[SPN] FIC: Meant To Be Known 1/2
So Supernatural has eaten my brain again. Yay! Feels a bit odd to be playing in a fandom like this - quite different from my usual fare. Having fun, though! This was written for the AU/Fusion Challenge over at deancastiel and originally posted there. This thing is about 11,700 words long! How the hell did that happen??
Title: Meant To Be Known 1/2
Rating: R-ish? Maybe? But only because of Dean's mouthiness.
Genre and/or Pairing: AU/Fusion Challenge, basically gen but hints at future Dean/Castiel
Spoilers: none
Warnings: none
Summary: Written for the AU/Fusion Challenge, AU prompt #108: Castiel is a spirit/monster/god living on a mountain. Dean nails the daughter/sister/wife of someone influential in a nearby town who makes out like Dean has offended Castiel by his actions and must be sacrificed for atonement. Castiel doesn't actually care about the townspeople that much but he likes Dean and keeps him as his bride. I interpreted it rather liberally. Hope it's still enjoyable!
Hi! Um. Despite lurking 'round here for the last couple of months, this is the first time I've contributed anything. This challenge response is also the first time I've attempted to write Supernatural fic. (It also turned out to be the longest thing I've ever written. By far.) Comments are very welcome. I'd love to know what you thought.
Thanks go out to:
1) The mods at deancastiel for working so hard to create and maintain such an active, welcoming comm. You ladies are wonderful and so is this place!
2) seryan, my fannish partner in squee and longwinded analysis. Also the person that held my hand throughout wails of Oh my GOD! What was I thinking, signing up for this?! and But my idea is crap and I can't DO this! until I sucked it up and wrote the damn story.
3) Whatever wonderful person submitted the prompt that grabbed hold of my brain, without which I may never have been prodded into actually writing. I couldn't ignore the idea it sparked. Sorry it didn't end up being as crackily flufftastic as your prompt!
4) awakencordy, whose fanmix We All Need Saving introduced me to the song of the same name by Jon McLaughlin, which provided the title for this story. I don't think I commented when I grabbed the fanmix and I'm sorry about that.
Meant To Be Known
"It cannot be tolerated! Such disrespect - such brutish behaviour - is a slap in the face to all good folk who dwell here!"
Everything would have been fine if the guards had just arrived a few minutes later, Dean fumed silently as he shifted his weight. He'd been having a fantastic day right up until the damn guards had come charging into the room. A town festival in full swing meant happy people, lots of food and all sorts of fun diversions. When Sam decided to stay behind at the inn - he'd muttered something about resting up and Dean hadn't been about to complain if Sam was finally going to catch up on some much needed sleep - Dean hadn't even had to worry about keeping an eye on his little brother. That turned out to be a good thing, since it left Dean free to pursue his own entertainment.
"He has stolen the fruits of your labour. He has defiled our wives, our daughters with his lustful advances!"
Dean snorted as the mayor's ranting hit a new pitch. What had gone on between him and the ladies at the festival hadn't been anything more than good-natured flirting. Admittedly, what had happened with that gorgeous redhead who'd taken him back to her room at the inn was an entirely different story but she'd been the one flashing him hot-eyed invitations from across the tavern. Dean smirked to himself at the memory. She'd lived up to every promise her smile had made, even the really dirty ones. Too bad she'd turned out to be the mayor's daughter.
Sam is going to have my balls for this, Dean sighed to himself. He could just hear what his brother would have to say about the mess Dean had landed himself in this time. Yeah, okay, if he'd kept it in his pants then he wouldn't be on display in front of a far-too-entertained crowd while their asshole of a mayor screeched on about what a useless excuse for a human being Dean was but it wasn't like she'd told him who she was, or that her father was crazy. Next time, he resolved, he'd just leave and skip the lengthy goodbyes. No last kiss was worth getting nabbed by overenthusiastic guards, no matter how grateful or thorough a kiss it was.
"We cannot allow such an insult to our town's patron to go unpunished! Only by sacrificing the offender can we make reparation for the liberties he has taken!"
Wait, what?
"'Sacrificing?' What do you mean, sacrificing?" Dean demanded, twisting around to glare at the mayor. The guards yanked him back into place as the crowd burst into excited chatter.
The mayor gave him a thin-lipped smile and lifted a wickedly curved knife from the velvet-draped table on his dais. "You will be sacrificed to the spirit that watches over our town," he told Dean, with a smile that was entirely too smug for his outrage to be sincere. "After we remove your corrupting influence, he will bless us with his favour."
Another flurry of noise erupted from the crowd as the mayor tugged sharply at the fabric over the table, cloth falling away to reveal a white stone altar. Dean's eyes went wide at the sight. Large, elaborately carved stone altars were never a good sign in situations like these. Dean was inclined to be skeptical about patron spirits - he'd dealt with more than his fair share of spirits over the years and none of them had been particularly protective - but a little thing like nonexistence wouldn't keep people from sacrificing him to a superstition.
"Come on, now. I don't really think all of this is necessary," Dean began, plastering as charming a smile as he could manage onto his face.
He lifted his hands in a placating gesture, using the movement to surreptitiously test the guards' grip on his arms. The situation wasn't any more in his favour than it had been back at the inn but there was no way was he going to just stand here and let himself be led to the slaughter. A sharp twist with his full weight behind it was enough to catch the men to either side of him off guard and break their hold on him. Pain exploded in his head before he'd taken a full step however, sending him crashing to his knees. Vision fogging over, Dean was only dimly aware of the hands that latched onto his arms and dragged him over to and then onto the stone block.
Awareness flooded back the second Dean came into contact with the cool stone of the altar. He arched away reflexively, eyes flying open at the unmistakable sensation against his back. Of the two of them, Sam was the one who had a head for magic but encounters over the years had granted Dean enough familiarity to recognize it when he felt it. Whatever else this altar was, it was more than just dead stone and that wasn't a terrifically comforting thought. Dean grit his teeth and tried to ignore the way his skin was crawling. He had more immediate problems to worry about at the moment.
"Let this be a lesson to all of those who would violate the peace of our town, who would try to steal our good fortune for their own!" the mayor was announcing grandly as he took up a position beside the stone, gesturing dramatically with the knife as the crowd called its approval.
Dean struggled weakly against the hands holding him down, spitting curses at the men surrounding him. Panic was starting to creep up his spine, carried on that weird hum of magic, and he couldn't look away from the glint of the knife.
