[fic] Triskele - Part II (b)
"I don't think that's going to be an issue." Cas stood up and fixed his hat. "If only because I know you won't without someone here to coerce or persuade you. I'll see you in the morning, my Lord Smyth." Cas nodded to Dean, his features softened with his distance from the candles. Faster than Dean would have expected, Cas was out of the library. Whatever awkward feeling had taken residence under his diaphragm had quieted down enough, and he sighed. He didn't like that new feeling in the least, and if that was going to happen every time he was around Cas? He would have to set up some kind of perimeter to avoid it.
Sam was still asleep on the other side of the room, and so it left Dean sitting in front of his own forgotten book about deeds and lands and things he generally didn't care about. Just as Cas had, Dean slammed his book shut and piled it on top of the others he and Cas read through. He glared at the small stack, shaking his head just minutely. Nothing was going his way. Well, that was obvious, but at least something could give him a break, right?
"May I help you, Lord Smyth?"
"Huh?" Dean looked quick back to Mary. Her embroidery was again on her lap, and with all the elegance he would think of an Elizabethan woman, she stood from her seat and went to join Dean. She sat across from him, setting her work aside and pulling out a deck of cards. "Fancy a round or two, Dean? One and thirty?"
"What?" Dean sat just a bit straighter as the cards' shuffling cut into the air
"One and thirty-the game? Did you hit your head the other night? You've been a little off, lately."
Dean tried laughing it off as well as he could. "Well, it's just. Been a while since I've played any card games." For good reason, in his opinion. Last time he was made a withering old man. "And I'm tired from all this research."
Mary didn't say anything, or inquire any more of his readings; at least Dean was granted that much. She finished shuffling, and dealt out three cards to both of them before explaining the rules in a careful, but light, manner. The game was simple enough, pretty close to Blackjack, but Dean decided it would probably be a better idea to keep his mouth shut about that one. Their first couple rounds were rather quiet in terms of conversation, but any victory-shouts or moans of loss were kept to themselves so as to let Sam sleep on. (Who knew how long he'd even been in the library, or last slept?) It was when she was drawing a card that Mary asked,
"Are you set on not marrying again, Dean?"
More than startling him from some kind of trance, this question caught him completely off guard, especially when asked by his once-supposedly-dead mother. The subject itself was a bit of a shock, but the 'again' shocked him the most. He'd been married before in this universe. Well that was great. "It's just not meant for me?" he tried. "Arranged or … not." Reading his cards (an Ace of Hearts, and a 2 of Diamonds), Dean softly grunted. "I've got enough on my plate to worry about right now without worrying about marriage," he grumbled as he added a 9 of Clubs to his hand.
"Oh. Such as?" Mary asked humorously.
Dean paused, wondering how to lie without actually lying. "Well…" he began. "I have to get some things here in order, y'know? The uh, the estate." However that worked. "Something's up with Cas and I'm a little worried about the guy, so … gotta help him out." Read: Find a way to shake off the rest of what happened between them. "And of course there's Sam's wedding! Can't take that away from him, right?"
"I think I know what the issue is here." Mary played her cards, a perfect 31 and a win. "You're scared of dishonoring Cassie by remarrying."
The cards in Dean's hand crinkled in his clutch just a little. Cassie … Robinson?
"It's all right if you are, Dean, though it's important to note that you wouldn't." Mary drew her new cards and scowled down at them. Soon enough she sighed, setting them down and fixing Dean with The Mom Look. "I can't make you. Things take time, especially if they're meant to be." She grabbed Dean's hand. "Over the years, I've had to learn patience, and it's not easily come by, but it is essential. So…." She grinned. "The choice is yours, but make sure you know it's the choice you want. I'll keep your father's whims at bay as long as I can. As for Castiel, he'll be fine. You just returned home. You have to be careful, and give time to mend things."
With that, Mary grabbed Dean's cards, and piled them together with the rest of the deck. Dean remained quiet, still taking in her words even as she came around to press a kiss to the top of his head and hold him to her. Dean's arms wrapped around her, holding her tight and feeling warmth he'd been long deprived of. He had to stop himself from pulling her back as she let him go.
Then, she said it as she pat his cheek. "Good night, Dean. Angels are watching over you."
Dean had to swallow hard. "Night, Mom," he rasped. He watched on as she walked away, slowly disappearing as she went farther and farther from the light of the fire. Dean immediately focused on the wood table beneath him, and he glared anew at the books from earlier.
Something within him was trying to make sense. Hell, a lot of things were, but they were small bits and pieces of something much larger. It wasn't necessarily the new knowledge, though. It wasn't learning he was a widower to Cassie, or even that his issues with Castiel carried over to this reality. (But that was just his luck, of course.) It was something not quite so intricate, but something clearly important that he needed to figure out. Almost like, and he would hate himself forever for thinking this, one of those Celtic Knots. He had to figure out where it began, where it ended, and how the Hell to get there.
