times he shifts to a different spot in the room, from the bed to the couch, over to the window, even on the floor, he just can’t take the four walls anymore and decides he’s going to go out on deck. The night air is cool and soothing, much better than the stale air in his room, but the first class deck is as crowded and loud as it was at noon, louder even, now that everyone has fully settled in and gotten a chance to rest. There are children shrieking, couples laughing, wine and music at every turn, and it grates on him even more than the claustrophobia. He really, really, just wants to fucking find some open quiet, to find somewhere that he doesn’t feel like he’s trapped on this contraption with everyone else. The first class deck is not going to be that place.
His feet move him without his really choosing a direction, and he pushes past the crowds and walks briskly down the steps to the lower decks, passing many overdressed women and cigar smoking men, who turn their heads as he walks by. They seem alarmed at the speed and determination of his steps, so different from their own perpetually leisurely stroll. He ignores them.
Before he knows it, he can’t go any lower without going inside, the sound of merriment nothing more than a whisper down here. Still, he keeps walking and walking, doesn’t stop until only empty benches and the roaring of waves surround him, until he’s at the very edge of the ship, looking down at the churning water, as far away from everything as he can be.
He leans against the railing, and just watches the rolling foam for a moment, gets lost in the way it rolls and boils as the ship moves, and then as he lifts his eyes to gaze at the horizon, he’s seized by a wild urge to climb up onto the railing to look out and just see the ocean without any of the ship at all in the corner of his vision. So he can feel like it’s just him and this vast expanse, him in the middle of nowhere.
Handily, there’s a light post next to him and before he can convince himself otherwise, his fingers are curling around it, gripping tightly as he hoists the rest of his body up. It’ll just be for a second, he reasons, tan coat whipping in the wind, just for a moment.
And it’s good, better than good, the open sea all around him, knocking the breath from his chest with its vast beauty, the waves stretching on for an eternity, brilliant stars lighting up the sky, brighter than they ever were in England. He stares out into the quiet ocean, trying to lose himself in it, no railing in the corner of his vision to remind him that, in a moment or so, he’s going to have to climb back down and go back to his stifling little cabin. But there’s time before that happens, so he breathes in the cold clear air, and tries to breathe out everything, lets his mind wander out and enjoys the breeze on his face and the lulling up and down of the ship.
He tries not to dwell on any one topic for too long, because that only leads to trouble, especially when said topic is brilliantly green eyed freckled men that stare a bit too hard - no, he doesn’t stop to think about that at all. So what if the man was gorgeous and clearly attracted, so what if he actually looked interesting? Cas is happily in love, and that means he can look all he wants, but he can’t wonder. (But briefly, just for half a second, he lets himself consider what the man might be like, how his voice might sound, or what his long, calloused fingers feel like when they reach out to touch. Well he imagines them to be calloused anyway, Dean’s rough clothing and broad shoulders making him think of some hard kind of work . They’d be so different from the soft, smooth, skin of all those usually around him, so much more alive….)
But that doesn’t matter, it’s just idle curiosity, he’s never going to see the other again. The man shouldn’t matter to him at all, no, what he means to say is that the man doesn’t matter to him at all. He puts the other firmly out of his mind. Moves his thoughts instead to what life in America might be like, who he’ll meet and what he’ll do…
A half hour passes and it gets a good deal easier not to think about the stranger, because he starts to think of nothing at all except how extremely cold he is, fingers having become chunks of ice where they grip metal. As the minutes pass, his shivers grow, and his warm room starts to appear less like a jail cell and more like some kind of Heaven. He holds out a little longer, not really wanting to subject himself to the craziness of his deck, but unable to stand the icy air any longer. Eventually, he decides with a sigh that he’d better head back before he freezes in place. Besides, Balth should be about done with dinner by now, and hopefully it all won’t be as bad as it was before. His head is clearer now, anyway, and he doesn’t feel as frantic, so that’s something.
He’s just about to step down when a small movement in the water catches his eye, a shadow of something, and it piques his curiosity as it fades in and out of his sight. There would be no harm in leaning forward a little, he decides, to try and get a better glimpse of it, what’s five more minutes when he’s been waiting to see some sea life this whole time, and this is the first time he’s caught even a glimpse - he’s out here already, isn’t he?