"If nothing else, it ought to be an effective lesson for you," the mayor gloated under his breath, smirking openly, and Dean really wished he could at least get loose long enough to punch the son of a bitch.
Actually, really wouldn't complain about any kind of getting loose just now.
The guards seemed to be pretty determined to hold him down and Dean couldn't pull free, despite some fairly desperate attempts. His ears were still ringing from the blow he'd taken and he could barely hear the speech the mayor was making as he raised the knife high. It wasn't that he minded missing whatever insincere, insane prayer the man was spouting but he thought that if his head was going to give him trouble, he might as well just pass right out. If he wasn't awake enough to do something to stop the knife from coming down, it didn't seem fair that he had to watch anyway.
It took a moment to realize that the sound wasn't entirely in his head.
It was a thin, high-pitched buzz and it was getting louder. A couple of the guards were grimacing and he could see one man wince and hunch his shoulders against the sound. The mayor was reacting too, face creasing with dismay as he raised his free hand to the side of his head.
"What manner of attack is this?" he shouted, finally dropping the knife as he clapped both hands tightly over his ears.
"How the fuck should I know?" Dean yelled back. "It's your crazy magic rock!"
By this point, the sound was nearly overwhelming and his captors were more worried about their ears than with trying to restrain Dean. Free to move again, he tried to turn over and get his feet under him. With everyone incapacitated by whatever magic was rolling off of the altar, this was his chance to escape. He ordered himself to ignore the pain, to get up and move, but it felt like there were spikes being driven into his head and he ended up curled on his side on the stone, completely helpless as the power inside it surged under him. He was starting to wonder how much worse it could get; it already felt like his head was going to explode. It was almost a relief when the world flared white and took him with it.
*****
When Dean blinked himself awake, he found himself looking up at a dimly-lit stone ceiling. He stared at the rough rock over him, puzzled. Something wasn't right about that, he mused. He squinted at the rough ceiling, prodding his sluggish brain for an explanation. What the hell was he doing out in a cave?
Memory hit with the force of a troll's fist and Dean sat up so fast that the world spun around him. Setting his jaw, Dean breathed through the dizziness, waiting until his vision steadied before chancing another look around. His first confused impression had been fairly accurate, he saw; he was in some kind of cave. It was a good-sized cavern and Dean wasn't convinced it was natural. The ceiling was rough enough to seem unfinished but the floor looked too smooth and there were loops and lines carved into the walls. It was hard to make out any details, since the only available light was the fading sunlight from the open mouth of the cavern. It was only when he swung his legs around to slide down to the floor that Dean noticed what he'd been lying on. At the sight of white marble underneath him, he pushed away from the stone violently enough that he overbalanced and nearly sent himself tumbling to the floor.
What the hell...?
It looked just like the stone altar he'd almost been sacrificed on, right down the carved designs. Dean hadn't had a chance to inspect the stone in town but what were the odds of two similar chunks of rock being involved in something like, well, whatever the hell was going on without those stones being connected somehow? The thing looked harmless enough now, gleaming in the reddish light, but there had to be some kind of heavy-duty power at work here. Even now, there was a faint tang of it in the air, humming quietly at the edge of Dean's awareness. Maybe the town's claim of a patron spirit wasn't as crazy as Dean had thought.
Dean huffed an irritated sigh and glared at the stone, uneasy and totally confused. "None of this is making any goddamn sense," he grumbled. He'd never heard of anything like this happening and he'd heard a lot of stories about screwy magic and screwier spirits. Sam knew even more stories than Dean did but then, Sam wasn't here to ask. In fact, Dean didn't exactly know where "here" was, which could make getting back to his brother a challenging task.
"Time to go," he decided aloud, backing a few steps away from the copy of the altar. He could worry about figuring out what this place was when he was safely out of it. Tearing his eyes away from the ominous white stone, Dean turned on his heel and headed for the entrance. Dread pooled in his stomach when the buzzing noise he'd heard back in the town square started up again after he'd only managed a few strides.
"Shit," he muttered, lunging for the exit but it was too late. Between one breath and the next, the sound reached the same shrieking intensity as before and his vision faded out in a wash of white.
*****
This time he woke up staring at the floor, cheek pressed uncomfortably against the coarse rock.
So much for getting out of here, he thought as he rolled over onto his back and waited for his head to stop swimming.
"Enough with the magic-enforced naps, already!" he groaned, scrubbing one hand over his eyes as he pulled himself upright. He didn't know how long he'd been unconscious this time but it had been long enough that the last of the sunlight had died away. For all the power still lingering in the place, it was almost completely black inside.
"Damn, it's dark in here," he muttered, only to swallow a yelp when light abruptly flashed around the entire cavern. "Okay, thanks. Now it's really fucking bright," he growled, eyes narrowed to slits against the sudden glare.
To Dean's relief, whatever had conjured this light didn't lead to unconsciousness. He waited another few moments, braced for some new attack, but nothing burst into flame or exploded or cursed him or any other kind of magical nastiness which was a very welcome change in the way his luck had been going. When his eyes had adjusted to the new brightness, he was able to see that the light was streaming from a line of sigils tracing their way around the edges of the cavern. That gave him a bit of a turn at first but he relaxed when the symbols did nothing more alarming than glow. Magical light, he could deal with.
He examined the carvings on the wall but he couldn't read any of the symbols. They seemed kind of familiar but they weren't anything he recognized offhand and he couldn't put his finger on what they reminded him of. The bright ones were cool to the touch and shone steadily even when he poked at them so Dean was content to stop worrying about them and take a closer look at the rest of the place. He prowled around the room, careful to give the entrance a wide berth. Beyond confirming his initial impressions, he wasn't able to learn much more. The ceiling was unworked rock, the floor had been smoothed somehow and the walls were covered with carvings of those familiar-but-not symbols. That left one more place to check.
Unfortunately, it wasn't any help. The symbols on the marble were the same as the symbols on the walls. Still naggingly familiar, still unreadable. Eventually, Dean gingerly laid a hand on it, hoping to provoke something but it didn't react at all to his touch. Despite knowing better, he couldn't help but feel a bit irrationally disappointed when it didn't automatically send him back.
"Wonderful," he complained. "Of course it's not as easy as that." He kicked the stone in frustration. "Fanfuckingtastic."
