Childe Winchester Chapter 2
The light had completely faded by the time Dean decided to stop, hitching up Impala to a tree and setting up camp. He gathered a few sticks scattered here and there, and managed to light a fire. The heat and flame gave him some comfort, so alone in the darkness and unsure whether he was indeed on the right path. As he lay beside the fire and closed his eyes, he wondered whether Castiel was warm, whether he had comfort. It was at times such as these; when he felt alone, he would reach out to his most dear and trusted friend, seeking comfort in his words. Castiel would always guide him, always offer helpful and reassuring advice.
His thoughts drifted back to when they were training, possibly not more than twelve or thirteen years old. He had been fighting with his old master, a crotchety man by the name of Campbell, when he was struck on the shoulder. It was a fairly serious wound, needing to be stitched up and covered while it healed, and he remembered feeling utterly useless, sitting in the old barn hiding his shame from everyone. It was Castiel who found him, Castiel with his large blue eyes full of sympathy.
“You should be getting back,” he’d said. “They’re wondering where you are. Your father... he’s very angry.”
“Serves him right for having raised a failure,” Dean had snorted.
“What do you mean?”
“Couldn’t even beat old Samuel Campbell. Won’t be much good as a Knight, will I? Gonna let down the whole Winchester family cos I can’t handle a stupid sword. Stupid thing.”
Castiel had put a comforting hand on his good shoulder. “Your father isn’t angry at that. He’s angry because what Samuel did wasn’t honorable. He should have stopped short because he knew he had won but instead he went through with it. He’s angry because you got hurt.”
“He is?”
“Of course he is. And he’s worried because he can’t find you to see if you’re ok. You have to come back, Dean. He has to know you’re safe.”
So Dean went back to his father, who hugged him and admonished him for running away. He saw Samuel, shamefaced and shunned by the town for not having any self-control, and he knew Castiel was right. He turned from his father’s embrace to see Castiel smiling at him, that knowing ‘I told you so’ look on his face, and he smiled too. He’d had a tingling in his chest then, a feeling of happiness of the sort he hadn’t felt before. He knew everything would be ok after that.
Dean woke to watch the sunrise over the plain, the embers of the fire smoldering but still warm. He fed Impala before eating some of the bread, fruit and cereals he had brought with him. There was nowhere to wash, so he made do with a quick brush down before climbing back onto Impala and setting off once more.
The terrain changed; gone were the lush plains filled with grass, plants and trees. Instead the earth turned into a dry brown husk, thin blades of grass poking out here and there; rupturing the surface of the earth in such a manner that Dean fully expected it to start bleeding. The sun seemed to become hotter as he trudged on, taking small sips of water from his flask so as not to waste it. The only sign of life he saw within six hours of riding was a lone horse, blind with paper thin tan skin and ribs that jutted out on either side of its body. How it came to be upon that plain Dean couldn’t fathom-from what he could see, there seemed to be no food or water for miles around. The horse stood as if stupefied, a grotesque parody of a fine creature, and Dean wondered what evil the poor beast must have done to end up in such a godforsaken place as this.
The journey was affecting him, affecting his mood. He’d started out with hope, but this had slowly spiralled into despair the farther he’d travelled. He reasoned that it was probably a trick of the mind, the merciless landscape causing him to doubt himself and his abilities. He paused for a moment, closing his eyes from the unrelenting sun, and thought back to Castiel once more.
This time they were gathered around a table with the other Knights and Childes. It was Gabriel’s birthday, and they were having a feast. Food, wine and beer were flowing freely, and everyone was in extremely high spirits. Suddenly Gabriel stood up, climbed on top of the table and started to speak, thanking everyone for coming and joining him in this celebration.
“And now, I’d like to dance!” he’d exclaimed, before dancing his way from one end to the other, right in front of King Michael, who just looked on, smiling. Dean had turned to see Castiel burying his head in his hands. “Don’t worry, Cas. He’ll be feeling it in the morning.”
“That’s if he still has his head after this,” Castiel had groaned. “Why, why did they give him wine? He never has a good reaction to drink…it brings out his worst traits.”
