Fic: Strange Tilts of Fate [3/5]

[dehavilland]

Part Three

There’s warm breath hovering just over his mouth when Dean starts to regain consciousness. A kiss, maybe? Or an almost-kiss. He’s halfway to tilting his chin forward to try and lure whoever it is in closer when the pumping pressure against his chest resumes and makes his ribs groan painfully under the strain. As much as he wants to push the hands away, he can’t quite seem to find the energy to move his own. Body jerking and bouncing under each heave on his sternum, the lips find their way to his and a warm breath of air forces its way down his throat and into his lungs.

“It’s not working - move over!” The breath is cut short suddenly and Dean’s aware of something throwing the weight against his chest off balance and then there’s a new set of hands on him, pumping furiously but without the rhythm and finesse of before, a new set of lips against his own, awkward and slippery and yeah, that’s enough of that.

He sits up, spilling the watery contents of his stomach onto the sandy beach next to him, heaving until his lungs finally feel clear. When he’s done, he becomes vaguely aware of the fact that Chuck is hovering over him worriedly. Oh, fuck. Really?

To the side, Castiel is on his knees as well and Dean has his suspicions regarding who the first person trying to resuscitate him had been.

Wiping a shaky arm across his lips, he shoots Chuck an annoyed look. “Not necessary.”

Although hurt washes across the mage’s face, there’s relief on Castiel’s and the angel’s there immediately, helping him to sit up, taking it slow when Dean’s ribs protest the movement. And damn, he hopes nothing’s been cracked or broken in there, because wouldn’t that just be the end all this whole adventure. “He saved your life, Dean.”

“Well,” Chuck ducks his head, “You’re the one who dragged him in.”

And with those words, Dean’s world tilts more fully into perspective. Chuck and Castiel are both sopping wet and the familiar sight of Castiel’s heavy silver shoulder guards is gone. Lost, no doubt, somewhere between shore and sinking ship, since that’s definitely solid, firm ground underneath him now. “Are we - ”

“Still in Terra. Just north of the border to Infernum.”

“Oh.” Good. He’d thought for a moment there that they might have ended up in Purgatory and he can’t think of a worse place than that at the moment. Other than back on deck.

A quick scan of the water yields no sign of the vessel.

“Did we lose anyone?” The words come out almost unbidden. It’s not something he wants to hear, but it’s something he needs to know.

“We’re all accounted for,” Chuck answers for him. “Other than Crowley’s crew, everyone managed to swim to shore. We lost all our supplies though and I can’t think of how we’re going to - ” He rambles off on some supply-related tangent and Dean finds himself tuning the mage out. You win some and you lose some, he supposes, though in this case they seem to have lost an awful lot.

“The important thing is that we’re unharmed,” Castiel states calmly and Dean reckons that that thought doesn’t extend to the crew members who got crunched in the attack. “We are, however, miles from Limbus. A several days’ walk at east.”

“But probably only a few hours from that.” Becky’s standing off to the side with Balthazar and Crowley and while the sight of the pirate doesn’t exactly warm Dean’s heart, it’s probably better than him being dead. His eyes move from them to the direction that Becky’s pointing in, and sure enough, there, tucked in amongst the red stone of the cliffs rising up around them is what looks to be a lavish, white temple.

“Looks like we may have lucked out.”

The decision to head for the temple isn’t one that’s made by anyone in particular. Mutual agreement says it’s their only option and who knows, there might be horses on hand or at the very least a road to travel along.

It takes a day’s trek of scaling a thin trail leading up the cliff that has Dean’s ribs aching before they reach the building. It’s as extravagant up close as it had appeared from the beach, made more so by the fact that it’s surrounded by emptiness for as far as the eye can see. All gleaming marble and delicate carvings, the way it stands out in the wilderness like a monument built and promptly forgotten sets Dean on edge immediately.

The dirt trail they’d taken up the cliff broadens into a paved roadway and even that has his internal alarm bells ringing. The road leads up to the front entrance of the building, but narrows off into additional dirt paths along its length, splitting and veering into nothing and only about a hundred feet long in total.

“A halfway house,” Crowley states, moving forward confidently. Neither Balthazar nor Castiel seem to have any misgivings about the building themselves and Dean can see that Becky and Chuck just look relieved to not have to walk any farther.

Well, if the angels aren’t worried...

The main entrance to the place is open, completely so. A set of heavy wooden doors are held wide with a set of chains stringing from the marble wall of the temple to the large, circular iron handles set deep into each side. But despite the open doorway, the place is startlingly silent. No sign of life or movement, just a huge, empty building - to all appearances anyway.

Balthazar leads the way in, Crowley close behind and Dean finds himself following along reluctantly, his ribs still groaning from the pain. Something’s definitely been cracked or bruised back on the beach and he can feel the protesting burn with every step.

Once inside and past the doors, though, it becomes obvious that the place isn’t the empty hull that Dean had thought it was. There’s actually hundreds of people moving around inside like the temple is its own city, locked off from the rest of the world. Refugees, from the looks of it. Dean hadn’t realized the war had already displaced so many people. Probably from the towns and fishing villages here nearest the border.

A few feet ahead, Balthazar and Crowley have stopped to confer and Dean notices the possessive way that Balthazar insinuates himself between Castiel and the demon before the prince can join their conversation. Apparently the other angel doesn’t find him quite as trustworthy. Interesting.

The conversation is quickly escalating into an argument when a young woman approaches, flanked on either side by another man and woman, all three dressed in white.

“Excuse me, I don’t think we’ve been introduced.”

Balthazar and Crowley both turn immediately, but it’s Dean that she’s addressing and he turns to her, assuming her garb to be that of a priestess.

