[D/C BigBang 2013] For Love, For Glory - Chapter Seven
Title: For Love, For Glory
Author: bellanovaskies [shotgunsinlace]
Artist: unbearablebears
Fandom/Genre: Supernatural; Action/Adventure
Pairing(s): Dean/Castiel, Sam/Jessica, mentions of Charlie/Gilda, previous Dean/Lisa and one-sided Victor/Castiel
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~84,000
Warnings: Violence, language, torture, racism, controversial political views, and sexual content.
Summary: It’s the 1940’s, the war is tearing Europe in half, and the Nazis have a plan to uncover an ancient weapon belonging to the Egyptian gods that can tip the scale in their favor. With the help of a librarian named Castiel, it’s up to Sam and Dean Winchester, respectively a professor of archaeology and treasure hunter, to get to the Lost City of Amun-Ra and stop the Third Reich from achieving world domination. But with a missing father, secret societies, and an unexpected romance, things get more than a little complicated in this race against time. Loosely based on the Indiana Jones franchise.
Sam’s grief the moment he spots their boat is briefly assuaged. Where he has been expecting to see a sloop, or an equally flimsy boat similar to the one that crossed him and Dean across the Strait of Dover, he instead sees a retired ship approximately the size of a small building.
It’s nothing graceful, looking crude and boxier than a car. It’s a ship built for war, not leisure, and it allows Sam a sigh of relief. The ship serving as a cruise in the river means that it’s been decommissioned, and judging by the rust and faded insignia on its side, it has been for a while. But it looks sturdy enough to weather the storm that rumbles closer to Cairo’s shore.
The wharf is bustling with activity, and the smell that drifts up from the water is terrible. Sam bites back bile at the stench of waste and fish. Normally, he could have handled with a strong stomach, but the added nerves are only making him queasy.
“We could have just driven to Qift. God knows it’d be quicker,” Sam grumbles, adjusting his satchel and mounting the ramp up to the ship. He can hear Dean snicker behind him.
They hurry up the ramp when the light drizzle decides to worsen, and take shelter beneath a colorful tent that seems to have been added for the sake of touristic flare. The thing looks outrageous out on the main deck, but Sam can’t complain. It sure beats getting soaked to the bone, having no extra clothing for a change.
The trip won’t take more than a day, or so Portia had insisted, so none of them had bothered with extra luggage. Sam had been adamant about bringing at least a quick outfit in case they got rained on, but neither Portia nor the two lovebirds making doe eyes at each other acknowledged the chance of a rainstorm.
The swaying of the ship is minimal, and Sam draws in a steady breath and flexes his fingers to relieve the coiled up tension in his bones. It isn’t terrible, but he figures it would be better if he just slept through the entire voyage until they reached Qift. He’s fatigued, not having a good night’s sleep in days, and he can already feel his eyelids drooping without his permission.
“How you holding up?” Dean asks, patting Sam hard on the back.
“I think I’m gonna head into the bunk,” Sam answers, nodding his head resolutely. “I’ve done enough researching for one week; I’m sure you and Cas can take it from here.”
“What other information do you need?” Castiel says, looking around at the people milling on the deck with a hint of apprehension.
“Well, uh, you guys need to crack the code in the journal. Find out where the city is before we get the ankh.”
“Consider it done,” Dean says, guiding Sam with a hand firm on his back through the throng of people to stand in front of a heavy steel door. A deckhand is polite enough to open it. “You go get some shuteye in the meantime.”
Sam stops at the top of the steep narrow stairs, looking down at them making him grip the handrail until his knuckles have gone white. “Just don’t get in trouble,” he says, turning to look at Dean with a frown. “I mean it.”
Dean’s grin promises nothing but. “Cross my heart, Sammy.”
“Dean, I’m serious.”
“Yeah, yeah, so am I, for all our sakes.”
Looking over Dean’s shoulder, Sam waves at Castiel, who nods right back with a smile. There’s a sense of tranquility Castiel emanates, and it’s almost contagious. It’s easy to see why Dean has fixated on him, of all people.
“Wake me when we get there,” Sam says, hesitantly taking the first step. He’s faced worse, so he’s not going to let a little set of stairs on a warship conquer him.
“No, I’ll make sure to wake you on my way back to America,” comes Dean’s not-so-witty reply, and Sam doesn’t refrain from rolling his eyes.
“No slacking off.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Sam is obligated to move when an elderly couple stands beside Dean, giving them both dirty looks for clogging up the stairway. Casting the couple an apologetic smile, Sam shoos Dean away with a wave and makes his way to his cabin with a yawn.
He isn’t sure whether or not to blame the strange blankness in his mind on the fatigue and lack of sleep, but Sam is grateful for the brief hint of peace the nothingness brings. Since Eckhart first marched into his classroom bearing semi-false news about his father, Sam’s thoughts have been in a surreally jumbled state. Digging for what is truth and what is carefully plotted deceit has left him vacant.
Maybe he’s getting too old for this. Nonsense, considering he’s younger than Dean. While Sam will never turn down a good expedition into the depths of the barely explored, he finds himself favoring the quaint calmness of home.
Sam misses the warm bed sheets on a cold rainy night, and the hot chocolate he and Jessica would share in front of the fireplace. He thought he’d never think it, but he misses the hubbub of students demanding an explanation for their terrible grades. He misses the comfort of home.
But Dean hasn’t been this spirited in ages, now that he has a path and cause guiding every thought and decision along the way. Peril be damned, Dean is breathing clouds of sunshine and reason, things that keep him grounded.
A familiar bed may be good, but seeing Dean muster a grin from the depths of his heart is just as bolstering. Sam loves his brother, and seeing him walk a good road is rewarding enough.
Closing the cabin door behind him, Sam is made uneasy by the cabin’s tiny size. It’s long but narrow, with two beds hanging from the wall, eerily reminiscent of a jail cell. Not that he’s ever occupied one, but he’s been obligated to spring Dean out of a handful several years back.
Unable to bring himself to give it much thought, he undoes the first two buttons of his shirt while he lets himself fall onto the bottom bed with a huff. It’s hard and uncomfortable: the cold of the metal slab seeps through the thin sheets and measly pillow, but Sam is too tired to care.
Orbs of brightly colored lights dance behind his eyelids, the imprints of the storm-clouded Egyptian sun slowly fading as sleep comes drifting in.
Sam rubs at his eyes and dispels the feeling of guilt at leaving his brother to do the rest of the work for the day, but he figures not much will be get done; not with Castiel offering coy smiles. If anything, the two of them need all the alone time they can get.
The last thought that crosses Sam’s mind is that he will miss seeing the Great Pyramid, before blissful sleep takes over.
❖
The rain has long-since let up, but the clouds still linger overhead like a reminder that the worst is yet to come. Even so, the few rays of sunlight that spill through the thick coverage cascades over the sloping sides of the pyramids, giving them a brushing of gold that makes them overwhelmingly breathtaking. Surprisingly, not many of the people on board are rushing starboard to get a better view.
“It’s a shame Sam is missing this,” Castiel says, eyes wide with wonder and fingers zinging with excitement. He’s read about them countless times, but no photographs could ever do them justice.
Beside him, Dean hums in agreement. “We can take a car on the way back. Make a stop, be plain old tourists for once.”
“He’d like that,” Castiel says.
“Would you?”
Castiel smiles, feeling more of that familiar warmth Dean causes pooling in his chest. “I’d enjoy it very much.”
“Good,” Dean says. He looks satisfied by Castiel’s answer, and just this side of smug.
“In fact, I’d enjoying seeing it all.”
“Oh?”
Wanderlust is a foreign field to Castiel, but catching sight of one of the wonders of the ancient world has left him reeling and hungry for more. When days ago he hadn’t even entertained the thought of traveling outside his usual route, now Castiel yearns to see everything, man-made or otherwise.