“The rest of the table don’t seem to think so. Look, they’re laughing.” It was true; the rest of the Knights were clapping and cheering Gabriel on as he performed. Presently he came to Castiel, grabbing his hand and making to pull him up onto the table. Castiel pulled back, shaking his head, but then Dean slapped him on the back and said, “Go on, live a little.” With that, he had allowed himself to be pulled up onto the table and spun around by Gabriel.
Dean watched as Castiel was twirled around and around, a smile breaking out on his face. Soon he was laughing, jumping around with Gabriel, throwing his head back and practically howling with mirth when Gabriel tripped over, falling face first into an apple pie. There were tears in Castiel’s eyes, glistening as they ran down his flushed face; Dean had never seen him so happy, so relaxed, so beautiful.
Dean shook himself of the thought, gave Impala a light nudge, and continued on his way. Two hours passed, and still there was nothing to see but barren plains. Impala had slowed to a regular clip clop clip clop, Dean rocking back and forth with her movements. The motion was so relaxing, Dean found himself dozing off, only to open his eyes with a start when he realised what he was doing. As he looked ahead, his eyes caught something in the distance.
A river. Definitely a river, directly crossing his path. He urged Impala to go faster, to get closer to the river. So the old man was telling the truth; he had taken the right path.
As he came closer, he saw that though the river was fairly small, the current was fast, almost violent. The water frothed and foamed as it ran its course, swirling over large rocks that jutted out from the surface. Along its banks were men, bent double and drinking from the water. They were all old, and thin, and possessed such haggard faces Dean assumed they had lived all their lives on this plain, beaten and burnt by the unrelenting sun. Their features were sharp, skin stretched thinly over bony skulls, so much so Dean imagined he could see sunlight passing through them, picking out thin trains of veins and arteries like some grotesque cartographer drawing a map of the earth’s surface in blood and flesh.
They were moaning loudly, splashing the water over themselves as if in some kind of fit. As Impala halted at the riverbank, Dean stared at the other side, knowing instinctively that he needed to cross, needed to get to the other side and continue on his way. He took a sip of water, and ate a piece of bread in the hope it would give him the quick burst of energy he needed to cross to the other side. The moans of the men and the rushing of water were filling his ears, and Impala started to step from side to side, agitated and restless. Dean knew he couldn’t ride her to the other side, so he figured he would have to wade and swim across instead. The thought of what lay under those currents made him shiver.
Castiel had always been the better swimmer. When they were younger, playing in the lake, he would always beat Dean in a race to the shore. Dean, ever the sore loser, would demand to fight and Castiel always agreed, always let him win. His slim, light frame cut through the water like a knife while Dean, heavier set though powerful, always seemed to struggle slightly. It was probably the only thing Castiel could do better than him, he mused, knowing that Castiel wouldn’t set foot in the river. He’d say it was unclean, filled with disease. He was always so careful.
Was. Dean shook himself. Since when did he talk about Castiel in the past tense? Castiel was alive; even Pamela had said the King of Elfland wouldn’t harm him because he needed him as a bargaining tool. Most likely, he expected King Michael to come and rescue one of his faithful followers, and would probably demand some portion of the Kingdom. It was the way things were; Kansas was constantly under threat from neighbouring Kingdoms, but given that its Knights were so highly skilled, no one had managed it thus far. Obviously new methods were being tried now, with kidnap and blackmail being the favorite. Well, Dean thought, they hadn’t reckoned on the determination of one Childe Winchester.
He dismounted, taking a firm grip of Impala’s reins and leading her forward, her hooves entering the water with a splash. As he looked down, he imagined the water to be clear instead of the muddy filth it actually was. Grotesque images came to his mind of bodies lying still, quiet, deep below the water, skin worn away by the merciless current. He shivered and shook himself, blinking to reveal the muddy brown of the river, and stepped in.