“I’m Tessa,” she smiles when he doesn’t answer her immediately, holding out a hand to him, gloved in a light, buttery leather that’s soft against Dean’s skin when he takes it in his own. He grips it for a moment and then lets it fall, not sure what exactly she’s expecting from him, but wary nonetheless. “You were on the ship?”

She doesn’t specify which one and Dean guesses it’s because she knows she doesn’t need to.

“You’re welcome here, all of you. But I must ask that you not stay long. We protect many people here and I fear that your presence would only heighten their danger. You’re being sought out.”

“We are?” Dean twists to look back at his companions, surprised by the information. Sought out by who exactly? Whatever had attacked Castiel back in Limbus? Something else?

“Three humans, a demon and a pair of angels traveling together?” She smiles and Dean catches a hint of slyness to the curve of her mouth. “Your group is a rare thing to see these days and you’ve already caught quite a lot of undesirable attention.”

His brain travels back to the fire that had started in the city square and then to the explosion that had rocked Chuck and Becky’s home, setting the building alight and simultaneously killing an entire squadron of angelic soldiers. Yeah, undesirable attention might be one way to put it.

“You’re welcome to spend the night. My father’s temple is open to all travelers, but in the morning...”

“Yeah, got it. In the morning, we’re gone.” Dean eyes the woman and takes a step back when she turns on her heel.

“Perfect. Allow me to show the six of you to your rooms. We’re willing to outfit you with supplies as necessary. Right this way, please.”

*            *            *
Castiel’s room, Dean is surprised when he finally manages to locate it in the maze of rooms that makes up the sprawling temple, is no bigger or better than his own. He’d thought that probably the angel would have some sort of palatial suite, given that he’s a prince and all, but apparently not.

He seems to be perfectly content where he is, however, sitting on the comfortable bed, back supported by the headboard. He looks up when Dean enters, head cocked to the side in confusion and expression softening at the recognition. “Dean.”

“You’re in here by yourself?” Dean’s got no qualms about barrelling into the room now that he’s found it, scanning every corner while Castiel watches mildly from the bed. He’s not sure what exactly he’s looking for, but there’s something about this place that’s too perfect, too clean, too white to be real. Something’s up.

“Who did you expect to find in here with me, Dean? I believe the rest of our companions are resting.”

Dean shrugs and drags a chair closer to the bed, the room’s only other furniture save a small desk and the neat little bedside table. “Figured Balthazar would have been watching you, right? That’s his job, isn’t it?”

“Balthazar’s not my keeper.” He’s holding some bit of paper and he sets it carefully aside lest the ink smudge. “And neither are you.” The words aren’t quite a reprimand, but Dean understands what that mild tone means.

“Your sword okay?”

Castiel’s glance skirts over to where the weapon is laid out by the foot of the bed, having been carefully towelled off. “It should survive.”

“I’m surprised it didn’t fall off.” Dean rubs a finger over the handle and jerks his hand away when the hilt seems to let out an electric buzz. The hair at the back of his neck rises.

“It didn’t want to be left behind,” the angel answers simply and Dean chooses not to question it. “I’m conducting a list of what we’re going to need when we set out in the morning.”

Dean takes a seat on the bed near him and grabs at the page, looking it over. Food, clothing. Nothing missing that he can think of. “So we’re gonna walk right into hell, huh?”

“I need to meet with my brother. It’s possible that the temple will be able to provide us with horses, but it seems unlikely.”

Dean nods. “What’s the plan once you find him, head home?”

There’s silence for a moment and Castiel takes the page back from him, folding it neatly. “I imagine I will stay at his side and fight. It is my family’s quarrel, I should do more than deliver a message and then hide... Are you worried that your father will be on the opposite side of the battlefield?”

He shrugs, fingers stretching out to play idly against the sheets.

“You... don’t think you’re going to find him.”

Dean stretches out against the bed, lying flat. All he can see of Castiel is warped, from the corner of his eye. “We’re a lot further from home than I thought we were going to be. I’m just not sure if it’s worth it, you know?”

“If it helps you,” the angel begins as though he’s not so sure that it will, “I wouldn’t have made it this far without you. If not for your intervention, I most likely would have been killed in Limbus. And what I have to say to my brother could very well sway the outcome of this war. Possibly end it faster.”

“Yeah, about that. What exactly is it you have to tell your brother?”

“I don’t know if you are fully abreast of the situation - ”

“Lucifer didn’t want to join the family business and Michael’s trying to make him?”

Castiel leans in so that he’s looking at Dean more fully, blue eyes looking almost sad. “And they’re wasting the resources and lives of three continents in order to do so. But I have four brothers.”

“Right. Gabe and Raph. Fighting for the home team, yeah?”

The prince raises his chin lightly and Dean gets the idea that maybe he’s being just a touch too familiar here. “Yes. Gabriel and Raphael. It is the latter I have a message for. There’s some concern that he’s considering joining forces with Lucifer and I’m hoping to reach him before that happens.”

“So you think you can sway him to your opinion?”

“Raphael and I are the closest in age, but he has always had much respect for Lucifer.” He reaches out to lay a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “I appreciate your coming. And the companions you’ve brought with you will prove useful before the end, I’m certain.”

Companions. Dean has to scramble before he remembers Chuck and Becky and while the thought of either of them being especially useful is a little bit on the laughable side, he nods. “You’re not exactly alone yourself, though.”

Castiel catches on to the hardness in his tone almost immediately and interprets it correctly, hand sliding away from his arm. “It has been a long time since I’ve seen Balthazar, Dean. I don’t know if he’s as I remember him or not.”