But just as he bends forward, readjusting his grip, a loud voice comes abruptly from behind him and he straightens quickly at the sound, craning his head around to see who spoke and what the emergency is. He moves too abruptly though, and his feet slip on the railing, his new grip on the post coming loose and before he knows it, he’s tumbling forward and over the side.
His heart drops and his eyes shut.
__
__
Dean, cold as he is in his thin jacket, doesn’t particularly feel like going into his tiny little cell of a room, which he avoids as much as possible. His roommates have weak stomachs and there’s nowhere to throw up but on the floor. It always smells like fucking vomit in there. And hell, it’s even smaller than his tiny apartment back in England, and that’s saying something, because you could barely stand in that thing.
The point friggin’ is that he’ll take the cold over the cramped any day and stays out for as long as he can handle it. Besides, it’s a rare clear night, tonight, and he likes to watch the stars when he can. He could never see them from his smog filled slum of a home, but they were always Sammy’s favorite thing to pretend onto their ceiling. He’d even drawn them up there for him once, but pencil doesn’t shine, definitely not like this.
He’s usually pretty much alone at this hour, everyone else clearing out as soon as the sky goes black, so he’s a little shocked to hear loud footsteps going by, but doesn’t bother to get up to check who they belong to; probably some poor, seasick bastard like his roommate. Anyway, no one needs someone else bugging them while they’re puking, so Dean just stays lying down, staring up at the sky. He’s sure they’ll head back in eventually.
As the hour passes, his yawns start to come more rapidly, and the cold gets just this side of too-damn-cold, even for Dean, and soon he admits to himself that it may just be time to haul his ass to bed and go to sleep. He rubs his eyes and slowly, the chill tightening his muscles, makes his way to his feet, blinking a few times and yawning again. But then, as he stretches out his back a little, he turns his head to the right and - fuck. There’s someone leaning over the damn edge.
Now, if puking was none of his business, suicide certainly isn’t, but he’ll be damned if he lets someone die while he stands around. They can die on someone else’s time.
“Hey!” He calls over loudly, quickly crossing the few feet that separate him from the edge of the ship. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
But instead of a whimper or maybe a drunken mumble, the person turns as if he’s been startled, mouth open to say something, gaze confused at the interruption and Dean just catches a glimpse of striking blue eyes, before - fuck - the guy goes friggin’ rolling over the edge. Dean doesn’t even think he fully processes it, but his body lunges forward, one hand reaching out instinctively, fingers just managing to close around a thin wrist, and his heart stops as he struggles to hold the weight.
Beneath him, Blue Eyes is freaking out, but not as much as he could be, face contorted and eyes shut , and, well, Dean feels really fucking bad, but man, right now they have to figure out how to get him up - he can freak out with his body firmly back on deck.
“Hey,” He yells down, “fucking hey.”
The eyes snap open and at least the other is looking at him now, so they can work this thing out together, because fuck if Dean can do this alone. “Look, I’ve got you, okay, but I need you to help me pull you up.” He expects some kind of meek assent but instead, he gets a growl.
“What the hell were you thinking?” The guy is actually glaring up at him, “startling someone who’s leaning over the edge of a ship like that.”
Dean is taken aback for a second, but still manages to focus enough to grab the other’s second hand as it flies up towards him. “I was thinking, oh fuck, someone’s trying to kill themselves, maybe I should stop it. Maybe the fucking question is,” he pulls, but damn, the dude is heavy, and fuck, fuck, fuck, what if he can’t lift him up. “What the fuck were you doing hanging over a railing?”
“I was fine.” Blue Eyes yells back, trying to pull himself up, with more upper body strength than Dean would have pegged him for. “Or I would have been anyway.”
Dean’s muscles are burning and his hand is starting to get slick with sweat, but he refuses to stop until they’re both back on the right side of the railing. He’s fucking talked to this guy now. He can’t just let him fall. “Yeah, fucking fine people always hang out on railings when it’s zero below.”
“You’re one to talk,” The other grits out as he somehow manages to kick his legs up to wrap around the railings, he’s more secure, but it’s harder for Dean to hold on to him now… at least their conversation is keeping him from starting to imagine all the unpleasant possibilities trying to force their way into his brain.