“I always wondered how astounding it would be to stand in the shadow of the Great Wall of China. I wonder if it’s possible to walk along the Nazca Lines in Peru without seeing them from the air, or if I’d be allowed to linger in the surrounding forests of Mount Fuji in Japan.” Castiel sighs. “I’d also like to visit the Roman Coliseum, admire the Scottish castles, experience how truly cold it is in Russia…”
Dean is looking at him steadily, and the only name Castiel can possibly put to that look is affection, unadorned and bare. And somehow that is just as thrilling as the thought of seeing the world.
“If you ever need a tour guide, I’m your man,” Dean says, turning back to the pyramids as the ship continues its swift path downstream.
There’s a promise in his words, one that runs deeper than the here and now. Castiel is overtaken by the urge to kiss him, but not here, not in front of so many people. Instead, he settles for touching the back of Dean’s hand, hoping it conveys at least half of the love Castiel feels for the man. Dean answers with a gentle smile that squeezes the air out of Castiel’s lungs.
“I’d like to get away,” Castiel continues. “There’s beauty to be seen in this world, despite the ugly scars of the war.”
“One would tolerate a world of demons for the sake of an angel,” Dean says, but doesn’t broaden on the subject.
They lapse into comfortable silence until the pyramids are long out of view, leaving them with nothing but sand, muddy water, and the occasional burst of greenery. Thunder rumbles close by, and it’s when it finally begins to drizzle again that Dean backs away from the railing.
“We should get to decoding that text,” he says, pulling out the journal from the inside of his jacket. “There’s a few hours from here to Qift, so might as well get to it.”
“I’m not sure I’d be of much help without the library at my disposal,” Castiel says, following Dean towards the less populated area of the ship. There are seats mounted along the railings with umbrellas tied over them.
“You were onto something. Can’t you remember what it was? It’ll probably give you hint in the direction you need to follow.”
“Yes, but…” Castiel slides a hand over his mouth, before taking a seat with his back pressed to the railings. He’s glad for the weather, or else the seats would be too hot to sit on. “It was… strange. We’ve talked about this. Delusions of a man without sleep and a not a single drop of coffee.”
“What if we, you know, recreate the atmosphere that night… somehow.”
“I would rather not relive the nightmare, Dean,” he says, voice hushed as he takes the journal from Dean’s hands. Castiel slowly flips through it, admiring the vast amount of annotations and drawings throughout.
“So what’re we supposed to do, then? Play pin the ankh on the city and hope we get it right?”
“Honestly,” Castiel says with a smirk. “That’s exactly what I’m hoping for.”
Castiel looks sideways at Dean when he receives no retort, and spots him staring closely at a woman with long blonde hair and khaki trousers. Her back is to them, but he thinks little of it. “Dean?”
“We got a few hours to ourselves then, if there’s nothing you can do about the translation,” Dean says, almost absently as he continues to trail her with her eyes. “Anything particular you want to try?”
Castiel shifts in his seat, uncomfortable. “If there is, a third party is definitely not on my list.” Once the words are out, Castiel realizes that he sounds like a petulant child. Dean may have helped on getting him out of his shell, but there are lines he’s unwilling to cross.
“What?” Dean turns to him with both eyebrows raised. “No, Cas, it’s nothing like that.” He chuckles, probably to lighten the mood, but Castiel isn’t the slightest bit amused. “Come on, man. She just looks familiar, I swear. I’m just… trying to remember from where.”
“A lady friend?”
“Not my type,” Dean says, almost instantly. “I’m more of a black hair and blue eyes kind of guy.”
The corners of Castiel’s mouth twitch upward, and he clears his throat to mask his pleasure. “How kind of you to reassure me.”
“Yeah, well,” Dean shifts in his seat, drumming his fingers against his knee. “Don’t expect flowers or anything.”
“I wouldn’t hold my breath.”
“It’s not that you aren’t worth…-”
Castiel looks at him when he lets the sentence drop unfinished, but Dean is looking towards the shore like he hadn’t even spoken. Castiel doesn’t press, just allows his hand touch Dean’s where it’s settled over his knee, before pulling it away for the sake of modesty.
“How’s your hand?” Dean asks, still not looking at Castiel.
“Better. Portia was kind enough to apply salve and have it wrapped it up,” Castiel says, holding up his bandaged hand and flexing his fingers. He’s briefly reminded of a mummy, and the thought makes him chuckle. “It’ll prevent infections, especially when dealing with muddy water.”
“And the other one?” The question is hesitant, and it takes a moment for Castiel to understand what he means.
“It’s stopped bleeding,” he answers evenly, proud of himself for not letting his voice waver. “It doesn’t sting as much.”
Dean gives a stiff nod. “It sucks to have your lot thrown in with the two of us.”
“There’s no need to apologize. None of this is your fault, Dean. Or Sam’s, for that matter.”
“We Winchesters have a habit of getting our friends and family hurt. If you’re on our side, you lose, simple as that.”
“That sounds like drivel,” Castiel says, giving Dean a stern look. “You lead a dangerous life, danger will undoubtedly follow. But by God it’s not like you’re the one pulling the trigger. And besides,” he waits until Dean is looking at him to continue, “I would tolerate a world of demons for the sake of an angel.”
Dean looks gobsmacked, and Castiel can’t help but harrumph in success.
“I, uh…”
“Yes?”
“I got nothing,” Dean concedes with a defeated sigh.
The drizzle becomes stronger, each drop of water landing with a splat on the umbrellas above their heads. The sound is soothing to Castiel, reminding him of the rainy nights in Munich, when rainfall kept him company during the lonelier nights in the library.
“You got a lot of spunk for a nerdy librarian. I like that.”
Castiel laughs, plucking the glasses from his nose and drying them with the sleeve of his shirt. “That’s why you should never judge a book by its library.”
“That’s not how the saying goes.”
“Would you have read a coverless book from my German library?”
“No, probably not.”
“It might have been a copy of The Hobbit, and you never would have known. Therefore, my phrasing is much more suitable given the situation.” Placing the glasses back on his face, Castiel closes the journal and hands it back to Dean for safekeeping.
“Smartass,” Dean mutters, slipping the journal back inside his jacket.
The minutes tick by to the sound of rain and the indistinct chatter of the others on board. Castiel watches as a small group of children play around a retired radar dish, one of the boys attempting to climb on top of it, while a girl helps by shoving him upward. Two other boys are cheering him on, until an adult intervenes and reprimands them sternly in Arabic. The girl makes a run for it, disappearing into the stairs leading into the bunks beneath the deck.
The silence between the two of them feels restful, and while Castiel treasures the wordless communication, he’s too curious to not wonder. “You should tell me about yourself,” he says, aware of how strange and out of the blue the request is. “You always talk about Sam, but never about yourself.”
Dean blinks at him, mildly perplexed. “I guess it’s easier to talk about Sam. My life ain’t that rich and worth telling. Couple of run-ins with the law here and there, bad crowd, Sam gave me a break and that’s it. ‘Treasure hunter’ has a better ring to it than ‘outlaw’ does.”
“You can’t condense your life into four sentences, Dean.”
“Well the details aren’t too pretty.”
“I’ll take them,” Castiel says, unwavering in his resolve to get to know the man that’s managed to enamor him. Heaven knows when they’ll have another moment like this.
Dean’s eyes are steady on him, hard and detached when he finally agrees with a reluctant huff. “If we make it out alive, I’ll tell you everything you need to know about me.”
Frowning, Castiel shakes his head. “Everything, and I won’t settle for less. I want every gruesome detail.”
“That’s kind of creepy, Cas.”
“I find it charming.”
Dean laughs, sounding incredulous. “Please don’t tell me you’re the kind of guy who likes to watch people sleep.”
Castiel remains quiet for a moment. “Only if you’re ill and need someone to tend to you.”
“Oh, come on. I’m not a kid!”
While amused at Dean’s outburst, the background thought of Dean allowing Castiel to stay in his life in such a way makes him smile all the more. They have both reached a checkpoint, and Castiel couldn’t be happier.