“And then there’s Crowley.”

“Yes. And then there is Crowley.”

*            *            *
The demon in question appears to not have gotten any sleep the night before, though Dean had found the bed - when he finally returned to his room after an evening spent speaking to Castiel - to be more comfortable than any he’s ever known. It’s late into the morning now and if whatever’s off about Crowley is related to a sleepless night, Dean’s got no sympathy for him.

Some of the initiates of the temple are on hand with bundles and packages and before they can so much as consider the direction they’re going to head off in, the group is simply getting ready to depart. For Chuck they’ve brought out a new set of dark mage robes, made out of some kind of heavy - hopefully fire-resistant - fabric. For Becky there’s some kind of jewelled staff, capped with a heavy blue crystal, the purpose of which Dean’s not entirely sure of.

Balthazar is outfitted with a new set of heavy leather boots and Crowley with a new array of knives.

“Where did all of this come from?” Dean can’t help but ask Tessa where the priestess is watching the distribution of the assortment of goods.

“The people who come here have no need of such things any longer. Far better they be willing to pass them along to those that do.”
For Dean there is a wool cloak with a high collar that fastens comfortably around his neck. The red cloth is far warmer than his old coat or even Sam’s old coat, probably still outfitting the scarecrow back home, could ever be.

The only member of their party who doesn’t seem to receive anything is Castiel, but the angel prince doesn’t appear to mind.

“There is food enough for almost a fortnight if rationed appropriately,” Tessa announces to them all once the individual preparations have made. The gifts from the temple are small, only one or two items to each of them, but suddenly Dean is struck with the preparedness of his friends. They’re more hardened then they had been before, more ready. To the outside observer, someone who doesn’t know of Chuck’s anxiety or Becky’s chattiness, they might think that even they are battle-hardened warriors.

Dean sneaks a sideways glance at Castiel. The prince is smiling.

“And lastly, you’ll have me as well.” Tessa’s shrugging on a thick cloak of her own before anyone can say anything to stop her. “It’s been a long time since I’ve ventured from my father’s temple. I’d like to see more of the world, if I can. Besides, I might prove useful.”

Becky’s quick to link her arm in Tessa’s, a broad grin on her face. “Good. We could use some more smart people around.”

*            *            *
As Dean had noticed on the way into the temple, the paved roadway branches off into dirt paths in several directions before ceasing to be entirely, as though the builders had simply given up. He doesn’t blame them, it doesn’t look like there’s any sign of life anywhere around for someone to notice and be in awe of the marble paving stones.

Tessa leads them to the furthest one, identifying each path as they pass it by. One is the same they had followed up the cliff, another leads around towards the back gardens, a third off to a small pond for washing and bathing. The last  she says simply leads “out.”

It’s not a difficult route by any means and Dean soon finds himself enjoying the dull plod at Castiel’s side as they move forward. The packs have been distributed so evenly that he scarcely feels the weight at his back, it’s nothing in comparison to moving two or three heavy bales of hay at the same time back home and even Cas, who he’s sure has never lifted anything heavy in his life seems to have no trouble with the leather pouch strapped to his back.

Two or three hours down the road, they break for lunch and as they eat, Tessa gestures off to the distance. “There’s two routes we can take when we reach the gorge,” she points to where the dark maw of earth is only just barely visible on the horizon, the deep crevice separating Terra from Infernum. “There used to be bridges spanning it, but they’ve long since deteriorated into nothing or been burned by the armies.”

Dean glances around to see who else is listening, but Tessa seems to be speaking only to him.

“There’s a trail that goes down to the bottom and winds its way back up on the opposite side, but it’s a difficult trek. We’d be in danger of attack from above when we scale the opposite side.”

“And the other option?”

She drags her finger to the right, levelling it at the dark peak of a distant mountain. “We can bypass the gorge completely, but it means going up instead of down.”

Dean digests this thought as Tessa goes off to join Becky and Chuck where they’re chatting with Balthazar. He doesn’t sit alone for long though, before Castiel is back at his side. He turns immediately to look at the prince. “Which would you choose?”

Castiel’s eyes are contemplative as he surveys the ground ahead of them. “There are villages on the mountain. My brother’s garrisons have been known to stop there for rest and supplies before crossing over into Infernum. It may prove to be the most hospitable route, if those families are still there and haven’t been turned by Lucifer’s own men.”

“Seems like an easy decision.”

“Is it?”

Dean shrugs and backs down after a moment, shaking his head. “Should we vote on it or something?”

“I believe the choice has been left to you and I don’t think any of our party would question your decision.”

Dean grimaces. He’s not sure when he became the de facto leader but he’s pretty certain that it’s not a role he wants to have to play. “Any chance we might meet up with your brother up there?”

“It’s possible, but that’s not something you should hinge your decision around.”

In the end, Dean decides to go with the mountain pass. In some ways he recognizes the dangers, freezing cold nights when they reach its peak, the greater likelihood of being spotted by mounted units flying past overhead. But there’s something about the great, dark crevice of earth that makes him uneasy. And perhaps when they reach the crest of the mountain they’ll be able to identify Raphael’s unit and get there more quickly. He can only hope.

It takes a full day’s walk just to make it to the base of the mountain. Chuck’s starting to flag behind and Crowley looks like he’s got a slew of complaints on the tip of his tongue, but the blaze of sunset just to the west of the mountain spurs them on the last few miles - until it becomes obvious that the bright orange glow is more than simply sunset. Something at the foot of the mountain is on fire.

“Arm yourselves,” Tessa warns, eyes on the blaze ahead of them. “It’s a village.”