Giving up on the altar, Dean started pacing anxiously around the cave. It didn't help him figure out what the hell he was going to do but it did help burn off some restlessness. Eventually tiring, he put his back to a patch of wall and slid to a seat on the floor, careful to position himself so that he could keep an eye on the entrance to the cavern and the marble altar. Neither one proved particularly interesting to watch. After what felt like hours of silent observation, Dean had gone from worrying about what he was going to do to starting to wonder if it was actually possible for someone to be bored to death.
With a frustrated sigh, Dean started patting himself down. The guards had searched him before dragging him off to see the mayor but they hadn't been thorough and Dean knew they'd missed a few things. They'd taken his large knives but they'd overlooked the silver dagger at his back and the iron one in his boot. Better yet, Dean was pretty confident that they'd also failed to spot his cards. Not altogether surprising, as his cards were about as normal as everything else in his life and they were picky about who touched them. Sure enough, the cloth-wrapped bundle was still in his pocket and Dean drew it out with a small sound of triumph. They might not solve his larger problems but Dean could use a bit of entertainment just now.
Shuffling the deck, he laid out one of the simpler one-handed games he knew and let the cards distract him. When he got tired of losing, he cheated. When he got tired of that, he switched games. A little while later, he'd given up on games altogether and was trying to remember what an old girlfriend had taught him about fortune telling. He wasn't sure he remembered enough to give it a go and besides, if his fortune was going to come up as some variation of "you're screwed," he wasn't sure he wanted to know.
"Hello," a voice suddenly rasped from a few feet away.
Dean was on his feet before he thought and spun to face the speaker, hand flashing to the knife concealed at his back even as the cards fluttered around his feet.
"Who are you?" he demanded, falling into a defensive stance.
The guy didn't look all that impressive. Maybe an inch or two shy of Dean's own height, definitely more slightly built. Weird clothes, messy brown hair. No visible weapons. Also possibly lacking self-preservation instincts, given his complete lack of concern for Dean's knife as he looked curiously at the cards scattered on the floor. When he looked up from the cards, Dean's breath caught. He'd never seen anything like this man's eyes.
"I am Castiel," he replied simply.
"Castiel, huh?" Strange name for a very strange guy. Dean's hand tightened on the hilt of the knife, his mind working furiously as he waited to see what this Castiel would do. Appearing the way he had out of nowhere in a place brimming with power, linked to rumors of a powerful spirit and hosting some kind of old artifacts, there had to be something supernatural about him. As solid and as obviously alive as he was, he was no spirit or ghost but that left a whole list of things he could be and looks were often deceiving. Dean licked his lips nervously and took a chance. "Hi, Castiel. I'm Dean."
"Dean," Castiel repeated, like he was tasting the name.
"Yeah, uh. Nice to meet you. I guess," Dean muttered uncomfortably. He resisted the urge to glance away. Castiel seemed pretty harmless so far but there was definitely something not quite right about this guy.
"It is nice to meet you," Castiel agreed.
Dean blinked at the evident sincerity in the statement. Castiel was staring openly, impossibly blue eyes wide and wondering. He was looking at Dean like Dean was something amazing and Dean...didn't really know how to handle that. Coming to a decision, Dean sheathed the knife and let the tense readiness drain out of his muscles. What in the nine hells are you doing? shrieked the voice of reason but Dean ignored it with the ease of long practice. Whoever - or whatever - Castiel was, he could have attacked Dean already if that was what he'd wanted. For all that there was something about him that terrified Dean, he didn't get the sense that Castiel intended to hurt him and Dean made it a practice to trust his instincts.
"Well then, Castiel, come on and pull up some floor," he invited with a wave, almost laughing when the comment earned him a deeply confused look. He demonstrated by sitting down himself and watched as Castiel took a few cautious steps forward before easing himself to the floor. He moved like someone who was deliberately reminding himself of how to move, Dean noted uneasily. Demons didn't move like that, he knew. They took to human skins like fish to water.
But it never hurts to check.
"Christo," he said under his breath, relieved when Castiel's eyes stayed clear. He did look awfully startled, though. Dean quickly forced a laugh and waved it off. "Don't mind me. Just, y'know, talking to myself."
Castiel hesitated, then nodded acceptance. He watched silently as Dean gathered his cards, wordlessly handing him a few that had fallen out of reach. Dean reassembled his deck without comment, flicking a few curious glances at Castiel as he did. He settled himself with his back to the wall, legs stretched out in front of him. A safe distance away, Castiel sat stiffly and his rigid posture looked so uncomfortable that Dean wanted to wince.
Not the talkative type, are you? Guess that leaves me with the burden of conversation.
Luckily, years of travel with his often morose brother had turned Dean into a master of filling uncomfortable silences.
"So how'd you get here?" he asked casually, idly shuffling the cards.
Castiel seemed surprised by the question. When Dean glanced over at him, his brow was furrowed in apparent thought. "I'm bound here," he finally answered. "I've been here a long time."
Dean pursed his lips in a low whistle. "Shit. And I thought I was in deep." A chill worked its way down his spine when he realized that he might well be in that deep, what with his complete failure to find a way out. "Uh, how long is 'a long time?'"
Castiel tipped his head to the side as he considered. "Close to four thousand years," he replied.
"Shit," Dean hissed though his teeth. "That is a really long time." The thought of being stuck like this for that long was horrifying. Four thousand years in one place? Dean hadn't lived in one place longer than a few months at a time since he was a kid. He swallowed hard and tried to push down the fear that was rising in his throat.
"Listen, I don't really know how I got here or what happened but I'm having some trouble leaving. So what are the chances that I'm, uh, bound too?" he forced himself to ask.
Castiel immediately shook his head and his prompt response made it easier for Dean to breathe again. "Your situation is different. You were brought here from somewhere else. Not placed here."
"Well, that's good to know," Dean told him, while thinking, Does that mean you were placed here? He couldn't quite bring himself to ask.
Castiel gave him a faint smile before his eyes went from sympathetic to penetrating in a heartbeat.
"What happened to bring you here?" he asked. Dean fought the urge to squirm under that intent, unblinking stare.
"Told you, I don't know," Dean told him honestly. "We - that's me and my brother - were visiting this town, Greenlyn, and I kinda made some people mad. So they decide to sacrifice me to some spirit watching over the town, only when they try to stab me, I end up here. That's it." He shrugged.