It was cold, so cold. The water swirled around him, the current threatening to knock him over and take him with it down the river. He daren’t look down for fear of seeing bodies, facings contorted into a scream as he stepped on then. He pulled Impala’s reins, and plunged his sword into the riverbed to steady himself. All the while, his eyes were trained on the opposite shore, looking neither left nor right nor down, just straight ahead. Castiel’s words, spoken as they fought not two days ago when Dean had been set on a simple Quest, echoed in his head. “Keep your eyes forward. Don’t get distracted. Keep focussed on your goal.”
“Eyes forward,” he whispered to himself as he moved, “No distractions. Focus.” He plunged his sword into the water to feel his way and froze as a horrified shriek sounded across the river. He lifted the sword out, and found the end to be bloody. He still didn’t look down, convincing himself that it was merely a water-rat he had speared and not a person lying below the surface. Impala reared at the sound, and he pulled on the reins, trying desperately to calm her down. They were nearly there, nearly at the other side. “Focus,” he panted to himself, getting his own thoughts under control before continuing.
Before long, he reached the other side and heaved himself out of the water. Impala mounted the bank easily and they both stood there, staring across the other side of the river. The men were still there, still moaning and throwing water over themselves. Dean shivered, shook himself, and led Impala forward. He was too heavy to ride her, his clothes wet and cold from the river. The sun was warm, though, and he knew his clothes would dry in no time so long as he continued walking.
As he looked ahead of him he saw a circle of men completely oblivious to his presence. Their eyes were completely black, and they were fighting each other with hands and feet, sticks and swords. They were shouting and yelling, spilling blood yet none of them seemed to go down, no one seemed to die. As Dean looked to the sandy ground, he couldn’t see any footprints leading to the circle, and noticed the men were not making any impression in the ground they stood upon.
Dean shook himself again, thinking that his eyes must be deceiving him. He had been travelling for a long time, and realised he hadn’t yet stopped properly to take some substantial food or water. As he rounded the circle, continuing on his way while the apparitions still fought each other, he managed to find a broken down cart, the wood bleached almost white in the unrelenting sun. He sat down, leaning his back up against it, and ate some bread and cheese, drinking some water while Impala ate. He felt better, much better for having eaten, and resolved to make regular stops in future. He couldn’t have his mind playing tricks on him, not in Elfland. His wits had to be sharp if he had any hope at all of rescuing Castiel.
He imagined Castiel now, telling him off. The thing about Castiel was, he was a tactician. His skills with a sword were great, but no match for how he could plan a battle, right down to minute detail. When they had been on long journeys, the rest stops were always meticulously timetabled, something which annoyed Dean greatly. Dean had always been an on the hoof kind of guy, able to adapt and improvise but also prone to making silly mistakes because of forgetting important details. It was why they made such a good team; Castiel could plan, Dean could execute and adapt if need be. Out of all the other Knights and Childes, everyone knew what a formidable team they made, and it was why Dean had been secretly dreading getting a Quest, finding his True Love and having his friendship fade into the background. He’d made a pact with himself that that wouldn’t happen, that his True Love, by her very nature, had to understand the relationship between him and Castiel. It was something that went beyond friendship.
And how he wished Cas was here now, telling him what needed to be done. Stupid man, with his stupid, noble heart, giving himself up selflessly to save his nephew. It was typical of him, and it was why Dean admired him, respected him, loved him.
Dean let out a body-shuddering sigh. He did indeed love Castiel; had done for years. Everything they had shared throughout their lives, the way they stuck together through thick and thin, the way they laughed, comforted each other, the longing looks between them…it all meant something, at least to Dean. The time spent away from him, thinking constantly about him, missing him with a burning passion, physically aching at the thought of him in the Tower…it was like a hole had been burned straight through his heart. The only thing that made him carry on, that forced him to go further, was the thought of those blue eyes smiling at him, grateful for having been rescued.
Yes, he loved him. It might not have been the True Love as defined by a Quest, but it was love all the same. He wouldn’t have given up his Quest if he didn’t. He would fight to the death if it meant he could save Castiel, if he could see him smile just one more time.