She’s right, Dean realizes with horror as the smoky haze is parted enough by the occasional gust of wind to recognize a village that may very well have been sister to Lawrence on fire. There’s people here, too, racing between buildings, screaming and Dean recognizes the attackers among them.

“Which side?” He asks, twisting to face both angels and demon in the party.

“Not ours.” Balthazar’s hand, the one not clutching the hilt of his sword, is outstretched to indicate the large dark spots only partially visible through the smoke. “Those are wyverns.”

Dean immediately turns to Crowley who shrugs defensively. “Oh, right, that’s Sparky and Rover. I went to school with them. Good chaps, both of them.”

Part of Dean feels a sense of thrill at the thought of their first real engagement with the enemy, but part of him is just as nervous as Chuck looks. Around him, the angels have their swords out, Crowley the set of knives and both Tessa and Becky are wielding their sceptres like they mean business - though he suspects that Becky’s idea of business is just beating someone over the head with it - and the thought that someone could actually die right now is pushed to the back reaches of his mind

The “battle” is a lot shorter than Dean anticipated.

So short, in fact, that there isn’t one.

To all appearances, the demons caught one look at them and faltered, unsure of whether to attack or not. Dean’s not sure if some sort of message went around saying that Prince Castiel need not be harmed, or if the fact that there’s a demon in their midst is what confuses the attackers, but Crowley seems to show no remorse at all of blasting his way through them one by one.

It’s not until there’s only a handful left, unblasted by some demonic power that the bright light overhead appears and then they really lose their resolve. They’re gone by the time the archangel touches the ground, a younger angel that Dean recognizes as Inias, hot on his heels.

And oh man, please let this be Raphael.

His desperate wish is all for nothing, however. Castiel exclaims something that sounds dishearteningly like “Gabriel!” as he strides forward to greet the other angel. So much for this whole thing being over before it can really start.
“Dean!” Dean never gets a chance to join the prince as he and Balthazar go to confer with his brother, pulled aside as he is by a plaintive cry from Chuck, who somehow managed to get caught in the crossfire of battle. It doesn’t look good.

“Shit, okay, Chuck, just, right here.” Dean grabs hold of the mage’s shoulders, gently helping him to sit up against one of the boulders dotting the mountainside. There’s blood on his hands when he pulls them away. Someone’s managed to catch him with a well-placed arrow and there’s blood everywhere, staining his dark robes and leaving a sluggish trail in the grass from where he must have attempted to join his companions.

“He’s going to be okay, right?” Becky’s hovering worriedly over his shoulder and Dean wishes he could swat her away, get her out of here. He knows wounds, has seen his dad come home with his fair share, and he knows that this doesn’t look good. Especially when the shaft of the arrow breaks off in his hand, leaving the barbed point buried in his chest. He pulls his hands away at a loss.

“Chuck, I don’t - ”

“Here. Let me.” There’s a different set of hands here, now. Tessa’s smaller, slim ones, carefully taking up the place where Dean’s had been to smooth out the fabric around the edge of the arrowhead, pressing in lightly as the wound continues to bleed.

Dean lets her take over, turning to Becky. “Maybe you’d better not watch - ”

But she won’t be swayed, moving in to gently take one of Chuck’s hands in hers. “Is it that bad?”

“Yeah, it’s - ”

“He’s going to be fine.”

When Dean turns back to look at Chuck again, the barbed arrowhead is rolling between Tessa’s slim fingers, somehow removed from his skin and the wound doesn’t so much as appear to be bleeding. It’s impossible. He knows puncture wounds, knows you should never pull the arrow out lest the injury bleed out and fester

And here Chuck is, already starting to regain color in his face.

Tessa rises, letting Becky take her place to coo and fawn over Chuck, and Dean follows her when she steps away.

“That wasn’t the kind of injury that just fixes itself. What did you do?”

“I told you I might be useful.”

He surveys her, eyes catching on the staff she’s still holding idly in one hand. “You’re a healer?”

She shakes her head, bobbed hair bouncing lightly around her face. “Not exactly.”

“Then what?”

She smiles slightly, almost hesitant. “A reaper, Dean. I can heal those that my father’s not ready to take, but it’s not my true vocation.”

He takes a step back, reluctant suddenly to be within even a few feet of her. A reaper. His father’s told stories, everyone’s told stories. Beautiful, fearsome creatures that appear moments before your death, to take you to whatever lies beyond. Somehow, he never thought of them as living, breathing people.

“We’re not, exactly,” she murmurs, either having plucked the thought right out of his head or having simply intued it. “The temple you stayed at is a halfway-house for those people who are dead but haven’t yet died. Refugees from the horrors of life, ready to live the last of their days in the peace and quiet that our sanctuary can provide. That’s why you couldn’t stay and that’s why they weren’t reluctant to part with their earthly goods. Abandoning your life to live in hiding isn’t living at all.”

The words leave him with something frightening to consider, and some part of him is suddenly glad to have Tessa with them. He doesn’t bother to ask, however, if her presence indicates that someone among them is set to die. He doesn’t want to know.

“Dean!” For the second time, someone is calling out to him, but this time it’s Castiel and he’s happy to excuse himself from Tessa to join the prince where he stands with Balthazar and the other two angels. One of whom, Dean realizes, is just as royal.

“This is my brother, Gabriel.”

“Uh, hi.” He holds out his hand but Gabriel ignores it, simply offering him a grin. “Are you here with a squadron or - ”

There’s something tense about the way the archangel answers and Dean gets the idea that he’s asked the wrong question. “Just came by to check in on my youngest brother. Who shouldn’t be out alone, but well, what can you do. Don’t exactly need a full garrison of angels for that. Not when there’s fighting to be had elsewhere.”