“Then tell me whatever you’re comfortable with,” Castiel says. “Whenever the time comes.”
“Sounds good to me.”
“At least tell me what your favorite kind of food is.”
Dean’s laugh is boisterous, so much that he places a hand over his belly as he settles down. “You don’t quit, do you?”
“Father always said I was stubborn.”
“In that case, I like pie.”
“I figured as much.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You look like the kind of man who would enjoy a homemade pie. There’s comfort and familiarity in the flake, and exquisite taste in its filing. A good balance between homeliness and the excitement of adventure.” Castiel picks at a loose thread on his pants, suddenly embarrassed by his assumption. “Then again, that’s just my opinion.”
Dean is looking off into the distance again, but this time his head bobs in a barely noticeable nod. “No, you’re actually kind of right.” But he offers no more insight. Castiel accepts this, thinking that Dean Winchester is a man of many layers.
“I like hamburgers,” Castiel says, causing Dean to laugh again. “Especially when accompanied by a vanilla milkshake. True, I haven’t had one in ages, but… it’s still one of my favorites.”
“Those are good, too,” Dean says, and pats Castiel’s thigh.
The rain is torrential now, and the two of them huddle in their seats, legs up as to not wet the hem of their pants.
“I have a terrible sweet tooth,” Castiel confesses, thinking back to all of the sweets he and his brother used to fight over whenever their mother would bake. “I like crumb cake in particular, with a side of freshly brewed coffee.”
“Now I’m hungry.”
Castiel chuckles, discreetly pressing closer to Dean’s side. “So am I. I wonder if the galley is open at this hour.”
“I highly doubt it is,” says a honey-sweet voice, and both Castiel and Dean are startled by it. “Good afternoon, gentlemen.”
Long blonde hair falls over slender shoulders, framing a pale angular face and rosy cheeks. It takes Castiel a brief moment, but when he finally puts a name on her, he feels silly about not recognizing Balthazar’s own secretary.
“Bela,” both he and Dean say in unison, before dropping into a charged silence.
Castiel’s initial reaction would be to stand up and greet her, kiss her hand and ask if she’s enjoying her vacation. But the knowledge that Dean knows her leaves a sour taste in his mouth. That, along with the fact that several men around the deck have stopped what they’re doing in order to face them, leaves him rooted to his seat.
Dean, however, swoops to his feet and takes her hand. “This is a really nice surprise, bumping into you here,” he says, and Castiel catches the rigidness in his voice. “I see you’ve already met Cas.”
Bela’s smile is brighter than the diamonds hanging around her neck. “First name basis already, I’m impressed. I must say that I didn’t picture the two of you getting along so well.”
Castiel finally gets to his feet, regardless of the downpour now soaking him to the bone. He walks to stand by Dean’s side, who no longer looks pleased as a pea to see her.
“What’s the meaning of this?” Castiel says, trying to sound calm.
A commotion breaks out towards the front of the ship, a group of people scurrying away from the dozen uniformed men now approaching Bela from behind. They’re all armed. Castiel feels his stomach drop when he sees the red, black and white armbands.
“Welcome aboard the KMS Scharhorst,” Bela says, swaying coyly from side to side. “I hope this doesn’t come as too much of a surprise.”
“The only surprise here is that you’re blonde,” Dean retorts, completely at ease despite the unfriendly smirk on his face. “Why the change of heart?”
“Black just wasn’t my color. A shame, considering you have a type.”
“The whole traitor thing kinda spoils it for me,” Dean says with a shrug.
Bela raises her eyebrows, smile unmoving as she turns her attention towards Castiel. “Hello, love. It’s been a while. How’s Balthazar?”
“Alive,” Castiel says, feeling tendrils of anger wrap around his throat. “You’re working for Victor.”
“Actually, I’m working with Eckhart. I don’t waste my valuable time on the lower ranks of the Gestapo, I’m afraid.”
A chorus of clicking guns has Castiel recoiling, the recollections of Berlin making his blood run cold. But Dean moves closer to him, protective in his stance. “What’s in it for you?” he asks, putting a hand on Castiel’s elbow.
“Now why would I say? Information is key, Herr Winchester. I can’t just tell you, and risk any of you three going gallivanting after it,” Bela says, but then stops, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “Speaking of, where is that brother of yours?”
Dean’s smile sweetens a tad bit. “Now why would I tell you?”
“Because I’m the one with the guns.”
“Sam is in Munich,” Castiel interrupts.
“Cas-”
“I’m sorry,” he offers to Dean, before turning back to Bela. He takes a deep breath to stills his nerves. “He and Balthazar are trying to decipher the code. Dean and I… we… needed to get a head start. Alone.”
Bela taps the tip of her shoe against the wooden deck, seemingly debating whether to take Castiel’s words as truth or not. She decides otherwise when she pulls a pistol out of her blouse, and takes two steps closer to Castiel.
“It isn’t really wise to lie, Mr. Milton,” she coos, raising level to Castiel’s eyes. “Now I’m going to ask again, handsome. Where is Sam Winchester?”
“In the cabins below,” Dean says, lifting a hand and stilling Castiel’s protest. “He’s asleep; force won’t be necessary.”
Bela turns her eyes from Dean to Castiel, then back to Dean with a satisfied nod. “Go get him,” she tells her men, who obediently wrench the steel door open and descend into the belly of the ship.
“Dean,” Castiel begins, but Dean shakes his head.
“We can handle it. Just no sudden movement, or you risk making the animal feel threatened.”
“You wouldn’t like me when I’m threatened,” Bela says in agreement. “I bite.”
“Friggin’ Nazis,” Dean mutters, and Castiel can’t help but agree.
The steel door creaks open and meets the wall with a solid clang, as two soldiers clumsily step out onto the deck with a struggling Sam in their grasp. His long hair whips around wildly, and Castiel is briefly reminded of a golden retriever.
Sam is roughly shoved towards the two of them, and he stumbles, rubbing at his eyes when he grips onto the railing for balance. He immediately backs away looking both conflicted and amused.
“I thought I told you to stay out of trouble,” Sam says almost venomously, shooting Dean the most lethal look Castiel has ever seen on a man.
Dean shrugs. “Cas’ fault for being a shitty liar.”
Castiel nearly gawks. “Excuse me? I was trying to not get Sam involved in this.”
“Well apparently, the two of you failed. Miserably.” Sam runs a hand over his face, presumably to rub the sleep away. “What the hell is going on?”
“Remember Bela?” Dean says, jerking his head towards the woman’s direction. “The lady from the dinosaur museum that didn’t have any dinosaurs?”
Castiel knows Dean is talking to Sam, but what he says makes so little sense that he rolls his eyes in annoyance.
“Delémont,” Sam says, sounding shocked. “You’re blonde.”
“She’s also a Nazi,” Castiel adds, since apparently neither brother understands the subject of priority.
“The holy trinity onboard a single ship,” Bela says, her voice lilting with delight. “Wait till Eckhart hears about this. Took you three long enough, too. I was beginning to think you weren’t going to show up.”
“She’s working for Eckhart?” Sam says off to Castiel’s side, but Dean’s bargaining drowns him out.
“If it’s the journal you’re looking for, it’s right here on my pocket,” he says, and raises his hands when the guns get trained on him. “I’m not armed.” The guns click. “Okay, I am, but I have nothing other the journal in my pocket, I swear.”
Bela lifts her hand, and the guns move away. “If he tries anything funny, shoot him,” she says, before walking forward and standing before Dean. “The journal isn’t what we need, but I’ll be taking it anyway.” With a slick smile, Bela presses herself against Dean, and slips her hand inside his jacket. “What do you say, when all of this is over, we can stop by my tent, hm?”
Her face hovers inches away from Dean’s, causing Castiel to look away.
“Sorry hon, but this guy’s spoken for,” Dean purrs, and Castiel’s fingers twitch when she retreats with the journal in her hands.