Outwardly, he snorts. “Yeah, okay, come live in my room and we’ll see how long you manage, nothing like your classy ass digs, I’m sure.”
Maybe he’s hit some kind of sore point or maybe the other isn’t the normal first class jerk, but the guy actually shuts up at that and looks a little sorry for his snap. Instead of responding again though, he just shakes his head and repositions his feet so they’re flat against the railings. Dean watches him silently, only groaning a little as his back starts to burn at the movements.
“On three,” The growly voice says, calmer now. “I’ll push, you pull.”
Dean nods. Fuck, if this doesn’t work….
“One.”
He tightens his grip.
“Two.”
He shuts his eyes.
“Three.”
He yanks up with everything he has, but this time there’s a different force helping him out and before he knows it, Blue Eyes is flying at him from over the edge, toppling over with enough momentum that knocks them both back onto the deck. Dean on his back, the other mostly on top of him.
Fuck, Dean thinks hazily, as he sees a few stars, he’s pretty.
But he doesn’t get to appreciate it for very long, because as the man rolls off him, breathing heavily on the side of the deck, whispering something that Dean thinks may be “Thanks,” there are suddenly crewmen swarming them, helping the other onto his feet and snatching Dean up roughly, pulling him towards the main part of the ship as they snap handcuffs onto his wrists.
Dammit, he fucking knew there were going to be handcuffs involved.
__
__
“Someone heard yelling, sir,” The crewman explains, “and by the time we’d gotten out there, they were both on the ground, looked like there’d been a struggle. The gentleman looked fairly frightened and out of breath, his jacket was torn, sir. We didn’t know what to think.”
“Well you’re wrong.” Cas interjects. He’s already told them that, several times on the way here, but for some reason it’s as if he’s gone mute. They’d insisted on the handcuffs and the armsman and waiting for Balth. He looks over at the blonde angrily. “Why the hell won’t any of you listen to me. I, unlike all of you, was actually there.”
Balthazar rubs his fingers agitatedly through his hair, looking narrowly at Dean, who glares back, and then swings his eyes onto Cas, who glares back, too, and sighs. “No one’s ignoring you, darling, but you must admit their story,” He gestures at the guards, “of a poor third class thug, who could scarcely afford his voyage, hoping to steal a few pounds off of you, whom he knows has the means, seems just a tad more likely than you falling off the edge of the ship.” His voice is mild, but it makes Cas angrier all the same. He’s not a child.
“Balthazar.” Cas grits out, “I do not care what seems more likely to you. Neither you, nor they, can do anything at all unless I agree with your version of the events. As it stands both Dean,” they’d asked the man his name as they dragged him off, “and I, have the same version of events. Yes?” He calls over at Dean, who nods eagerly, smirking at Balthazar. “And as it stands, we are the only two witnesses to what actually occurred. So you can choose to believe me or not, though I see no reason for me to lie, but what you believe is none of my concern.” He crosses his arms and waits for a response. “Either way, you have no choice but to do nothing.”
“Darling,” Balth actually sounds a little hurt, “you know I’m not questioning your truthfulness, I just wanted to make sure that -” He stops himself, “Very well.” He turns to address the crewmen, “You heard him. “
The rest seem like they want to protest, but are quickly silenced as Balthazar raises an eyebrow at them and Cas feels just a tad less furious at him. He supposes the other really did just want to make sure everything was alright, but even so, he shouldn’t have even questioned him. Still, the anger drains out of him, even though he kind of wants to keep it for a little while. His eyes swing over to meet Dean’s and there’s that stupid magnetic pull again.
The other mouths a “thank you” and Cas responds with a slow nod.
Behind him, Balthazar clears his throat rather loudly and says, “Shall we, then?” gesturing up towards their rooms, but Cas isn’t quite ready to go yet.
“He saved my life.” He says stiffly, not mentioning the part where Dean almost killed him in the first place, because, really, anyone could have startled him over and not everyone would have bothered to help him survive. “I think we ought to thank him somehow, no?” Really, more than ever, Cas just itches to know Dean, but he doesn’t think saying that will go over too well right now.
Balthazar chuckles, though there’s something a little off in it. “Cassy, all the money in the world wouldn’t be enough of a thank you for your life. What would you like to do?”