Yeah, Dean thinks, but then why aren’t you there, too?

“Dean, Gabriel’s offered his and Inias’ company as we scale the mountain. I’ve accepted.”

“Oh, well, great,” Dean shrugs, “The more the merrier.”

*            *            *
The low rumbles of thunder trail their ascent, too low on the mountain to do much more than set an uncomfortable tension in the air. But it means that when they do break for camp, the rocky ground is dry underfoot.
Setting camp for the first evening turns out to be almost enjoyable. The angels are all well-versed in traveling through the wilderness, though with the ability to fly and move quickly, Dean has no idea why. Balthazar and Gabriel are quick to begin setting up makeshift tents from sheets of canvas that one of them has in their packs, stringing them up as tarps in diagonal fashion for the rain - if there is any - to roll off to the side. Underneath, they store packs, bedrolls, bits of armor they’ve seen fit to remove and Dean finds himself growing more at ease.

It’s kind of nice to not have to feel responsible for everything. Gabriel’s done a good job of taking over most of that for himself.

He’s watching Chuck attempt to build a fire when Castiel joins him at his side. Funny how someone who Dean’s already watched set a couple things on fire with nothing more than - presumably - a thought and a subtle hand gesture, the mage is utterly useless at something as practical as a little campfire. Dean knows he could jump in there in a second and have more success with some flint and a little tinder, but if Chuck wants to go about it magically, by all means. It’s still pretty light out, there’s no rush.

His stomach grumbles irritably and Dean amends that last thought.

“You guys really know what you’re doing, huh?” He asks when Castiel joins them. The prince smiles at him serenely and reaches to unclasp his scabbard from his belt.

“Does it seem that way? This is my first time in the field.”

Dean snorts but truthfully, he’d sort of gotten that impression already. Castiel looks just a little bit too fascinated by the workings of Gabriel and Balthazar, not unlike himself.

“We don’t usually partake in this kind of thing, but with the war on, it’s imperative to know how to survive in the wild. We lose too many of our number every day.” There’s sadness there and Dean knows he’s probably thinking back to the loss of his guardian. They’ve never really spoken about Uriel, and all Dean knows is what assumed facts he gleaned from their all-too-brief meeting. He wonders for a moment if maybe Cas wants to talk about it, but it seems likely that if he did he’d choose one of the other angels to speak with.

“Does that mean you don’t really know how to use that?” He nods, indicating the sword with a grin.

Castiel glances at it and then back up at Dean. “Would you like to try?”

He hesitates. “What?”

“Would you like to try?”

No, Cas, he got that, but really?

The angel’s eyes fall on the slight bulge at his ankles, where the imprint of the knife strapped to his calf is visible through the worn leather of his boots, and then they trail up to the sling that’s tied loosely to his hip. Peasant’s weapons, Dean realizes. Relying on what you’ve got around you to get the job done. Nothing draws attention more to this than the fact he’s using sling-and-rocks as his number one means of defence.

He squirms under the gaze, uncomfortable that Castiel’s noticed, too.

“Guess swords aren’t really a big deal where I come from.” And of course they’re not, Dean can’t think of anyone at home in Lawrence who could foot a swordsmith’s bill. Even John relies on simpler, inexpensive weaponry, throwing knives, a bow when necessary.

Castiel rises, stretching out his shoulders as he moves to where the other angels have piled up their equipment. When he returns, it’s with a second sword in his hands and Dean doesn’t miss the way Balthazar’s clear blue eyes lock on that second sword. No question of who that belongs to, then.

“Here.” The sword that Castiel passes to him is his own, to Dean’s surprise, and it’s a lot heavier than he thought it would be. At the inquisitive look, the angel carefully draws the second sword and holds it out for Dean’s inspection. “Balthazar’s would never allow you to hold it, I’m afraid. It’s somewhat picky.”

Dean doesn’t question this little bit of knowledge. Swords being picky, who knew.

“That’s a rapier,” Castiel states, indicating the one in Dean’s hand.

Rapier, he repeats to himself, examining the intricate whorls that make up the hilt, inlaid with sapphires that seem to be chosen to match its owner’s eyes. Whoever picked them didn’t do a very good job, he decides, looking back up at Cas. “And that one?”

“A sabre.”

Balthazar’s sword is a lot less showy than Castiel’s, doesn’t look like it’s in such great condition either and Dean’s struck for the first time with the fact that it’s probably a sword that sees a lot of use. That if he were to look at whatever weapon Gabriel’s wielding, or Inias or even Crowley, he’d find signs of battle.

His own knife is only a little rough around the edges from hacking at sticks to break them down for the fire.

But Castiel is watching him and Dean’s suddenly conscious of the fact that a couple of the other members of their party have eyes on him, and he grips the blade tightly in hand, facing the angel. He knows how to take a punch and models his stance after that, feet shoulder length-apart, heel of his left foot in line with the toes of his right. He keeps his shoulders and arms relaxed, minus the part where his right hand grips the hilt of Castiel’s blade.

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the angel in question murmuring something to Gabriel and he tenses, the easy stance coiling as his muscles bunch up.

“You’re holding on too tight,” Castiel’s voice is rough near his ear. At some point the angel’s come up to stand near him, Balthazar’s sword tucked into his belt so that he can rest his hands against Dean’s. Sliding his palm over the back of Dean’s hand, he arranges Dean’s fingers so that there’s only three wrapped against the hilt, letting the rest of his fingers curl naturally around the rest of the thin metal.