It must have shown on his face, because Bela gives both Castiel and Dean a curious glance that soon blossoms into a knowing grin. “Mother Mary and all her angels. You are just chock-full of surprises, aren’t you, Dean?”
Dean shrugs, but grins all the same. “I gotta thank you and your slew of mangy slimy slugs for introducing us.”
Castiel can feel the tip of his ears burn hot.
“Aren’t you two the most precious critters? And how about you, Sam? How’s your lady friend doing? Oh no, don’t give me that look. I know more about the three of you than I care to admit.”
“If it isn’t the journal you want,” Sam bites out tersely, hands fisted at his sides, “then what is it?”
Bela waves her hands in front of herself, gesturing to the three of them. “Well you three, of course. It isn’t that difficult to explain either; whatever it is you three were going to do, you do it anyways.”
“And why do I have the feeling you already know what we were going to do?” Dean asks, combing his wet hair out of his eyes.
“In Coptos lies Thoth’s key, and you, Dean, are going to get it for us. Sam here is going to help you. And Castiel… well, Victor has unfinished business with you, doesn’t he?”
Dean’s hand finds Castiel’s arm again, this time squeezing hard enough to hurt. Castiel feels frozen in place, all of his wounds making a wicked twist as both a reminder, and an omen of things to come.
“No amount of firepower is gonna persuade us there, darling. Not me, not when these two are involved.”
“Always the martyr, Dean. Either incredibly stupid, or amazingly heroic, but I’m leaning towards the former,” Bela says, before turning towards her men again. “Tie them up, and don’t worry about the rain. They’ll be getting wet soon anyways.”
She stays on the sidelines when six soldiers walk forward, grabbing the three of them and aggressively hurtling them towards the floor. Castiel grunts when he lands awkwardly, a surge of pain shooting up his tailbone, water seeping into his pants, enough to be uncomfortable.
They’re manhandled forward as the soldiers tie their hands behind their backs, and then proceed to fasten the ropes to the railing under the pouring rain. Lightning cracks above their heads, and Castiel shivers at the implication.
Across the deck, Bela stares at them with a pleasant smile, and barks orders to three other soldiers, telling them to stand guard until they reach shore.
“You okay, Cas?” Dean asks, nudging Castiel’s arm with his elbow.
Castiel nods his head. “I could be better.”
“How long until we reach Qift?” Sam says, eyes shut and sighing heavily.
“We’ve been sailing for two hours,” Castiel offers, and Sam groans.
“Sit back and enjoy, gentlemen,” Dean announces. “We’re in for a six hour ride.”
❖
Dean expected to see a wide variety of things once they reached Qift’s shore. Without much to do for six hours other than sit on a soaked deck while listening to his brother and yet-to-be-official partner whine endlessly, Dean had come up with a rather impressive mental list.
The first and simpler of these is a market similar to the one in Cairo. It would be far smaller and better organized, with a lot of food and dry clothing. There’d be a brothel, and suitable lodging for the three of them, free of Nazi supervision.
Next, Dean had imagined a sprawling palace fit for a sultan. Also packed with food and dry clothing, and suitable lodging for the three of them. But this illusion included dashing ladies in exotic clothing that carried humongous feathers in vibrant colors. They would bring the feathers away with a flourish to reveal a scantily clad Castiel, preferably slicked in fragrant oils for Dean’s enjoyment. Once the ladies have spilled out of the chambers in a fit of scandalized giggles, Dean would rid himself of his clothing and-
“Dean, you need to stop,” Sam had bit out, struggling with his bonds.
The third on the list had been the Gates of Hell, but then again, they had been nearing on the fourth hour of their journey, and none of the three were feeling particularly peachy.
Now, as the warship slowed to a stop at a wooden dock, Dean is disappointed to find neither of the fantasies he had listed. Instead, they’re met with endless miles of sand and the sporadic tuft of grass. The rain has let up, at least.
Both tourists and locals are guided onto shore, and shortly after, a new squad of German soldiers trudges onboard, armed to the teeth.
“Kind of overkill for just the three of us, don’t you think?” Dean asks Bela, who stands off to the side looking like someone has stepped on her spiffy shoes.
“These are necessary precautions, darling. Valuable cargo on this ship,” she says, and gestures for the prisoners to be cut free.
Dean watches as Sam is hauled to his feet, only to be bound again and flanked by two soldiers. Sam’s a smart kid and goes with the flow, only managing to huff like an angered bull when one of the soldiers tries to shove his six-foot-six frame closer to the exit.
Castiel soon follows, but he’s handled with surprising care. He’s even allowed to dry his glasses before putting his hands behind his back, waiting to be bound again. But a booming voice stops the soldier wielding a length of rope dead in his tracks, and sets Dean’s blood boiling with anger.
“Hello Castiel,” Victor says, arms extended outward in a show of welcoming surprise. “It’s so nice to have you back.”
Castiel remains still, face stoic when Victor’s hand slowly touches along his arm, coming to a stop and resting on Castiel’s elbow.
The sight of the touch makes Dean writhe on the floor, daring the soldiers to give him the smallest bit of slack. “I’ll fucking kill you,” he spits out, trying to wrench himself free. “Touch him again and it’ll be the last thing you’ll ever do.”
“How possessive, Herr Winchester,” Victor coos. “It’s a very ugly quality.” Victor’s fingers land on Castiel’s jaw, gently tipping his head to the side. “What say you, Castiel? Do you like it when he becomes like this?”
Castiel’s face is impassive, giving no sign of agreement or disagreement. “You may bind my wrists,” he says to the soldier still holding onto the rope. “If my friends are to be treated so barbarically, then so shall I.”
“It would be very rude of me to do so,” Victor says, finally letting his hand drop in favor of fixing the fedora on top of his head. “Only the best comforts for you, I insist.”
“How very kind of you,” Castiel sneers with significant contempt, and Dean can only think about the vile treatment that had been bestowed on him in Berlin. However, Dean feels a surge of admiration at Castiel’s steadfast resolve to not cave before the enemy.
“There won’t be any need for such extreme methods of persuasion if you willingly give me what I want, Castiel.” Victor’s hand clutches Castiel’s jaw. “When I want it.”
Dean dashes forward when he’s finally released, ready to wring the life out of the creepy bastard, but guards fall on him an instant later. He’s tackled to the ground as he kicks and fights, but a sharp heel to the hollow of his back makes him groan in pain. Ropes wrap around his wrists again, and this time he isn’t spared any comfort as they are wound all the way up his arms until they reach his elbows.
Bela is appallingly strong for being of such small stature, and she wrangles him up on his knees with ease. She slaps him across the face, her ring catching and slicing his lip again.
“I hope you all rot in Hell,” Dean croaks, the wind having been knocked out of him when he’d been slammed onto the deck.
“And I hope you join us.” To the guards, Victor says, “Take him away.”
Dean gives Sam a wild look when Castiel is wrenched away from the two of them, and Sam answers it with a stare that’s equal parts alarmed and reassuring.
“He can’t translate the text,” Sam says, searching for a quick way to dissuade them from taking Castiel. “You know this, and we know this, then why bother with him?” Victor appraises Sam before he continues. “I can try and translate it myself.”
“Sam,” Dean warns, struggling fruitlessly to get up on his feet. He appreciates the gesture, but not at the cost of Sam’s safety.
Victor snorts, and doesn’t dignify the argument with an answer.
Castiel looks serene as he’s hauled away from the deck, down the wooden ramp and onto the sandy banks of the shore.
Onlookers have long since scattered and fled at the threat of firepower.
Dean steels himself, stiff by Sam’s side as he watches, helplessly, while Castiel is pushed inside a Rolls Royce, with Victor slipping inside a moment after. He can feel his stomach twist and churn with cold unpleasantness, feel the impending sense of doom settle at the base of his spine.
But anger overrides every edge of despair, and it fuels him with righteous determination.