"You made them angry enough to sacrifice you?" Castiel seemed a bit shocked.
"Hey, I didn't do anything wrong! Not really," Dean protested. "And I sure as hell didn't deserve to be gutted for it!"
"Of course you didn't," Castiel responded, sounding surprised, like the idea had never occurred to him.
Okay, Dean might have squirmed then. Just a little bit. He really wished Castiel would stop staring at him like that.
"Why were you visiting this Greenlyn?" Castiel wanted to know.
"No special reason. We were passing through the area and we needed to stop for a bit. It was supposed to be a nice town," Dean replied offhandedly. "My brother and I do a lot of travelling. We're hunters," he added, by way of explanation.
Castiel lifted an almost skeptical eyebrow. "Hunters?" He lowered his gaze to Dean's hand, the ring on his finger, before lifting again to rest heavily on the amulet that hung around Dean's neck. Dean kept his expression calm but was impressed and a little bit worried. Not many people knew enough to recognize the truth behind his simple-looking jewelry at a glance. "You must hunt exotic game, then," Castiel commented.
"Yeah, I guess you could say that," Dean said, smiling wryly.
Anyone could bring down some rabbits and deer to supplement their dinner table. It took a different breed of hunter to kill the monsters that roamed the countryside. Claiming bounties on them was a fairly decent way to make a living, if you had good reflexes, knew how to use a weapon and didn't mind travelling a lot. The really special monsters, the magical ones, were more of a challenge. More than fast reflexes and a strong sword arm were needed to hunt those critters. Unfortunately, far fewer cash rewards were given out, given the general attitude towards magic these days.
"There're some pretty nasty things out there," he said with a shrug. "Someone's got to stop them." Even if most of the rest of the world either doesn't know or pretends they don't exist.
"That's true," Castiel replied quietly, dropping his eyes to his hands, folded tightly together in his lap.
Silence fell between them for a moment, both lost in their own thoughts.
"So..." Dean drawled into the quiet. Castiel lifted his head and looked a question at him. "You play cards?" He held up his deck.
Castiel blinked. "Ah, I don't really know any games," he admitted apologetically.
Dean grinned. "Not to worry. I know all sorts of games. I'll teach you."
He ignored Castiel's vague protest and somewhat bewildered expression, dealing out a pair of hands and speaking over his confused objections. "It's easy. See, we each get five cards..."
He'd just coaxed Castiel through his first hand of poker when he thought he heard his name being called. He looked up from the cards and turned his head towards the mouth of the cave.
"Hey," he said to Castiel, "did you hear - ?"
"Dean!" The voice was faint but familiar and he was sure he'd heard right that time.
"Sam?" he called back, climbing to his feet. "Sam!"
Castiel rose with him, looking alarmed as he followed him across the room. "What is it?"
"It's my brother. He's here. I don't know how the hell he managed it but he's here," Dean explained hurriedly. "Sam!" he shouted, as he halted a few feet away from the entrance. "Over here!"
"Dean!" he heard Sam yell, relief clear in his voice. "Hang on, I'm on my way over!"
"Not going anywhere, Sam!" he assured him, feeling Castiel hovering at his shoulder as he waited impatiently.
He couldn't see much from his position inside the opening in the rock but he kept scanning the line of trees in his sight. Within a few minutes, he could hear the crashing sound of someone travelling at speed through the underbrush. Sam broke through shortly after and Dean went a bit wobbly with relief. It was really good to see his brother again, safe and in one piece. With Sam here, Dean was sure they'd find some way to get him out. Not that he was going to admit to anything like that.
"What took you so long?" he shouted as Sam rushed over.
He could practically hear Sam's eyes rolling from where he stood. "You look like you did well enough without me," he retorted, slowing to a walk. "Actually, you're looking pretty good, considering," he said as he came close enough to get a better look. His eyes flicked over Dean's shoulder to where Castiel still stood. "And making new friends, too."
"You know me, Sam. I love meeting new people," Dean responded with a wide, cheesy smile.
"Yeah, I noticed that back in town," Sam said, eyes narrowing for a second before he let it go. "Well, if you and your new friend have had enough of roughing it, maybe we could get out of here?"
"Yeah, about that..." Dean said uncomfortably.
"What? What's wrong?" Sam asked, spine stiffening in sudden alarm. "Dean?" He hurried forward.
"Stop right there," Dean called sharply, startling Sam into obedience. "That's far enough."
"Far enough?" he repeated as he froze, safely out of range. "What are you talking about?"
"Well, there's this little problem," Dean began, scratching the back of his head as he quickly explained what had happened the last time he tried to walk through the entrance.
Sam shook his head. "Damn it, Dean," he sighed. "How do you get yourself into crap like this? Oh, wait, I know. It's because you can't stop-"
"Come on, Sam," Dean cut in hastily. "Can't we save this until after we find a way to get me out of the magical cave?"
Dean was pretty sure that whatever Sam was muttering under his breath wasn't complimentary but he dropped the topic and that was good enough for Dean.
"All right, fine," Sam said irritably. "Move out of the way and let's get started." He gestured at Dean to let him through as he made to walk into the cavern.
"No!" Dean pointed a finger at Sam. "You stay where you are."
Sam gave him a disbelieving look. "You've got to be kidding."
"Anything but. You're staying out there."
"Like hell I am."
Dean scowled. "Well, you're not coming in here. I'm already stuck in here!"
"You don't even know what'll happen if I walk in there," Sam pointed out.
"And we've got no reason to risk it," Dean replied tightly.
The brothers glared at each other while Castiel looked between them uncertainly.
Sam finally sighed heavily and crossed his arms. "If you seriously think I'm just going to stand here and wait, you're out of your mind," he told Dean heatedly.
"Damn it, Sam! Stay away!" Dean snapped. "This is no time for you to get stupid and reckless on me!"
"Me? Reckless?" Sam snorted. "You're a fine one to talk."
Dean recognized that stubborn look and he was having none of it. "Sammy, no. This is not up for discussion. I need you out there-"
"Doing what?" Sam demanded. "Being out here isn't exactly helping me fix the problem!"
"Better than having you stuck in here!" Dean shot back, taking a thoughtless step closer as he saw Sam set his jaw.