Extending his own arm, he straightens Dean’s out so that both arm and blade are parallel to the ground. “Your blade should always be in line with your arm.” He reaches for Dean’s wrist, bending it back into line where it curves outwards.

“Right, got it.”

The next hour is spent with Castiel basically tearing apart everything Dean ever though he knew about fighting. His stance is broken down and corrected, his arms starting to ache from being stretched out, holding Castiel’s rapier perfectly in line. It’s not until all of this has been done that Castiel even bothers drawing Balthazar’s sword and facing him and by then the rest of the party have long since grown bored and busied themselves with other tasks or companionship around the campfire that was started at some point while Dean was struggling to maintain a fencer’s stance.

“Dean?”

He looks up from the campsite, realizing that Castiel’s finally ready to let him start hacking at things, but that his own interest is starting to wane. “Sorry.”

“You’re tired, we can stop.”

He shakes his head and does an experimental lunge, thrusting Castiel’s sword forward. “Nah, I’m good.”

“Alright, then.”

Turns out, the stance of the lunge is all wrong and Dean’s nowhere near hacking anything.

*            *            *They spend another day walking and set up camp once again as dusk falls. The world around them has grown into a beautiful picturesque view of the world around them. Off in the far distance, Dean can see the white form of Tessa's temple and just beyond that a city that looks almost big enough to be Limbus. From this height it's difficult to be certain.
The trees that had flanked the mountainside as they climbed are dwindling now and they're paying much more attention to whether or not someone flying past overhead is taking notice of their presence. The angels don't seem to be particularly concerned and Dean wonders if maybe this has something to do with some kind of angel-related magic that's keeping them concealed from demonic eyes. Given what he'd seen Gabriel do earlier, it's not beyond the realm of possibility.

"Are you ready to try again?" Castiel's at his side almost as soon as they're finished setting up camp. The prince has become much better acquainted with the tasks related to preparing the campsite and he's quick to dive in alongside his brother in making the preparations. It leaves him with a bit of flush to an otherwise pale face and he's smiling when he joins Dean's side.

"Uh, yeah, let me just go grab the swords, I guess." Dean moves over towards where the angels have once again left their weapons in an easy-to-access pile and snatches up Castiel's sword as well as Balthazar's. The latter buzzes in his hands fiercely and he gets the idea that the sooner Castiel's holding it, the better.

Its owner seems just as annoyed by his presence. Balthazar's waiting for him by the weapons, eyeing Dean as he picks up both swords. "You do realize that you're only humoring him, yes?"

"What?"

"That sword of his. Castiel can't use it to in a proper battle. But we let him think so."

Dean looks down at the thin metal in his hand. The idea had occurred to him but he hadn't wanted to say anything. He's glad now that he hasn't. "So basically this whole thing is a big waste of time?"

Balthazar smiles. "It's keeping him happy."

Right, well. Dean can do that. With the swords in hand, he finally manages to progress to the part of the training where Castiel lets him start hacking at things. Except that by the angel's definition, hacking is more about lunging forward and poking holes and less about any real chopping action. He's starting to see Balthazar's point.

The thin blade would be almost useless against someone with anything bigger than it. Sort of someone else with a rapier, willing to adhere to proper duelling rules and etiquette, Castiel would be screwed in battle. It's a sobering thought and Dean hopes the angel never has to find that out first hand.

He's sweating when they finally stop and his thighs are burning painfully with the effort of step-lunge and having spent so long on bent knees. But Castiel's nowhere near finished.

The angel dips forward, arm sliding out first so that his sword is carried forward before his legs follow in a lunge. It's a move that consistently has Dean tripping over his feet. No matter how many times the prince reminds him to let his arm move forward first, the action of moving and then stabbing is instinctive and means that Castiel can parry the action every single time. It's starting to get pretty damn frustrating, too.

Castiel's form, however, is perfect. Years of training, Dean's sure, and when the angel lunges, Dean's slow on the parry, nearly finding himself impaled on the tip of the sword. Castiel's quick, though, and he moves to the side in time to spare Dean's chest, only to press himself against it instead. The lips against his own, Dean definitely wasn't expecting, and before he can even react, Castiel is gone, pulling away.

"You need to work on your defence," he states simply, gravelly, before he's sheathing Balthazar's sword and moving off towards where the rest of the group is sitting around the campfire.

Fortunately, it looks like none of them have noticed.

Dean's about to give chase, to question the action and call Cas on it, but there's some kind of commotion coming from the
north end of the campsite, where Chuck's keeping watch. The mage is pointing upwards and shouting, but the angels, as usual, don't appear to be even the slightest bit concerned. Gabriel moves to Dean's side, face tilted upwards to watch the approaching rider come in for a landing.

"We expecting company?" Dean asks him, watching as the white Pegasus is reined in moments before its hooves touch ground and it gracefully touches down against the mountainside.

"Not in particular, but it's not unwelcome." Gabriel moves forward to pat the beast's muzzle as its rider slides off of its back
gracefully. "Rachel, news from the front lines?"

The woman, because Dean realizes it's a woman even before Gabriel identifies her by name, is slim, dark-haired and clad in more armor than any of the rest of the party. She looks to be a true knight in her silver plate armor, and Dean finds himself just a little bit in awe of her presence.

"Commander," she nods, addressing Gabriel as she offers him the reins of the Pegasus. "I didn't expect you to find you here."

He lets the reins drop with a shrug and Dean’s not really all that surprised to see that the Pegasus doesn’t go anywhere. “Walk with me.” He gestures and she follows him.