▲ previous chapter || chapter seven || next chapter ▲
Author: bellanovaskies [shotgunsinlace]
Artist: unbearablebears
Fandom/Genre: Supernatural; Action/Adventure
Pairing(s): Dean/Castiel, Sam/Jessica, mentions of Charlie/Gilda, previous Dean/Lisa and one-sided Victor/Castiel
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~84,000
Warnings: Violence, language, torture, racism, controversial political views, and sexual content.
Summary: It’s the 1940’s, the war is tearing Europe in half, and the Nazis have a plan to uncover an ancient weapon belonging to the Egyptian gods that can tip the scale in their favor. With the help of a librarian named Castiel, it’s up to Sam and Dean Winchester, respectively a professor of archaeology and treasure hunter, to get to the Lost City of Amun-Ra and stop the Third Reich from achieving world domination. But with a missing father, secret societies, and an unexpected romance, things get more than a little complicated in this race against time. Loosely based on the Indiana Jones franchise.
Sam’s grief the moment he spots their boat is briefly assuaged. Where he has been expecting to see a sloop, or an equally flimsy boat similar to the one that crossed him and Dean across the Strait of Dover, he instead sees a retired ship approximately the size of a small building.
It’s nothing graceful, looking crude and boxier than a car. It’s a ship built for war, not leisure, and it allows Sam a sigh of relief. The ship serving as a cruise in the river means that it’s been decommissioned, and judging by the rust and faded insignia on its side, it has been for a while. But it looks sturdy enough to weather the storm that rumbles closer to Cairo’s shore.
The wharf is bustling with activity, and the smell that drifts up from the water is terrible. Sam bites back bile at the stench of waste and fish. Normally, he could have handled with a strong stomach, but the added nerves are only making him queasy.
“We could have just driven to Qift. God knows it’d be quicker,” Sam grumbles, adjusting his satchel and mounting the ramp up to the ship. He can hear Dean snicker behind him.
They hurry up the ramp when the light drizzle decides to worsen, and take shelter beneath a colorful tent that seems to have been added for the sake of touristic flare. The thing looks outrageous out on the main deck, but Sam can’t complain. It sure beats getting soaked to the bone, having no extra clothing for a change.
The trip won’t take more than a day, or so Portia had insisted, so none of them had bothered with extra luggage. Sam had been adamant about bringing at least a quick outfit in case they got rained on, but neither Portia nor the two lovebirds making doe eyes at each other acknowledged the chance of a rainstorm.
The swaying of the ship is minimal, and Sam draws in a steady breath and flexes his fingers to relieve the coiled up tension in his bones. It isn’t terrible, but he figures it would be better if he just slept through the entire voyage until they reached Qift. He’s fatigued, not having a good night’s sleep in days, and he can already feel his eyelids drooping without his permission.
“How you holding up?” Dean asks, patting Sam hard on the back.
“I think I’m gonna head into the bunk,” Sam answers, nodding his head resolutely. “I’ve done enough researching for one week; I’m sure you and Cas can take it from here.”
“What other information do you need?” Castiel says, looking around at the people milling on the deck with a hint of apprehension.
“Well, uh, you guys need to crack the code in the journal. Find out where the city is before we get the ankh.”
“Consider it done,” Dean says, guiding Sam with a hand firm on his back through the throng of people to stand in front of a heavy steel door. A deckhand is polite enough to open it. “You go get some shuteye in the meantime.”
Sam stops at the top of the steep narrow stairs, looking down at them making him grip the handrail until his knuckles have gone white. “Just don’t get in trouble,” he says, turning to look at Dean with a frown. “I mean it.”
Dean’s grin promises nothing but. “Cross my heart, Sammy.”
“Dean, I’m serious.”
“Yeah, yeah, so am I, for all our sakes.”
Looking over Dean’s shoulder, Sam waves at Castiel, who nods right back with a smile. There’s a sense of tranquility Castiel emanates, and it’s almost contagious. It’s easy to see why Dean has fixated on him, of all people.
“Wake me when we get there,” Sam says, hesitantly taking the first step. He’s faced worse, so he’s not going to let a little set of stairs on a warship conquer him.
“No, I’ll make sure to wake you on my way back to America,” comes Dean’s not-so-witty reply, and Sam doesn’t refrain from rolling his eyes.
“No slacking off.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Sam is obligated to move when an elderly couple stands beside Dean, giving them both dirty looks for clogging up the stairway. Casting the couple an apologetic smile, Sam shoos Dean away with a wave and makes his way to his cabin with a yawn.
He isn’t sure whether or not to blame the strange blankness in his mind on the fatigue and lack of sleep, but Sam is grateful for the brief hint of peace the nothingness brings. Since Eckhart first marched into his classroom bearing semi-false news about his father, Sam’s thoughts have been in a surreally jumbled state. Digging for what is truth and what is carefully plotted deceit has left him vacant.
Maybe he’s getting too old for this. Nonsense, considering he’s younger than Dean. While Sam will never turn down a good expedition into the depths of the barely explored, he finds himself favoring the quaint calmness of home.
Sam misses the warm bed sheets on a cold rainy night, and the hot chocolate he and Jessica would share in front of the fireplace. He thought he’d never think it, but he misses the hubbub of students demanding an explanation for their terrible grades. He misses the comfort of home.
But Dean hasn’t been this spirited in ages, now that he has a path and cause guiding every thought and decision along the way. Peril be damned, Dean is breathing clouds of sunshine and reason, things that keep him grounded.
A familiar bed may be good, but seeing Dean muster a grin from the depths of his heart is just as bolstering. Sam loves his brother, and seeing him walk a good road is rewarding enough.
Closing the cabin door behind him, Sam is made uneasy by the cabin’s tiny size. It’s long but narrow, with two beds hanging from the wall, eerily reminiscent of a jail cell. Not that he’s ever occupied one, but he’s been obligated to spring Dean out of a handful several years back.
Unable to bring himself to give it much thought, he undoes the first two buttons of his shirt while he lets himself fall onto the bottom bed with a huff. It’s hard and uncomfortable: the cold of the metal slab seeps through the thin sheets and measly pillow, but Sam is too tired to care.
Orbs of brightly colored lights dance behind his eyelids, the imprints of the storm-clouded Egyptian sun slowly fading as sleep comes drifting in.
Sam rubs at his eyes and dispels the feeling of guilt at leaving his brother to do the rest of the work for the day, but he figures not much will be get done; not with Castiel offering coy smiles. If anything, the two of them need all the alone time they can get.
The last thought that crosses Sam’s mind is that he will miss seeing the Great Pyramid, before blissful sleep takes over.
❖
The rain has long-since let up, but the clouds still linger overhead like a reminder that the worst is yet to come. Even so, the few rays of sunlight that spill through the thick coverage cascades over the sloping sides of the pyramids, giving them a brushing of gold that makes them overwhelmingly breathtaking. Surprisingly, not many of the people on board are rushing starboard to get a better view.
“It’s a shame Sam is missing this,” Castiel says, eyes wide with wonder and fingers zinging with excitement. He’s read about them countless times, but no photographs could ever do them justice.
Beside him, Dean hums in agreement. “We can take a car on the way back. Make a stop, be plain old tourists for once.”
“He’d like that,” Castiel says.
“Would you?”
Castiel smiles, feeling more of that familiar warmth Dean causes pooling in his chest. “I’d enjoy it very much.”
“Good,” Dean says. He looks satisfied by Castiel’s answer, and just this side of smug.
“In fact, I’d enjoying seeing it all.”
“Oh?”
Wanderlust is a foreign field to Castiel, but catching sight of one of the wonders of the ancient world has left him reeling and hungry for more. When days ago he hadn’t even entertained the thought of traveling outside his usual route, now Castiel yearns to see everything, man-made or otherwise.