It was one step too far. Aw, not again, Dean thought at the almost familiar burst of light and sound.
"Dean!" he heard faintly as everything went white and then black.
*****
(Split into two parts due to length. Part the second is here.)
Title: Meant To Be Known 1/2
Rating: R-ish? Maybe? But only because of Dean's mouthiness.
Genre and/or Pairing: AU/Fusion Challenge, basically gen but hints at future Dean/Castiel
Spoilers: none
Warnings: none
Summary: Written for the AU/Fusion Challenge, AU prompt #108: Castiel is a spirit/monster/god living on a mountain. Dean nails the daughter/sister/wife of someone influential in a nearby town who makes out like Dean has offended Castiel by his actions and must be sacrificed for atonement. Castiel doesn't actually care about the townspeople that much but he likes Dean and keeps him as his bride. I interpreted it rather liberally. Hope it's still enjoyable!
Hi! Um. Despite lurking 'round here for the last couple of months, this is the first time I've contributed anything. This challenge response is also the first time I've attempted to write Supernatural fic. (It also turned out to be the longest thing I've ever written. By far.) Comments are very welcome. I'd love to know what you thought.
Thanks go out to:
1) The mods at deancastiel for working so hard to create and maintain such an active, welcoming comm. You ladies are wonderful and so is this place!
2) seryan, my fannish partner in squee and longwinded analysis. Also the person that held my hand throughout wails of Oh my GOD! What was I thinking, signing up for this?! and But my idea is crap and I can't DO this! until I sucked it up and wrote the damn story.
3) Whatever wonderful person submitted the prompt that grabbed hold of my brain, without which I may never have been prodded into actually writing. I couldn't ignore the idea it sparked. Sorry it didn't end up being as crackily flufftastic as your prompt!
4) awakencordy, whose fanmix We All Need Saving introduced me to the song of the same name by Jon McLaughlin, which provided the title for this story. I don't think I commented when I grabbed the fanmix and I'm sorry about that.
Meant To Be Known
"It cannot be tolerated! Such disrespect - such brutish behaviour - is a slap in the face to all good folk who dwell here!"
Everything would have been fine if the guards had just arrived a few minutes later, Dean fumed silently as he shifted his weight. He'd been having a fantastic day right up until the damn guards had come charging into the room. A town festival in full swing meant happy people, lots of food and all sorts of fun diversions. When Sam decided to stay behind at the inn - he'd muttered something about resting up and Dean hadn't been about to complain if Sam was finally going to catch up on some much needed sleep - Dean hadn't even had to worry about keeping an eye on his little brother. That turned out to be a good thing, since it left Dean free to pursue his own entertainment.
"He has stolen the fruits of your labour. He has defiled our wives, our daughters with his lustful advances!"
Dean snorted as the mayor's ranting hit a new pitch. What had gone on between him and the ladies at the festival hadn't been anything more than good-natured flirting. Admittedly, what had happened with that gorgeous redhead who'd taken him back to her room at the inn was an entirely different story but she'd been the one flashing him hot-eyed invitations from across the tavern. Dean smirked to himself at the memory. She'd lived up to every promise her smile had made, even the really dirty ones. Too bad she'd turned out to be the mayor's daughter.
Sam is going to have my balls for this, Dean sighed to himself. He could just hear what his brother would have to say about the mess Dean had landed himself in this time. Yeah, okay, if he'd kept it in his pants then he wouldn't be on display in front of a far-too-entertained crowd while their asshole of a mayor screeched on about what a useless excuse for a human being Dean was but it wasn't like she'd told him who she was, or that her father was crazy. Next time, he resolved, he'd just leave and skip the lengthy goodbyes. No last kiss was worth getting nabbed by overenthusiastic guards, no matter how grateful or thorough a kiss it was.
"We cannot allow such an insult to our town's patron to go unpunished! Only by sacrificing the offender can we make reparation for the liberties he has taken!"
Wait, what?
"'Sacrificing?' What do you mean, sacrificing?" Dean demanded, twisting around to glare at the mayor. The guards yanked him back into place as the crowd burst into excited chatter.
The mayor gave him a thin-lipped smile and lifted a wickedly curved knife from the velvet-draped table on his dais. "You will be sacrificed to the spirit that watches over our town," he told Dean, with a smile that was entirely too smug for his outrage to be sincere. "After we remove your corrupting influence, he will bless us with his favour."
Another flurry of noise erupted from the crowd as the mayor tugged sharply at the fabric over the table, cloth falling away to reveal a white stone altar. Dean's eyes went wide at the sight. Large, elaborately carved stone altars were never a good sign in situations like these. Dean was inclined to be skeptical about patron spirits - he'd dealt with more than his fair share of spirits over the years and none of them had been particularly protective - but a little thing like nonexistence wouldn't keep people from sacrificing him to a superstition.
"Come on, now. I don't really think all of this is necessary," Dean began, plastering as charming a smile as he could manage onto his face.
He lifted his hands in a placating gesture, using the movement to surreptitiously test the guards' grip on his arms. The situation wasn't any more in his favour than it had been back at the inn but there was no way was he going to just stand here and let himself be led to the slaughter. A sharp twist with his full weight behind it was enough to catch the men to either side of him off guard and break their hold on him. Pain exploded in his head before he'd taken a full step however, sending him crashing to his knees. Vision fogging over, Dean was only dimly aware of the hands that latched onto his arms and dragged him over to and then onto the stone block.
Awareness flooded back the second Dean came into contact with the cool stone of the altar. He arched away reflexively, eyes flying open at the unmistakable sensation against his back. Of the two of them, Sam was the one who had a head for magic but encounters over the years had granted Dean enough familiarity to recognize it when he felt it. Whatever else this altar was, it was more than just dead stone and that wasn't a terrifically comforting thought. Dean grit his teeth and tried to ignore the way his skin was crawling. He had more immediate problems to worry about at the moment.
"Let this be a lesson to all of those who would violate the peace of our town, who would try to steal our good fortune for their own!" the mayor was announcing grandly as he took up a position beside the stone, gesturing dramatically with the knife as the crowd called its approval.
Dean struggled weakly against the hands holding him down, spitting curses at the men surrounding him. Panic was starting to creep up his spine, carried on that weird hum of magic, and he couldn't look away from the glint of the knife.