If his mother's words had any truth, and he trusted they did, whatever it was would see its end just so long as he was patient. Dean didn't do patient very well, but in this situation, whatever it was, it seemed to be the only thing to do. Resigned for the time being, he sighed and muttered under his breath, "Only angel to ever watch over me has lost his marbles and follows the god damn butterflies."
"Hey."
Dean lifted his head to find a grousing Sam slapping his book on the table. He viewed the book with an almost contesting glower before returning to Sam just in time to watch him comb his hair back. "Morning."
"Dude, if I hadn't woken up as Mom left, I'd have believed you." Sam yawned, and took Mary's vacated seat as Dean piled the books he and Cas had been attempting to read atop Sam's. He was ready to follow Mary's example and get to his room before he fell asleep on the table: something Sam appeared more than happy to do at any moment. Or at least would have been more than happy to. Sam was a little distracted and from under the stacked books to his side, he pulled out two cards.
"Aren't those from Mom's deck?" Dean asked, catching eye of it.
Sam nodded. "Yeah, we were playing earlier today. These are hers. Eight of Clubs, and a Joker." His voice trailed off some as he looked closer at the card. His eyebrows knit together, an image Dean found amusing, but how the light and shadows cast on Sam's face as he lifted his head made Dean find it no longer so amusing. "Traditionally," Sam continued, "the suit of Hearts stands for faith, and emotion. Spades represents war, and military; government. Clubs represents agriculture, and Diamonds represents money and economy."
"Uh … that's great."
"They correlate! In a playing cards deck you have Spades, Diamonds, Clubs, and Hearts. But so do tarot decks! In each of those places, you have Swords, Coins, Wands, and Cups, meaning the same thing."
"How do you know these things? Is your brain literally a sponge for anythi-?"
"And I'm willing to bet that the Joker here matches up with the Tarot's Fool."
"Are we really back to the Tarot thing?" Dean laid his hands on his face, trying not to yawn as he stretched back. He was sure it wasn't too late in the evening, or night, but being woken up before the damned roosters made sure to change one's internal clock. Sam's coming epiphany would fit just right into the new scheduling. (Not.) But Sam remained quiet as he viewed the cards, back and forth, muttering to himself.
"Too bad Pamela ain't here to help you out, huh?"
Sam stood up from his chair, cards in hand. "Where's Cas?"
"He already went to bed, probably half an hour ago. Well, his chamber, anyway. Dude, what's up?"
Sam cursed under his breath. "It's gonna be really hard to find a psychic around here." With that, Sam had turned and hurried his way out.
"Wha'? Psychic-Sam! What're you doing!"
But Sam was already out of the library, leaving Dean alone with the fire and Useless Books. Dean grumbled. Sam was right though; Dean was no history scholar, but for Sam to find anyone willing to let him in on their secret lifestyle wasn't going to be an easy feat in the current era. Elizabethan England was no Lilydale.
He groaned and lifted himself from his seat. His bed and pillows were calling him, and he was A-Okay with conking out and temporarily forgetting anything he was currently involved with. The word patience continued to ring in his head, louder only as he eyed the books sitting beside him. It seemed he would just have to trust Sam and whatever plans he was concocting. Knowing would be nice, of course, but Mary's voice insisted further in trusting Sam and holding out.
And so it was with concerned trust that Dean went to his bed chamber, dismissed his servants, and fell on to his bed.
***
At breakfast the next morning, Sam announced his intent to travel to York and return within the fortnight. Jess' parents expressed concern about his absence so close to the wedding, but he assured them that it was work and that his assistance was needed. Afterward, he pulled Dean and Cas aside. Rather than go to bed, Sam had gone to Cas' chambers and asked what he knew of Gypsies in England. Cas hadn't known too much, since, as he'd said, he'd never been stationed in the British Isles. But he did know that there was likely a small concentration of Gypsies in or around York-it worked out perfectly. It turned out that Sam was some kind of bureaucrat and in being such he had some leverage in finding out what he needed with the right push.
(Dean had wanted to go, to, "See all the bling," but Sam shot him down. "It's not a TV show, Dean!")
Sam left the next morning, several servants in tow. Formalities were taken care of, some gagging Dean, but then it was his turn. He suddenly got just a little more worried; normally, his little brother going off on a case wasn't such a big deal, but this wasn't exactly their normal setting. Traveling to some city with people they weren't sure they could trust? Dean had to push that aside. Having seen Jess and Mary wish Sam a safe journey with their own smiles helped calmed him down, because who among them knew the era better than they did? So Dean looked at Sam, and it wasn't long before he snorted and pointed at his hat.
This one had long peacock feathers. Sam sighed. "I didn't pick it out."
"Uh-huh, 'kay."
"Dean…!" Sam rolled his eyes, then turned to Castiel. "Make sure he doesn't accidentally do or say anything that might throw him, or any of us, into the Tower."
Castiel grinned, and nodded. "I'll do my best."