“I always wondered how astounding it would be to stand in the shadow of the Great Wall of China. I wonder if it’s possible to walk along the Nazca Lines in Peru without seeing them from the air, or if I’d be allowed to linger in the surrounding forests of Mount Fuji in Japan.” Castiel sighs. “I’d also like to visit the Roman Coliseum, admire the Scottish castles, experience how truly cold it is in Russia…”
Dean is looking at him steadily, and the only name Castiel can possibly put to that look is affection, unadorned and bare. And somehow that is just as thrilling as the thought of seeing the world.
“If you ever need a tour guide, I’m your man,” Dean says, turning back to the pyramids as the ship continues its swift path downstream.
There’s a promise in his words, one that runs deeper than the here and now. Castiel is overtaken by the urge to kiss him, but not here, not in front of so many people. Instead, he settles for touching the back of Dean’s hand, hoping it conveys at least half of the love Castiel feels for the man. Dean answers with a gentle smile that squeezes the air out of Castiel’s lungs.
“I’d like to get away,” Castiel continues. “There’s beauty to be seen in this world, despite the ugly scars of the war.”
“One would tolerate a world of demons for the sake of an angel,” Dean says, but doesn’t broaden on the subject.
They lapse into comfortable silence until the pyramids are long out of view, leaving them with nothing but sand, muddy water, and the occasional burst of greenery. Thunder rumbles close by, and it’s when it finally begins to drizzle again that Dean backs away from the railing.
“We should get to decoding that text,” he says, pulling out the journal from the inside of his jacket. “There’s a few hours from here to Qift, so might as well get to it.”
“I’m not sure I’d be of much help without the library at my disposal,” Castiel says, following Dean towards the less populated area of the ship. There are seats mounted along the railings with umbrellas tied over them.
“You were onto something. Can’t you remember what it was? It’ll probably give you hint in the direction you need to follow.”
“Yes, but…” Castiel slides a hand over his mouth, before taking a seat with his back pressed to the railings. He’s glad for the weather, or else the seats would be too hot to sit on. “It was… strange. We’ve talked about this. Delusions of a man without sleep and a not a single drop of coffee.”
“What if we, you know, recreate the atmosphere that night… somehow.”
“I would rather not relive the nightmare, Dean,” he says, voice hushed as he takes the journal from Dean’s hands. Castiel slowly flips through it, admiring the vast amount of annotations and drawings throughout.
“So what’re we supposed to do, then? Play pin the ankh on the city and hope we get it right?”
“Honestly,” Castiel says with a smirk. “That’s exactly what I’m hoping for.”
Castiel looks sideways at Dean when he receives no retort, and spots him staring closely at a woman with long blonde hair and khaki trousers. Her back is to them, but he thinks little of it. “Dean?”
“We got a few hours to ourselves then, if there’s nothing you can do about the translation,” Dean says, almost absently as he continues to trail her with her eyes. “Anything particular you want to try?”
Castiel shifts in his seat, uncomfortable. “If there is, a third party is definitely not on my list.” Once the words are out, Castiel realizes that he sounds like a petulant child. Dean may have helped on getting him out of his shell, but there are lines he’s unwilling to cross.
“What?” Dean turns to him with both eyebrows raised. “No, Cas, it’s nothing like that.” He chuckles, probably to lighten the mood, but Castiel isn’t the slightest bit amused. “Come on, man. She just looks familiar, I swear. I’m just… trying to remember from where.”
“A lady friend?”
“Not my type,” Dean says, almost instantly. “I’m more of a black hair and blue eyes kind of guy.”
The corners of Castiel’s mouth twitch upward, and he clears his throat to mask his pleasure. “How kind of you to reassure me.”
“Yeah, well,” Dean shifts in his seat, drumming his fingers against his knee. “Don’t expect flowers or anything.”
“I wouldn’t hold my breath.”
“It’s not that you aren’t worth…-”
Castiel looks at him when he lets the sentence drop unfinished, but Dean is looking towards the shore like he hadn’t even spoken. Castiel doesn’t press, just allows his hand touch Dean’s where it’s settled over his knee, before pulling it away for the sake of modesty.
“How’s your hand?” Dean asks, still not looking at Castiel.
“Better. Portia was kind enough to apply salve and have it wrapped it up,” Castiel says, holding up his bandaged hand and flexing his fingers. He’s briefly reminded of a mummy, and the thought makes him chuckle. “It’ll prevent infections, especially when dealing with muddy water.”
“And the other one?” The question is hesitant, and it takes a moment for Castiel to understand what he means.
“It’s stopped bleeding,” he answers evenly, proud of himself for not letting his voice waver. “It doesn’t sting as much.”
Dean gives a stiff nod. “It sucks to have your lot thrown in with the two of us.”
“There’s no need to apologize. None of this is your fault, Dean. Or Sam’s, for that matter.”
“We Winchesters have a habit of getting our friends and family hurt. If you’re on our side, you lose, simple as that.”
“That sounds like drivel,” Castiel says, giving Dean a stern look. “You lead a dangerous life, danger will undoubtedly follow. But by God it’s not like you’re the one pulling the trigger. And besides,” he waits until Dean is looking at him to continue, “I would tolerate a world of demons for the sake of an angel.”
Dean looks gobsmacked, and Castiel can’t help but harrumph in success.
“I, uh…”
“Yes?”
“I got nothing,” Dean concedes with a defeated sigh.
The drizzle becomes stronger, each drop of water landing with a splat on the umbrellas above their heads. The sound is soothing to Castiel, reminding him of the rainy nights in Munich, when rainfall kept him company during the lonelier nights in the library.
“You got a lot of spunk for a nerdy librarian. I like that.”
Castiel laughs, plucking the glasses from his nose and drying them with the sleeve of his shirt. “That’s why you should never judge a book by its library.”
“That’s not how the saying goes.”
“Would you have read a coverless book from my German library?”
“No, probably not.”
“It might have been a copy of The Hobbit, and you never would have known. Therefore, my phrasing is much more suitable given the situation.” Placing the glasses back on his face, Castiel closes the journal and hands it back to Dean for safekeeping.
“Smartass,” Dean mutters, slipping the journal back inside his jacket.
The minutes tick by to the sound of rain and the indistinct chatter of the others on board. Castiel watches as a small group of children play around a retired radar dish, one of the boys attempting to climb on top of it, while a girl helps by shoving him upward. Two other boys are cheering him on, until an adult intervenes and reprimands them sternly in Arabic. The girl makes a run for it, disappearing into the stairs leading into the bunks beneath the deck.
The silence between the two of them feels restful, and while Castiel treasures the wordless communication, he’s too curious to not wonder. “You should tell me about yourself,” he says, aware of how strange and out of the blue the request is. “You always talk about Sam, but never about yourself.”
Dean blinks at him, mildly perplexed. “I guess it’s easier to talk about Sam. My life ain’t that rich and worth telling. Couple of run-ins with the law here and there, bad crowd, Sam gave me a break and that’s it. ‘Treasure hunter’ has a better ring to it than ‘outlaw’ does.”
“You can’t condense your life into four sentences, Dean.”
“Well the details aren’t too pretty.”
“I’ll take them,” Castiel says, unwavering in his resolve to get to know the man that’s managed to enamor him. Heaven knows when they’ll have another moment like this.
Dean’s eyes are steady on him, hard and detached when he finally agrees with a reluctant huff. “If we make it out alive, I’ll tell you everything you need to know about me.”
Frowning, Castiel shakes his head. “Everything, and I won’t settle for less. I want every gruesome detail.”
“That’s kind of creepy, Cas.”
“I find it charming.”
Dean laughs, sounding incredulous. “Please don’t tell me you’re the kind of guy who likes to watch people sleep.”
Castiel remains quiet for a moment. “Only if you’re ill and need someone to tend to you.”
“Oh, come on. I’m not a kid!”
While amused at Dean’s outburst, the background thought of Dean allowing Castiel to stay in his life in such a way makes him smile all the more. They have both reached a checkpoint, and Castiel couldn’t be happier.