Dean knows a dismissal when he sees one and the lets the two go off on their own, watching in amusement as the Pegasus actually follows. After a moment, he joins Castiel. “Who’s that?”

The prince looks up, following Dean’s gaze to where the two are conferring on the opposite side of the campsite, away from their ears. “That’s Rachel. She’s a messenger.” His eyes linger on the Pegasus, now butting its head against Gabriel.

“What?”

“That’s my brother’s Pegasus. It’s odd that he’s allowing her to use it.”

“Maybe they have a thing?”

Castiel floors him with a look that says this clearly isn’t the case. “Something must have happened to Rachel’s wings on the battlefield. It’s unlike my brother to offer his own mount, but it might explain why he’s with us and not fighting on the front lines.”

Dean nods, though this doesn’t really hold any sort of explanation for him at all. If anything, it just looks like an excuse. ‘Here, take my flying horse, I’ll just sit over here while you flit in and out of danger.’

Castiel seems to sense the thought and immediately he’s shaking his head. “It wouldn’t be like that at all, Dean. It’s unusual for an angel to trust another angel with their mount.”

“Right, wouldn’t want to end up like Balthazar.”

Castiel doesn’t respond to this and Dean realizes it was probably something of a low blow, so when the conversation shifts to include the rest of the company around the campfire, he lets it go, eyes drifting to the pair every few minutes.

They come over to join the rest of the group at the campfire before long and Rachel is quick to bow for Castiel and then greet Inias warmly. Dean doesn’t miss the way that Balthazar is ignored. “It is good to see you well, my lord.” Funny that Castiel would have a royal form of address and not Gabriel, who where older and of a higher rank would probably demand greater respect. But Dean suspects that the military element thrown in shuffles things around a little.

“Rachel, I had a favor to ask of you, if you would.”

“Anything, my lord.” She ducks her head by way of respect.

Castiel shoots Dean a sideways glance and then focuses his attention on the knight. “There’s a village just northeast of here, Lawrence. I’d like for you to head there and return with a report on a particular individual.”

Rachel raises her head, eyeing the prince with a questioning look.

“Sam Winchester. You should be able to find him there. Any report of his doings would be appreciated.”

She nods and after a few minutes of conversation with the rest of the group, she’s gone the same way she came, departed on Gabriel’s Pegasus. But all Dean can do is stare at Castiel and wonder.

First the kiss and now this?

*            *            *

The flowery aroma of the campfire is both soothing and intoxicating as it permeates the hastily constructed campsite and nearby mountainside. But it’s this scent, from whatever wood Gabriel and his cavaliers have thrown on the fire, that nearly repulses Dean from joining his companions. The cold wins out eventually and the hunter, a little light-headed from both the sickly, sweet aroma and the altitude of the mountain pass, stumbles into place next to one of his newfound friends. When he’d agreed to bypass the army-filled roads of the road around the mountain in favour of the shortcut over it, he’d thought he was getting a deal. But with numb toes and frozen fingers, his sweat-soaked hair clinging to his face despite the shivers starting to rack his body, he’d almost rather face another fight than tomorrow’s continued hike.

Yet Castiel seems completely at ease. The prince must have the stamina of a mountain goat, Dean thinks, half-jealous at his apparent lack of fatigue. He’d practically flown over the dirt path, feet seeming to barely skim the ground. He can see him now through the flames, quietly conferring with - fuck him - Balthazar.

The myrmidon’s attention is focused entirely on the prince, blue eyes appearing even eerily lighter through the campfire. Neither of them appear to have much care for Dean, Balthazar having gone so far as to establish his own campsite some metres away. The myrmidon’s pride and rivalry - although over what, Dean refuses to acknowledge - has made his association with not only Dean but their additional companions rocky at best. Rather than share space and risk having to converse with the hunter’s party, he’d built a campsite for himself, Castiel, Gabriel and Inias elsewhere.

“Dean!” Chuck, however, lacks the same reservation. He’s quick to claim a seat next to the hunter, kicking at the rocky grass to uproot the worst of the uncomfortable stones. “You look terrible.”

Dean’s face sobers and he shoots Chuck an unamused glance before throwing his hands behind his head with a sigh. “I feel terrible,” he answers, honestly, hands shaking as he holds them out to the fire. A cursory look around the camp says he’s not the only one. The group’s grown considerably since he and Castiel first set out.

He only hopes that if the division of authority and control that he expects on the horizon comes, he and Cas can keep their half of the party together. Or, more importantly, Castiel chooses to stay on his side. His face darkens as he shoots another glance in the angel’s direction.

Only Cas isn’t there.

“Hey, Chuck, did you see where - ”

“Huh?” The scholar blinks at him and Dean rolls his eyes. “Oh. Castiel? Looks like he’s gone to bed.” He points off to a bedroll set a little separate from those in main camp, but not quite so far as where Balthazar and the other angels have set up. Truthfully, it only looks like he’s that far to avoid the noise of the group around the campfire, rather than put actual distance between them. “I don’t blame him, it’s been a - ”

“Yeah, that’s great, Chuck.” He sits back against the log that’s been brought over to face the fire, attention shifting over to the rest of his party. If Castiel wants to go to bed without saying anything to him, then fine. But there’s other people around and tired as he is, Dean’s not entirely ready to crash just yet. “Sorry about this, guys.”

From where she’s sitting near the fire, Tessa snorts. “For what exactly, starting the war?”

He shoots her a grin and shrugs. “If I’d known it was gonna be so cold - ”

“Yes, and if you’d known that someone’d die on the way through the pass, you’d be apologizing then, too.” Crowley’s  gaze is sharp, something in his eyes further illuminated by the flickering firelight. “Wouldn’t you?”