"If nothing else, it ought to be an effective lesson for you," the mayor gloated under his breath, smirking openly, and Dean really wished he could at least get loose long enough to punch the son of a bitch.
Actually, really wouldn't complain about any kind of getting loose just now.
The guards seemed to be pretty determined to hold him down and Dean couldn't pull free, despite some fairly desperate attempts. His ears were still ringing from the blow he'd taken and he could barely hear the speech the mayor was making as he raised the knife high. It wasn't that he minded missing whatever insincere, insane prayer the man was spouting but he thought that if his head was going to give him trouble, he might as well just pass right out. If he wasn't awake enough to do something to stop the knife from coming down, it didn't seem fair that he had to watch anyway.
It took a moment to realize that the sound wasn't entirely in his head.
It was a thin, high-pitched buzz and it was getting louder. A couple of the guards were grimacing and he could see one man wince and hunch his shoulders against the sound. The mayor was reacting too, face creasing with dismay as he raised his free hand to the side of his head.
"What manner of attack is this?" he shouted, finally dropping the knife as he clapped both hands tightly over his ears.
"How the fuck should I know?" Dean yelled back. "It's your crazy magic rock!"
By this point, the sound was nearly overwhelming and his captors were more worried about their ears than with trying to restrain Dean. Free to move again, he tried to turn over and get his feet under him. With everyone incapacitated by whatever magic was rolling off of the altar, this was his chance to escape. He ordered himself to ignore the pain, to get up and move, but it felt like there were spikes being driven into his head and he ended up curled on his side on the stone, completely helpless as the power inside it surged under him. He was starting to wonder how much worse it could get; it already felt like his head was going to explode. It was almost a relief when the world flared white and took him with it.
*****
When Dean blinked himself awake, he found himself looking up at a dimly-lit stone ceiling. He stared at the rough rock over him, puzzled. Something wasn't right about that, he mused. He squinted at the rough ceiling, prodding his sluggish brain for an explanation. What the hell was he doing out in a cave?
Memory hit with the force of a troll's fist and Dean sat up so fast that the world spun around him. Setting his jaw, Dean breathed through the dizziness, waiting until his vision steadied before chancing another look around. His first confused impression had been fairly accurate, he saw; he was in some kind of cave. It was a good-sized cavern and Dean wasn't convinced it was natural. The ceiling was rough enough to seem unfinished but the floor looked too smooth and there were loops and lines carved into the walls. It was hard to make out any details, since the only available light was the fading sunlight from the open mouth of the cavern. It was only when he swung his legs around to slide down to the floor that Dean noticed what he'd been lying on. At the sight of white marble underneath him, he pushed away from the stone violently enough that he overbalanced and nearly sent himself tumbling to the floor.
What the hell...?
It looked just like the stone altar he'd almost been sacrificed on, right down the carved designs. Dean hadn't had a chance to inspect the stone in town but what were the odds of two similar chunks of rock being involved in something like, well, whatever the hell was going on without those stones being connected somehow? The thing looked harmless enough now, gleaming in the reddish light, but there had to be some kind of heavy-duty power at work here. Even now, there was a faint tang of it in the air, humming quietly at the edge of Dean's awareness. Maybe the town's claim of a patron spirit wasn't as crazy as Dean had thought.
Dean huffed an irritated sigh and glared at the stone, uneasy and totally confused. "None of this is making any goddamn sense," he grumbled. He'd never heard of anything like this happening and he'd heard a lot of stories about screwy magic and screwier spirits. Sam knew even more stories than Dean did but then, Sam wasn't here to ask. In fact, Dean didn't exactly know where "here" was, which could make getting back to his brother a challenging task.
"Time to go," he decided aloud, backing a few steps away from the copy of the altar. He could worry about figuring out what this place was when he was safely out of it. Tearing his eyes away from the ominous white stone, Dean turned on his heel and headed for the entrance. Dread pooled in his stomach when the buzzing noise he'd heard back in the town square started up again after he'd only managed a few strides.
"Shit," he muttered, lunging for the exit but it was too late. Between one breath and the next, the sound reached the same shrieking intensity as before and his vision faded out in a wash of white.
*****
This time he woke up staring at the floor, cheek pressed uncomfortably against the coarse rock.
So much for getting out of here, he thought as he rolled over onto his back and waited for his head to stop swimming.
"Enough with the magic-enforced naps, already!" he groaned, scrubbing one hand over his eyes as he pulled himself upright. He didn't know how long he'd been unconscious this time but it had been long enough that the last of the sunlight had died away. For all the power still lingering in the place, it was almost completely black inside.
"Damn, it's dark in here," he muttered, only to swallow a yelp when light abruptly flashed around the entire cavern. "Okay, thanks. Now it's really fucking bright," he growled, eyes narrowed to slits against the sudden glare.
To Dean's relief, whatever had conjured this light didn't lead to unconsciousness. He waited another few moments, braced for some new attack, but nothing burst into flame or exploded or cursed him or any other kind of magical nastiness which was a very welcome change in the way his luck had been going. When his eyes had adjusted to the new brightness, he was able to see that the light was streaming from a line of sigils tracing their way around the edges of the cavern. That gave him a bit of a turn at first but he relaxed when the symbols did nothing more alarming than glow. Magical light, he could deal with.
He examined the carvings on the wall but he couldn't read any of the symbols. They seemed kind of familiar but they weren't anything he recognized offhand and he couldn't put his finger on what they reminded him of. The bright ones were cool to the touch and shone steadily even when he poked at them so Dean was content to stop worrying about them and take a closer look at the rest of the place. He prowled around the room, careful to give the entrance a wide berth. Beyond confirming his initial impressions, he wasn't able to learn much more. The ceiling was unworked rock, the floor had been smoothed somehow and the walls were covered with carvings of those familiar-but-not symbols. That left one more place to check.
Unfortunately, it wasn't any help. The symbols on the marble were the same as the symbols on the walls. Still naggingly familiar, still unreadable. Eventually, Dean gingerly laid a hand on it, hoping to provoke something but it didn't react at all to his touch. Despite knowing better, he couldn't help but feel a bit irrationally disappointed when it didn't automatically send him back.
"Wonderful," he complained. "Of course it's not as easy as that." He kicked the stone in frustration. "Fanfuckingtastic."