“Then tell me whatever you’re comfortable with,” Castiel says. “Whenever the time comes.”
“Sounds good to me.”
“At least tell me what your favorite kind of food is.”
Dean’s laugh is boisterous, so much that he places a hand over his belly as he settles down. “You don’t quit, do you?”
“Father always said I was stubborn.”
“In that case, I like pie.”
“I figured as much.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You look like the kind of man who would enjoy a homemade pie. There’s comfort and familiarity in the flake, and exquisite taste in its filing. A good balance between homeliness and the excitement of adventure.” Castiel picks at a loose thread on his pants, suddenly embarrassed by his assumption. “Then again, that’s just my opinion.”
Dean is looking off into the distance again, but this time his head bobs in a barely noticeable nod. “No, you’re actually kind of right.” But he offers no more insight. Castiel accepts this, thinking that Dean Winchester is a man of many layers.
“I like hamburgers,” Castiel says, causing Dean to laugh again. “Especially when accompanied by a vanilla milkshake. True, I haven’t had one in ages, but… it’s still one of my favorites.”
“Those are good, too,” Dean says, and pats Castiel’s thigh.
The rain is torrential now, and the two of them huddle in their seats, legs up as to not wet the hem of their pants.
“I have a terrible sweet tooth,” Castiel confesses, thinking back to all of the sweets he and his brother used to fight over whenever their mother would bake. “I like crumb cake in particular, with a side of freshly brewed coffee.”
“Now I’m hungry.”
Castiel chuckles, discreetly pressing closer to Dean’s side. “So am I. I wonder if the galley is open at this hour.”
“I highly doubt it is,” says a honey-sweet voice, and both Castiel and Dean are startled by it. “Good afternoon, gentlemen.”
Long blonde hair falls over slender shoulders, framing a pale angular face and rosy cheeks. It takes Castiel a brief moment, but when he finally puts a name on her, he feels silly about not recognizing Balthazar’s own secretary.
“Bela,” both he and Dean say in unison, before dropping into a charged silence.
Castiel’s initial reaction would be to stand up and greet her, kiss her hand and ask if she’s enjoying her vacation. But the knowledge that Dean knows her leaves a sour taste in his mouth. That, along with the fact that several men around the deck have stopped what they’re doing in order to face them, leaves him rooted to his seat.
Dean, however, swoops to his feet and takes her hand. “This is a really nice surprise, bumping into you here,” he says, and Castiel catches the rigidness in his voice. “I see you’ve already met Cas.”
Bela’s smile is brighter than the diamonds hanging around her neck. “First name basis already, I’m impressed. I must say that I didn’t picture the two of you getting along so well.”
Castiel finally gets to his feet, regardless of the downpour now soaking him to the bone. He walks to stand by Dean’s side, who no longer looks pleased as a pea to see her.
“What’s the meaning of this?” Castiel says, trying to sound calm.
A commotion breaks out towards the front of the ship, a group of people scurrying away from the dozen uniformed men now approaching Bela from behind. They’re all armed. Castiel feels his stomach drop when he sees the red, black and white armbands.
“Welcome aboard the KMS Scharhorst,” Bela says, swaying coyly from side to side. “I hope this doesn’t come as too much of a surprise.”
“The only surprise here is that you’re blonde,” Dean retorts, completely at ease despite the unfriendly smirk on his face. “Why the change of heart?”
“Black just wasn’t my color. A shame, considering you have a type.”
“The whole traitor thing kinda spoils it for me,” Dean says with a shrug.
Bela raises her eyebrows, smile unmoving as she turns her attention towards Castiel. “Hello, love. It’s been a while. How’s Balthazar?”
“Alive,” Castiel says, feeling tendrils of anger wrap around his throat. “You’re working for Victor.”
“Actually, I’m working with Eckhart. I don’t waste my valuable time on the lower ranks of the Gestapo, I’m afraid.”
A chorus of clicking guns has Castiel recoiling, the recollections of Berlin making his blood run cold. But Dean moves closer to him, protective in his stance. “What’s in it for you?” he asks, putting a hand on Castiel’s elbow.
“Now why would I say? Information is key, Herr Winchester. I can’t just tell you, and risk any of you three going gallivanting after it,” Bela says, but then stops, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “Speaking of, where is that brother of yours?”
Dean’s smile sweetens a tad bit. “Now why would I tell you?”
“Because I’m the one with the guns.”
“Sam is in Munich,” Castiel interrupts.
“Cas-”
“I’m sorry,” he offers to Dean, before turning back to Bela. He takes a deep breath to stills his nerves. “He and Balthazar are trying to decipher the code. Dean and I… we… needed to get a head start. Alone.”
Bela taps the tip of her shoe against the wooden deck, seemingly debating whether to take Castiel’s words as truth or not. She decides otherwise when she pulls a pistol out of her blouse, and takes two steps closer to Castiel.
“It isn’t really wise to lie, Mr. Milton,” she coos, raising level to Castiel’s eyes. “Now I’m going to ask again, handsome. Where is Sam Winchester?”
“In the cabins below,” Dean says, lifting a hand and stilling Castiel’s protest. “He’s asleep; force won’t be necessary.”
Bela turns her eyes from Dean to Castiel, then back to Dean with a satisfied nod. “Go get him,” she tells her men, who obediently wrench the steel door open and descend into the belly of the ship.
“Dean,” Castiel begins, but Dean shakes his head.
“We can handle it. Just no sudden movement, or you risk making the animal feel threatened.”
“You wouldn’t like me when I’m threatened,” Bela says in agreement. “I bite.”
“Friggin’ Nazis,” Dean mutters, and Castiel can’t help but agree.
The steel door creaks open and meets the wall with a solid clang, as two soldiers clumsily step out onto the deck with a struggling Sam in their grasp. His long hair whips around wildly, and Castiel is briefly reminded of a golden retriever.
Sam is roughly shoved towards the two of them, and he stumbles, rubbing at his eyes when he grips onto the railing for balance. He immediately backs away looking both conflicted and amused.
“I thought I told you to stay out of trouble,” Sam says almost venomously, shooting Dean the most lethal look Castiel has ever seen on a man.
Dean shrugs. “Cas’ fault for being a shitty liar.”
Castiel nearly gawks. “Excuse me? I was trying to not get Sam involved in this.”
“Well apparently, the two of you failed. Miserably.” Sam runs a hand over his face, presumably to rub the sleep away. “What the hell is going on?”
“Remember Bela?” Dean says, jerking his head towards the woman’s direction. “The lady from the dinosaur museum that didn’t have any dinosaurs?”
Castiel knows Dean is talking to Sam, but what he says makes so little sense that he rolls his eyes in annoyance.
“Delémont,” Sam says, sounding shocked. “You’re blonde.”
“She’s also a Nazi,” Castiel adds, since apparently neither brother understands the subject of priority.
“The holy trinity onboard a single ship,” Bela says, her voice lilting with delight. “Wait till Eckhart hears about this. Took you three long enough, too. I was beginning to think you weren’t going to show up.”
“She’s working for Eckhart?” Sam says off to Castiel’s side, but Dean’s bargaining drowns him out.
“If it’s the journal you’re looking for, it’s right here on my pocket,” he says, and raises his hands when the guns get trained on him. “I’m not armed.” The guns click. “Okay, I am, but I have nothing other the journal in my pocket, I swear.”
Bela lifts her hand, and the guns move away. “If he tries anything funny, shoot him,” she says, before walking forward and standing before Dean. “The journal isn’t what we need, but I’ll be taking it anyway.” With a slick smile, Bela presses herself against Dean, and slips her hand inside his jacket. “What do you say, when all of this is over, we can stop by my tent, hm?”
Her face hovers inches away from Dean’s, causing Castiel to look away.
“Sorry hon, but this guy’s spoken for,” Dean purrs, and Castiel’s fingers twitch when she retreats with the journal in her hands.