He stood up, and with renewed vigour coupled with dry clothing, he packed away his things and mounted Impala, setting off with increased speed. He would carry on through and get to Elfland as soon as he could. No more time would be spent meandering along, imagining things that weren’t there, letting his mind play tricks on him. The King of Elfland was widely said to be a tricky customer, and Dean needed his mind to be sound if he had any hope of beating him. The only thing that could save Castiel was beating the King at his own game, and Dean needed all of his strength and his wits to do it.
The grass grew plentiful the farther Dean travelled, until he came across a large patch of ground covered in tree stumps. He supposed it must have been a wood at some point, felled by whatever creatures inhabited Elfland to build their dwellings, without them having the sense to plant more. The air grew colder as he continued along his way, the soaring temperatures and dryness of the other side of the river giving way to moist air and cloud cover. Dean welcomed the coolness, as it made the journey more bearable and stopped his mind from playing tricks on him in the heat. Impala grunted as she walked, the ground seemingly getting spongier as she walked until it gave was to marshland, cattails sticking up everywhere. It was difficult to navigate, as every time Impala took a step she sank a few inches into the ground.
They continued on, water splashing around Impala’s hooves as she navigated through the marshes and onto drier, more solid ground. The ground turned from green to red, indicating the presence of clay underfoot . Still they continued, with Dean determined to make Elfland before the day was out. Next came sand, heavy, again difficult to navigate, and Dean had to stop a few times to give Impala a rest and some water. It was usual to have so much different terrain in such a short space of time, and Dean began to feel like he was in some kind of alternate land, a land that didn’t follow the rules of normality anymore, that could twist and turn in the blink of an eye, leading the weary traveller to his death if he wasn’t careful.
It was something he hadn’t considered when he’d started the journey, that his life could potentially be in danger. His one overriding through had been Castiel, and Castiel’s safety. Nothing else mattered to him. He’d been told by his father that he had the tendency to be reckless, to jump without looking, place himself in unnecessary danger because he never thought of the consequences. This was different, however, because the thought of Castiel trapped in that that tower consumed everything. He had to free him, had to make sure he was ok.
The sandy ground seemed to sprout patches of grass and moss, marking the earth like curious green boils. As he stared ahead, he could see a lonely tree, an oak perhaps, hundreds of years old. Its trunk was gnarled and twisted, seemingly broken apart into two huge branches with no leaves. Through the middle was a huge split in the trunk, revealing a hollow blackness inside. It looked like some grotesque mouth, open in fear and warning any traveller not to go any further, that death could lie ahead. Dean shivered, ignoring it and cursing his own mind for even contemplating the possibility
On they travelled, and Dean felt Impala begin to slow. He himself felt weary, the monotonous movement of his horse, the endless blue sky making his eyes grow heavy. The sun was setting now, a bright golden hue that deepened to orange, then red as it dipped lower in the sky. He felt his eyes closing, when a noise to his left suddenly set his nerves on fire. A huge black bird, possibly a crow but Dean couldn’t be sure, swept near him. It was so close, Dean was sure he felt the wind from the beating of its wings against his skin. He watched as it flew into the sunset, straight ahead of him, and he somehow had the compulsion to follow it. He didn’t know why, but something in the back of his mind told him it was the right thing to do, and he was following the correct path.
As he looked up, he noticed with surprise that there were mountains ahead of him, in the distance. It was as though they’d crept up on him all of a sudden, taken him by surprise. As he moved closer, the mountains grew, with more mountains seemingly popping up from nowhere until he felt completely surrounded, stuck in a large valley with no way out. He halted Impala and dismounted, looking all around to try and get his bearings. He felt completely lost, unable to see any way out of his, watching as the last sliver of the light from the sun slowly disappeared behind the oppressive wall of mountains. He walked around the valley he found himself in, one, twice, three times, not caring that he walked widdershins, not caring what could happen to him. As far as he was concerned he was hopelessly lost, trapped with no way out, his love stuck in the Tower with no hope of rescue. He had failed, and he hadn’t even had a chance to fight.
“Come here!” he screamed, his voice echoing around the valley. “Come here, King of Elfland! Show your face! Get out here and fight fair. Only a coward hides in the dark!”
Nothing. Silence.
He closed his eyes and sighed. It was hopeless.