Giving up on the altar, Dean started pacing anxiously around the cave. It didn't help him figure out what the hell he was going to do but it did help burn off some restlessness. Eventually tiring, he put his back to a patch of wall and slid to a seat on the floor, careful to position himself so that he could keep an eye on the entrance to the cavern and the marble altar. Neither one proved particularly interesting to watch. After what felt like hours of silent observation, Dean had gone from worrying about what he was going to do to starting to wonder if it was actually possible for someone to be bored to death.
With a frustrated sigh, Dean started patting himself down. The guards had searched him before dragging him off to see the mayor but they hadn't been thorough and Dean knew they'd missed a few things. They'd taken his large knives but they'd overlooked the silver dagger at his back and the iron one in his boot. Better yet, Dean was pretty confident that they'd also failed to spot his cards. Not altogether surprising, as his cards were about as normal as everything else in his life and they were picky about who touched them. Sure enough, the cloth-wrapped bundle was still in his pocket and Dean drew it out with a small sound of triumph. They might not solve his larger problems but Dean could use a bit of entertainment just now.
Shuffling the deck, he laid out one of the simpler one-handed games he knew and let the cards distract him. When he got tired of losing, he cheated. When he got tired of that, he switched games. A little while later, he'd given up on games altogether and was trying to remember what an old girlfriend had taught him about fortune telling. He wasn't sure he remembered enough to give it a go and besides, if his fortune was going to come up as some variation of "you're screwed," he wasn't sure he wanted to know.
"Hello," a voice suddenly rasped from a few feet away.
Dean was on his feet before he thought and spun to face the speaker, hand flashing to the knife concealed at his back even as the cards fluttered around his feet.
"Who are you?" he demanded, falling into a defensive stance.
The guy didn't look all that impressive. Maybe an inch or two shy of Dean's own height, definitely more slightly built. Weird clothes, messy brown hair. No visible weapons. Also possibly lacking self-preservation instincts, given his complete lack of concern for Dean's knife as he looked curiously at the cards scattered on the floor. When he looked up from the cards, Dean's breath caught. He'd never seen anything like this man's eyes.
"I am Castiel," he replied simply.
"Castiel, huh?" Strange name for a very strange guy. Dean's hand tightened on the hilt of the knife, his mind working furiously as he waited to see what this Castiel would do. Appearing the way he had out of nowhere in a place brimming with power, linked to rumors of a powerful spirit and hosting some kind of old artifacts, there had to be something supernatural about him. As solid and as obviously alive as he was, he was no spirit or ghost but that left a whole list of things he could be and looks were often deceiving. Dean licked his lips nervously and took a chance. "Hi, Castiel. I'm Dean."
"Dean," Castiel repeated, like he was tasting the name.
"Yeah, uh. Nice to meet you. I guess," Dean muttered uncomfortably. He resisted the urge to glance away. Castiel seemed pretty harmless so far but there was definitely something not quite right about this guy.
"It is nice to meet you," Castiel agreed.
Dean blinked at the evident sincerity in the statement. Castiel was staring openly, impossibly blue eyes wide and wondering. He was looking at Dean like Dean was something amazing and Dean...didn't really know how to handle that. Coming to a decision, Dean sheathed the knife and let the tense readiness drain out of his muscles. What in the nine hells are you doing? shrieked the voice of reason but Dean ignored it with the ease of long practice. Whoever - or whatever - Castiel was, he could have attacked Dean already if that was what he'd wanted. For all that there was something about him that terrified Dean, he didn't get the sense that Castiel intended to hurt him and Dean made it a practice to trust his instincts.
"Well then, Castiel, come on and pull up some floor," he invited with a wave, almost laughing when the comment earned him a deeply confused look. He demonstrated by sitting down himself and watched as Castiel took a few cautious steps forward before easing himself to the floor. He moved like someone who was deliberately reminding himself of how to move, Dean noted uneasily. Demons didn't move like that, he knew. They took to human skins like fish to water.
But it never hurts to check.
"Christo," he said under his breath, relieved when Castiel's eyes stayed clear. He did look awfully startled, though. Dean quickly forced a laugh and waved it off. "Don't mind me. Just, y'know, talking to myself."
Castiel hesitated, then nodded acceptance. He watched silently as Dean gathered his cards, wordlessly handing him a few that had fallen out of reach. Dean reassembled his deck without comment, flicking a few curious glances at Castiel as he did. He settled himself with his back to the wall, legs stretched out in front of him. A safe distance away, Castiel sat stiffly and his rigid posture looked so uncomfortable that Dean wanted to wince.
Not the talkative type, are you? Guess that leaves me with the burden of conversation.
Luckily, years of travel with his often morose brother had turned Dean into a master of filling uncomfortable silences.
"So how'd you get here?" he asked casually, idly shuffling the cards.
Castiel seemed surprised by the question. When Dean glanced over at him, his brow was furrowed in apparent thought. "I'm bound here," he finally answered. "I've been here a long time."
Dean pursed his lips in a low whistle. "Shit. And I thought I was in deep." A chill worked its way down his spine when he realized that he might well be in that deep, what with his complete failure to find a way out. "Uh, how long is 'a long time?'"
Castiel tipped his head to the side as he considered. "Close to four thousand years," he replied.
"Shit," Dean hissed though his teeth. "That is a really long time." The thought of being stuck like this for that long was horrifying. Four thousand years in one place? Dean hadn't lived in one place longer than a few months at a time since he was a kid. He swallowed hard and tried to push down the fear that was rising in his throat.
"Listen, I don't really know how I got here or what happened but I'm having some trouble leaving. So what are the chances that I'm, uh, bound too?" he forced himself to ask.
Castiel immediately shook his head and his prompt response made it easier for Dean to breathe again. "Your situation is different. You were brought here from somewhere else. Not placed here."
"Well, that's good to know," Dean told him, while thinking, Does that mean you were placed here? He couldn't quite bring himself to ask.
Castiel gave him a faint smile before his eyes went from sympathetic to penetrating in a heartbeat.
"What happened to bring you here?" he asked. Dean fought the urge to squirm under that intent, unblinking stare.
"Told you, I don't know," Dean told him honestly. "We - that's me and my brother - were visiting this town, Greenlyn, and I kinda made some people mad. So they decide to sacrifice me to some spirit watching over the town, only when they try to stab me, I end up here. That's it." He shrugged.
"You made them angry enough to sacrifice you?" Castiel seemed a bit shocked.