He thinks, “Perhaps… He could join us for dinner?” Dean looks like a person who appreciates food, and Cas can only imagine what he’s been eating in third class. At dinner they may just be able to exchange a few words. He’s still not sure why he wants it so badly, but he does.
His boyfriend shrugs. “Of course, if you like.” He pauses, “Tomorrow evening, then?” He sends Dean’s way, forcing the green-eyed man to look up at him and away from Cas.
“Sure, whatever, that’s fine.” He shrugs.
“Lovely, then it’s settled. We shall see you then.” Balthazar gives a mocking little nod, turns around and starts walking back to their rooms. Cas hesitates, but then turns around as well, sending one last half smile towards Dean and follows him back.
__
__
Balthazar sits around in his room as he silently moves to undress, to strip off his cold, sweaty clothes for comfortable pajamas. He says nothing, but Cas knows him well enough to know he’s in a mood.
He supposes the stint with Dean didn’t help, but it’s not like Cas planned it, and he’s sorry that he’s not willing to let an innocent man take the fall for something he didn’t do, even if it would make Balth happier.
He also supposes there’s more to this than that. He’s going to put Dean out of his mind after tomorrow and everything will go back to normal.
“I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you,” Balth finally says lowly as he fiddles with something in his pocket. “I was just so angry when they said you may have been… I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t mean to question your words.”
Castiel bites his lip and goes to sit next to the other on the couch, leaning his head against the other’s shoulders. His fiancé’s blue eyes turn to look at him, something just a shade of wrong in them and Cas’s heart clenches a little as he tries to explain.
“I know, Balth,” He answers . “But it’s all true. I just needed to clear my head and I got clumsy. If he hadn’t…” He trails off. “He didn’t deserve to be punished for saving me. He could have just let me fall.”
The blonde head nods slowly, “I know, and I know this whole thing has been difficult and I am sorry for that, I hope you know. I hate to see you miserable.”
“No, I’m just being difficult,” Cas’s lips quirk and he nudges against Balth, hoping the other will smile, and he does, a little, but he still looks lost in thought.
They stay like that until the blonde speaks again. “I thought I’d give you this when we landed, but I’m not nearly as patient as I give myself credit for.” He takes a wooden box out of his pocket and hands it over to Cas. “I’ve been trying to find the right time to give it to you, I know you don’t want any more gifts, but I couldn’t quite resist this.”
The sentence is met with a snort, Balth can never quite resist, and after that gift, a month ago, which had been a ridiculously lavish, but beautiful, painting for his collection, Cas had made him promise that this was it for a while. He knows Balth has the money to spend, and enjoys the fact that he’d like to spend it on him, but he’s really more for simpler things.
And Balthazar, he’d thought, had understood - the onslaught of large, mysterious, packages left at his door had paused, and he’d been somewhat relieved. But now, with Balth looking at him hopefully, and everything that’s just occurred, he can’t bring himself to remind the other of their deal. He has to have faith that Balth understood what he meant when they’d talked, and that this, whatever this is, is important. So he takes the small box and carefully opens it, setting the carved top on the table. Inside is a small amulet, a dark blue circle stone on a simple chain, but… He looks at it closer “Is that a - ?”
“A diamond,” Balth finally smiles, “Yes. Your eyes have always reminded me of it, so I thought it only fitting that it be yours.” It would be supremely corny from anyone else, but he knows Balthazar actually means every word and it is lovely.
He smiles as his fiancé moves closer, kissing him.
“And I know you don’t want any more money spent on you,” he chuckles, “So I hope you’ll take heart knowing this was already in my family’s possession. “ His eyes crinkle at Cas happily, “An old heirloom so to speak, passed down for quite a few generations now; not really supposed to be in the hands of anyone who isn’t part of the family.” He takes Cas’s hand and squeezes it, “but you’re my family now, aren’t you?” His eyes are completely open and hopeful and it makes Cas swallow hard, suddenly at a loss for words. He looks down at the lovely thing shimmering in the box on his lap, and it’s suddenly transformed into much more than a lovely amulet. He nods slowly, takes his hands away to carefully clasp it on.
Still silent, he kisses Balth again then pulls away slightly to lean their foreheads together.
They stay like that for a while.
ll Part 1 ll Part 2 ll Part 3 ll Part 4 ll Part 5 ll