It must have shown on his face, because Bela gives both Castiel and Dean a curious glance that soon blossoms into a knowing grin. “Mother Mary and all her angels. You are just chock-full of surprises, aren’t you, Dean?”
Dean shrugs, but grins all the same. “I gotta thank you and your slew of mangy slimy slugs for introducing us.”
Castiel can feel the tip of his ears burn hot.
“Aren’t you two the most precious critters? And how about you, Sam? How’s your lady friend doing? Oh no, don’t give me that look. I know more about the three of you than I care to admit.”
“If it isn’t the journal you want,” Sam bites out tersely, hands fisted at his sides, “then what is it?”
Bela waves her hands in front of herself, gesturing to the three of them. “Well you three, of course. It isn’t that difficult to explain either; whatever it is you three were going to do, you do it anyways.”
“And why do I have the feeling you already know what we were going to do?” Dean asks, combing his wet hair out of his eyes.
“In Coptos lies Thoth’s key, and you, Dean, are going to get it for us. Sam here is going to help you. And Castiel… well, Victor has unfinished business with you, doesn’t he?”
Dean’s hand finds Castiel’s arm again, this time squeezing hard enough to hurt. Castiel feels frozen in place, all of his wounds making a wicked twist as both a reminder, and an omen of things to come.
“No amount of firepower is gonna persuade us there, darling. Not me, not when these two are involved.”
“Always the martyr, Dean. Either incredibly stupid, or amazingly heroic, but I’m leaning towards the former,” Bela says, before turning towards her men again. “Tie them up, and don’t worry about the rain. They’ll be getting wet soon anyways.”
She stays on the sidelines when six soldiers walk forward, grabbing the three of them and aggressively hurtling them towards the floor. Castiel grunts when he lands awkwardly, a surge of pain shooting up his tailbone, water seeping into his pants, enough to be uncomfortable.
They’re manhandled forward as the soldiers tie their hands behind their backs, and then proceed to fasten the ropes to the railing under the pouring rain. Lightning cracks above their heads, and Castiel shivers at the implication.
Across the deck, Bela stares at them with a pleasant smile, and barks orders to three other soldiers, telling them to stand guard until they reach shore.
“You okay, Cas?” Dean asks, nudging Castiel’s arm with his elbow.
Castiel nods his head. “I could be better.”
“How long until we reach Qift?” Sam says, eyes shut and sighing heavily.
“We’ve been sailing for two hours,” Castiel offers, and Sam groans.
“Sit back and enjoy, gentlemen,” Dean announces. “We’re in for a six hour ride.”
❖
Dean expected to see a wide variety of things once they reached Qift’s shore. Without much to do for six hours other than sit on a soaked deck while listening to his brother and yet-to-be-official partner whine endlessly, Dean had come up with a rather impressive mental list.
The first and simpler of these is a market similar to the one in Cairo. It would be far smaller and better organized, with a lot of food and dry clothing. There’d be a brothel, and suitable lodging for the three of them, free of Nazi supervision.
Next, Dean had imagined a sprawling palace fit for a sultan. Also packed with food and dry clothing, and suitable lodging for the three of them. But this illusion included dashing ladies in exotic clothing that carried humongous feathers in vibrant colors. They would bring the feathers away with a flourish to reveal a scantily clad Castiel, preferably slicked in fragrant oils for Dean’s enjoyment. Once the ladies have spilled out of the chambers in a fit of scandalized giggles, Dean would rid himself of his clothing and-
“Dean, you need to stop,” Sam had bit out, struggling with his bonds.
The third on the list had been the Gates of Hell, but then again, they had been nearing on the fourth hour of their journey, and none of the three were feeling particularly peachy.
Now, as the warship slowed to a stop at a wooden dock, Dean is disappointed to find neither of the fantasies he had listed. Instead, they’re met with endless miles of sand and the sporadic tuft of grass. The rain has let up, at least.
Both tourists and locals are guided onto shore, and shortly after, a new squad of German soldiers trudges onboard, armed to the teeth.
“Kind of overkill for just the three of us, don’t you think?” Dean asks Bela, who stands off to the side looking like someone has stepped on her spiffy shoes.
“These are necessary precautions, darling. Valuable cargo on this ship,” she says, and gestures for the prisoners to be cut free.
Dean watches as Sam is hauled to his feet, only to be bound again and flanked by two soldiers. Sam’s a smart kid and goes with the flow, only managing to huff like an angered bull when one of the soldiers tries to shove his six-foot-six frame closer to the exit.
Castiel soon follows, but he’s handled with surprising care. He’s even allowed to dry his glasses before putting his hands behind his back, waiting to be bound again. But a booming voice stops the soldier wielding a length of rope dead in his tracks, and sets Dean’s blood boiling with anger.
“Hello Castiel,” Victor says, arms extended outward in a show of welcoming surprise. “It’s so nice to have you back.”
Castiel remains still, face stoic when Victor’s hand slowly touches along his arm, coming to a stop and resting on Castiel’s elbow.
The sight of the touch makes Dean writhe on the floor, daring the soldiers to give him the smallest bit of slack. “I’ll fucking kill you,” he spits out, trying to wrench himself free. “Touch him again and it’ll be the last thing you’ll ever do.”
“How possessive, Herr Winchester,” Victor coos. “It’s a very ugly quality.” Victor’s fingers land on Castiel’s jaw, gently tipping his head to the side. “What say you, Castiel? Do you like it when he becomes like this?”
Castiel’s face is impassive, giving no sign of agreement or disagreement. “You may bind my wrists,” he says to the soldier still holding onto the rope. “If my friends are to be treated so barbarically, then so shall I.”
“It would be very rude of me to do so,” Victor says, finally letting his hand drop in favor of fixing the fedora on top of his head. “Only the best comforts for you, I insist.”
“How very kind of you,” Castiel sneers with significant contempt, and Dean can only think about the vile treatment that had been bestowed on him in Berlin. However, Dean feels a surge of admiration at Castiel’s steadfast resolve to not cave before the enemy.
“There won’t be any need for such extreme methods of persuasion if you willingly give me what I want, Castiel.” Victor’s hand clutches Castiel’s jaw. “When I want it.”
Dean dashes forward when he’s finally released, ready to wring the life out of the creepy bastard, but guards fall on him an instant later. He’s tackled to the ground as he kicks and fights, but a sharp heel to the hollow of his back makes him groan in pain. Ropes wrap around his wrists again, and this time he isn’t spared any comfort as they are wound all the way up his arms until they reach his elbows.
Bela is appallingly strong for being of such small stature, and she wrangles him up on his knees with ease. She slaps him across the face, her ring catching and slicing his lip again.
“I hope you all rot in Hell,” Dean croaks, the wind having been knocked out of him when he’d been slammed onto the deck.
“And I hope you join us.” To the guards, Victor says, “Take him away.”
Dean gives Sam a wild look when Castiel is wrenched away from the two of them, and Sam answers it with a stare that’s equal parts alarmed and reassuring.
“He can’t translate the text,” Sam says, searching for a quick way to dissuade them from taking Castiel. “You know this, and we know this, then why bother with him?” Victor appraises Sam before he continues. “I can try and translate it myself.”
“Sam,” Dean warns, struggling fruitlessly to get up on his feet. He appreciates the gesture, but not at the cost of Sam’s safety.
Victor snorts, and doesn’t dignify the argument with an answer.
Castiel looks serene as he’s hauled away from the deck, down the wooden ramp and onto the sandy banks of the shore.
Onlookers have long since scattered and fled at the threat of firepower.
Dean steels himself, stiff by Sam’s side as he watches, helplessly, while Castiel is pushed inside a Rolls Royce, with Victor slipping inside a moment after. He can feel his stomach twist and churn with cold unpleasantness, feel the impending sense of doom settle at the base of his spine.
But anger overrides every edge of despair, and it fuels him with righteous determination.
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