Suddenly Impala snorted, shifted from hoof to hoof, and he opened his eyes to see what was worrying her. He looked forward, noticing two misshapen hills to the left of his vision that he felt sure were not there before. He motioned for Impala to start walking towards them, having a curious feeling that they weren’t quite what they seemed. As he got closer, he noticed a small gap in the middle of them, the size and shape of a door. On he travelled, as if some unknown force was pulling him towards the gap. There was light at the other side of it, and as he walked through the small cavern, it was as though he had passed through the two hills, and out the other side.
It was another valley, but littered with huts and dwellings , not desolate like the one before. Every bone in Dean’s body screamed at him that this was Elfland, this was the place he had been searching for. He lifted his head to scan the horizon and there, bathed in the last glimmer of sunlight from the setting sun, was a tall, round building with a single window at the top. Dean took in a deep breath, trying to contain his relief.
He’d found it. He’d finally found the Tower.
He wanted to cry out, whoop for joy at finally being victorious, at finding the Tower and the precious life that lay inside it. It was all he could do not to charge at it, waving his sword at anyone who dared cross his path and not stopping until he had Castiel safe. He managed to contain himself, reason telling him that he’d travelled a long way, it was dark, and he was tired. He should find somewhere safe to bed down, away from prying eyes and dangerous hands, and sleep until morning. From what Pamela had told him, he would need all of his wits about him if he were to survive Elfland and save Castiel.
He managed to find a suitable place to sleep -an area of woodland just on the outskirts of Elfland, thick, dense trees hiding his whereabouts. He ate what he could from his food stash, before bedding down for the night under the watchful eye of Impala.
As he dozed, entering that strange, twilight world between wakefulness and sleep, his thoughts again turned to Castiel. Only one person knew how he really felt about Castiel and that was Sam. Sam had just become a Knight, having returned from his Quest with his True Love, a beautiful maiden by the name of Jessica. Dean had been happy, ecstatic even at the thought of his little brother finally becoming a Knight, and at such a young age too. Sam was about to be married, which led to a drunken evening of them talking about their feelings, celebrating Sam’s last night as a single man. He remembered how Sam’s eyes had shone when he spoke of Jess, knowing that she was the right one, his True Love, and that he was going to spend the rest of his life with her. Dean was happy for him, truly happy for him, yet this happiness amplified his own feelings of how he and Cas could never be.
It didn’t work that way for a Childe. Every Childe had a Quest, and every time they found their True Love. It just happened, had always happened, would always happen. True Love didn’t train with you, didn’t conspire with you at the back of Chivalry class to put ants in the tutor’s underwear; didn’t spend hours sitting with you in your room, talking about hopes and fears for the future. From what he’d heard, when you met your True Love you knew in your heart that it was right; you didn’t pine for years after you realised your feelings. True Love reciprocated, and apart from the glances they shared, the small touches of hands, brushes of fingers against fingers, Dean couldn’t say that Castiel reciprocated his feelings at all. As far as he knew, Castiel saw him as his best friend, his closest ally, and nothing more.
Sam must have sensed his bitterness, because he had asked him. And Dean, emboldened by drink and moroseness, told him. He’d never forget Sam’s words, not to his dying day: “Maybe, maybe you’re not like everyone else. Maybe your Quest is to find a way to be truly happy. If that involves Cas, then so be it.”
Dean couldn’t go into the many ways that statement was wrong; he’d just shaken his head and downed more ale. The next day, he’d shrugged it off and he and Sam never spoke about it again, despite the many glances Sam threw his way when he was with Cas. When his Quest came through, it was proof enough that he and Cas were never truly meant to be.
And yet here he was, having thrown away his only chance at becoming a Knight, just to save his friend. Someone who meant more to him that anything, besides Sam, and someone he would gladly lay down his life for.
The King of Elfland wouldn’t know what hit him.
With that thought, Dean drifted off to sleep. He slept lightly, senses trained for anything unusual, ready and waiting if something came looking for him. Pamela’s words echoed round his head, speak to no one, don’t eat or drink anything, chop off their heads. It all sounded so simple.
Onward to Chapter Three