"Hey, I didn't do anything wrong! Not really," Dean protested. "And I sure as hell didn't deserve to be gutted for it!"
"Of course you didn't," Castiel responded, sounding surprised, like the idea had never occurred to him.
Okay, Dean might have squirmed then. Just a little bit. He really wished Castiel would stop staring at him like that.
"Why were you visiting this Greenlyn?" Castiel wanted to know.
"No special reason. We were passing through the area and we needed to stop for a bit. It was supposed to be a nice town," Dean replied offhandedly. "My brother and I do a lot of travelling. We're hunters," he added, by way of explanation.
Castiel lifted an almost skeptical eyebrow. "Hunters?" He lowered his gaze to Dean's hand, the ring on his finger, before lifting again to rest heavily on the amulet that hung around Dean's neck. Dean kept his expression calm but was impressed and a little bit worried. Not many people knew enough to recognize the truth behind his simple-looking jewelry at a glance. "You must hunt exotic game, then," Castiel commented.
"Yeah, I guess you could say that," Dean said, smiling wryly.
Anyone could bring down some rabbits and deer to supplement their dinner table. It took a different breed of hunter to kill the monsters that roamed the countryside. Claiming bounties on them was a fairly decent way to make a living, if you had good reflexes, knew how to use a weapon and didn't mind travelling a lot. The really special monsters, the magical ones, were more of a challenge. More than fast reflexes and a strong sword arm were needed to hunt those critters. Unfortunately, far fewer cash rewards were given out, given the general attitude towards magic these days.
"There're some pretty nasty things out there," he said with a shrug. "Someone's got to stop them." Even if most of the rest of the world either doesn't know or pretends they don't exist.
"That's true," Castiel replied quietly, dropping his eyes to his hands, folded tightly together in his lap.
Silence fell between them for a moment, both lost in their own thoughts.
"So..." Dean drawled into the quiet. Castiel lifted his head and looked a question at him. "You play cards?" He held up his deck.
Castiel blinked. "Ah, I don't really know any games," he admitted apologetically.
Dean grinned. "Not to worry. I know all sorts of games. I'll teach you."
He ignored Castiel's vague protest and somewhat bewildered expression, dealing out a pair of hands and speaking over his confused objections. "It's easy. See, we each get five cards..."
He'd just coaxed Castiel through his first hand of poker when he thought he heard his name being called. He looked up from the cards and turned his head towards the mouth of the cave.
"Hey," he said to Castiel, "did you hear - ?"
"Dean!" The voice was faint but familiar and he was sure he'd heard right that time.
"Sam?" he called back, climbing to his feet. "Sam!"
Castiel rose with him, looking alarmed as he followed him across the room. "What is it?"
"It's my brother. He's here. I don't know how the hell he managed it but he's here," Dean explained hurriedly. "Sam!" he shouted, as he halted a few feet away from the entrance. "Over here!"
"Dean!" he heard Sam yell, relief clear in his voice. "Hang on, I'm on my way over!"
"Not going anywhere, Sam!" he assured him, feeling Castiel hovering at his shoulder as he waited impatiently.
He couldn't see much from his position inside the opening in the rock but he kept scanning the line of trees in his sight. Within a few minutes, he could hear the crashing sound of someone travelling at speed through the underbrush. Sam broke through shortly after and Dean went a bit wobbly with relief. It was really good to see his brother again, safe and in one piece. With Sam here, Dean was sure they'd find some way to get him out. Not that he was going to admit to anything like that.
"What took you so long?" he shouted as Sam rushed over.
He could practically hear Sam's eyes rolling from where he stood. "You look like you did well enough without me," he retorted, slowing to a walk. "Actually, you're looking pretty good, considering," he said as he came close enough to get a better look. His eyes flicked over Dean's shoulder to where Castiel still stood. "And making new friends, too."
"You know me, Sam. I love meeting new people," Dean responded with a wide, cheesy smile.
"Yeah, I noticed that back in town," Sam said, eyes narrowing for a second before he let it go. "Well, if you and your new friend have had enough of roughing it, maybe we could get out of here?"
"Yeah, about that..." Dean said uncomfortably.
"What? What's wrong?" Sam asked, spine stiffening in sudden alarm. "Dean?" He hurried forward.
"Stop right there," Dean called sharply, startling Sam into obedience. "That's far enough."
"Far enough?" he repeated as he froze, safely out of range. "What are you talking about?"
"Well, there's this little problem," Dean began, scratching the back of his head as he quickly explained what had happened the last time he tried to walk through the entrance.
Sam shook his head. "Damn it, Dean," he sighed. "How do you get yourself into crap like this? Oh, wait, I know. It's because you can't stop-"
"Come on, Sam," Dean cut in hastily. "Can't we save this until after we find a way to get me out of the magical cave?"
Dean was pretty sure that whatever Sam was muttering under his breath wasn't complimentary but he dropped the topic and that was good enough for Dean.
"All right, fine," Sam said irritably. "Move out of the way and let's get started." He gestured at Dean to let him through as he made to walk into the cavern.
"No!" Dean pointed a finger at Sam. "You stay where you are."
Sam gave him a disbelieving look. "You've got to be kidding."
"Anything but. You're staying out there."
"Like hell I am."
Dean scowled. "Well, you're not coming in here. I'm already stuck in here!"
"You don't even know what'll happen if I walk in there," Sam pointed out.
"And we've got no reason to risk it," Dean replied tightly.
The brothers glared at each other while Castiel looked between them uncertainly.
Sam finally sighed heavily and crossed his arms. "If you seriously think I'm just going to stand here and wait, you're out of your mind," he told Dean heatedly.
"Damn it, Sam! Stay away!" Dean snapped. "This is no time for you to get stupid and reckless on me!"
"Me? Reckless?" Sam snorted. "You're a fine one to talk."
Dean recognized that stubborn look and he was having none of it. "Sammy, no. This is not up for discussion. I need you out there-"
"Doing what?" Sam demanded. "Being out here isn't exactly helping me fix the problem!"
"Better than having you stuck in here!" Dean shot back, taking a thoughtless step closer as he saw Sam set his jaw.
It was one step too far. Aw, not again, Dean thought at the almost familiar burst of light and sound.
"Dean!" he heard faintly as everything went white and then black.
*****
(Split into two parts due to length. Part the second is here.)