Dean’s face softens and he nods. As much as the demon sets him on edge, he’s got a point. Even if the point sounds suspiciously like Crowley knows someone was going to die on the pass. Score one for his leadership, then, picking the right choice. So far.

Chuck’s not as thrilled by the comment, however. “I hardly think - ”

“He’s joking,” Becky laughs from her seat closest to the campfire. “To make Dean feel better.”

And Tessa’s nodding too now, smiling. “No one minds so much. Honestly, it’s not so bad.” Her teeth are chattering, but Dean’s nonetheless grateful for the support. Should the division of authority occur sooner rather than later, at least he knows he won’t be alone when Balthazar - and yeah, probably also Cas - parts ways.

The conversations shifts easily into some other topic, one that seems to hold the attention of most of the people around the campfire. Enough, anyway, that Dean finds himself looking back in the direction of Castiel’s bedroll rather than at the merriment around him.

He’s curled into the thin woollen blankets wrapped about him, dark hair mussed. His face has gained a few wearied lines that most people lose in sleep, but for Castiel it’s the opposite as Dean can’t remember having seen them during the day. His armour has been laid out neatly to the side, carefully canvassed against possible rain and dew, his muscles now visible through the thin blankets covering him. And - wow.

So engrossed is he, that Dean completely misses the way Tessa watches him with quiet interest, and worse, the way Crowley takes in every detail, gauging even the slightest creases to Dean’s face.

As if he’s felt the hunter’s gaze, Castiel jerks slightly, twisting in his sleep. The moment’s passed and dark blue eyes look out at the world. Dean’s quick to look away, flushing.

With a single, fluid movement, Castiel is on his feet, grabbing his armour and moving it several feet away, before doing the same with that of the party’s other armoured units. He had just lugged Gabriel’s weaponry to the large pile, when the sky lights up in a brilliant flash of light, accompanied by a low rumble of thunder.

Immediately, the amp, which had been watching in confusion, comes alive. The riders hurry to their mounts, checking tethers and calming nerves. Chuck and Inias come together to throw a tarp across Castiel’s makeshift pile of armour, and then string up four more in the nearby trees. Becky salvages the mostly-cooked rabbits from the spit, dousing the flames with a gesture, which emit a hiss and disappear. The only light left are the still burning embers, a red glow in the darkness. Even the stars have disappeared.

“Well, I think that’s it for me,” Crowley’s smooth accent breaks the silence and he moves fluidly under one of the recently strung-up tarps. “Would be nice to get to sleep before the rain st - ” He’s cut off by the sudden downpour and Dean can hear him let out a chuckle as he hurries to a tarp of his own.

Bedroll in hand, he soon finds himself next to Chuck, Becky, Tessa and Inias, who has somehow made it to their campsite in the darkness.

The pouring rain on the slanted tarp is near deafening, and there’s no attempt at conversation  as the group, although wet, settles down to sleep. Dean forgets how cold he is as exhaustion sets in once more, and wedged between Tessa and Chuck, he falls asleep.

It’s not until much later that Dean wakes. The rain’s lessened to a lighter, but still steady stream of droplets. In the quiet, he can hear Chuck’s soft breathing, and shifts to relieve the pressure of the mage’s leg jabbing into his side. On his opposite side, Inias sleeps as though strapped to a plank of wood. He’s spread nearly ramrod straight and Dean figures that all of the cavaliers sleep like that, trained for the wilderness as they are. Next to him, Tessa sleeps silently, her dark hair slept into her face. Dean half smiles at the calm sorceress’ ability to sleep so peacefully, when a fork of lightning splits the sky and a deafening rumble of thunder follows on its heels.

Dean sits up in his bedroll. No one else under the tarp had woken or so much as stirred. Another ominous rumble and he cringes. Storms aren’t so awful at home, indoors. But out here on the mountain, more or less unprotected save for a stretch of canvas strung up overhead, even he’s a little uneasy.

Plus, it’s kind of lonely. Being the only one awake and all.

“Dean?”

The hunter blinks and sure enough, there’s Castiel, dark hair wet, framing his face. In his leather jerkin he cuts an impressive figure, one that’s much more approachable than the prince he’s looked like in full battle armour since the rest of his royal party caught up and forced the protective metal on him. Dean can’t help but be reminded of how he’d looked when they’d first met, so much smaller then.

“I thought - when the storm started - that - ” He hesitates, still just shy of being fully under the tarp, eyes wide as the edge of the canvas drips steadily on him. “I should check on you.”

“Uh. Thanks. Cas.”

“May I?”

He looks nervous, but when Dean nods, visibly relaxes. Dean’s not sure what exactly the prince is planning on doing, but somewhere inside, a little part of him is hoping he’s gonna come warm up the bedroll a little bit.

He doesn’t, and although disappointed, Dean rationalizes that the limited space between Tessa and Chuck leaves little enough room for himself, let alone the prince. He does, however, slip into place behind him, resting his chin against Dean’s shoulder.

“Guess you’re the big spoon, huh? Damn, your nose is freezing, Cas.”

The angel pulls away reflexively from where he’d buried his face against the back of Dean’s neck. “My apologies, Dean.”

“No, hey, no,” The hunter’s reaching around, grabbing for him, fingers managing to catch on the prince’s hand, which is just as cold as his nose has been. “You’re like an icicle back there.” He realizes now that the prince is shivering and after a moment's maneuvering, makes room for them both to lie down between the reaper and the mage. "How's that?"

"Thank you, Dean."

Dean falls back to sleep with the angel pressed against his back.

( previous part) | ( master post) | ( next part)