"Be careful, Sam. Robin Hood could be out there, stealing from the rich-"
"Dean, do you listen to yourself?"
"I'm just sayin'! I worry about you."
Sam gave Dean a half-grin and shook his hand as a gentleman would. "I'll be back before you know it. Hopefully with some kind of information."
Five minutes later, Sam was riding off with the servants, out of the gate and heading east. Standing there with his family and Cas, Dean could feel things had started to shift without Sam there, most notably between John and himself. John had taken to discussing something with Mary, their voices slowly growing in volume, and he was pretty sure he heard his name mumbled about more than once. Cas, in the meanwhile, was busy looking off to one of the flower gardens, which left Dean alone with his thoughts.
"Dean!"
Not that it had lasted long. Dean soon enough found John walking towards him, Mary mouthing, I'm sorry, from behind his shoulder.
"Castiel, find a servant and have him ready two stallions for the Lords Wynncester and Smyth."
Like nothing, with a nod and, "Of course, Lord Wynncester," Cas was off, running around to the back of the Hall. Dean had watched him go curiously, and he turned back to John with a lowered brow. "What? Cas isn't a servant."
"I know, but your mother can't run that quickly to the stables, and you're going to go change into something a little more suitable for riding."
Dean had thought he'd gotten another, "What?" out, but his vocal chords froze and turned him mute for those few moments. All he could do was nod in acquiescence. Walking back in, he started cursing himself because he knew what it was. All these years away from John, and the tone Dean had apparently just pressed hold on, had pulled fresh from him the obedient soldier he'd been trained to be.
Back upstairs, a servant outfitted him in some more sturdy clothing. The first to make him truly groan? An extremely feathery hat that he was glad Sam wasn't around to witness. (And why a hat was necessary for riding he was probably never going to figure out, but he had to be thankful for the boots. After all, nothing said manly like a pair of leather knee-highs.) He wasn't gone for more than twenty minutes when he met his father back in front of the building, and found two horses flanked on either side by the stable boy and Castiel. Who didn't appear to be joining them on this outing.
The closer Dean came to the horses, he realized just how tall they were; how large horses actually were. It made him feel small, and that was a bit of a feat. Six-foot-one he may be, he was dwarfed by his gargantuan brother. Now, next to this monster horse? He wasn't sure his pride could take much more.
His mind was taken off such thoughts as Cas pulled at Dean's doublet sleeve, urgency written on his face. "Dean," he began rushed, and hurriedly. "While riding, you must be as careful as you can."
"No shit, Sherlock. One wrong move and I'll be tenderized."
"No, I mean, the horse. The bits in its mouth are made of metal. If you're not soft on the reins, you can injure the horse. People in this time don't value animals as much more than beasts." He paused a moment. "Did you know Her Royal Majesty is a fan of bear-baiting? People admire this woman and yet she is a fan of severe animal abuse. Always right when I start thinking that humans are something close to perfect-"
"You should join PETA, or something. Listen, I'll be careful. If the horse gets rough I'll just … hold on tight."
Castiel nodded, but turned to stroke down the stallion's neck, and he repeated it with the other. Dean watched on, somehow knowing that Cas was urging the horses to remain calm through the ride. The blue from his eyes stood out in contrast to the grey color of the horses, and the stark black of his clothing. Even shaded by the brim of his flat cap, they continued to call attention. At least until John clapped his hand on Dean's shoulder, and shook him out of it.
Patience.
Dean climbed up on to his horse, waiting for John to mount his. Castiel had stayed on Dean's side, still petting at the horse's neck and muzzle.
"This is a kind horse," he said. "You shouldn't have a difficult time with him, but it still won't hurt you to practice caution." After making sure that John was still speaking with the stable boy, he added, "Try to not let John send them into a gallop, or try to race. That will make you want to pull hard at the reins. While you're gone, I'm going to try to outfit the rest of the bits in the stables with something softer and less painful." With a final, firm pat to the horse's neck, Cas nodded his farewell to Dean and stepped back.
John hoisted himself on to his horse, and just a moment later they were trotting their way towards the forest.
Not long after clopping past the estate's gate, there was a path that John turned to. A bit rough of a terrain, dipping every now and then, but that was the forest, Dean supposed. His horse proved itself to be an excellent horse; he didn't make any surprise moves, and Dean's grip on the reins loosened considerably. (He'd made sure, of course, not to pull them back more than an extremely light tug when need be.) The ride itself was actually enjoyable, even with the slightly awkward silence between himself and his father. Every so often Dean would think to say something, but it died not long before he'd open his mouth. It either just fizzled away, or it would suddenly sound too awkward in his head to say aloud.
It didn't matter about half an hour into the ride. John had been the one to break the silence, but Dean was positively certain it wasn't what he expected the ice-breaker to be.
"Your mother said you don't wish to remarry."
Getting grilled for something he didn't actually do. Classic. Dean frowned, eyes closed, and answered, "Not really."
"Mind if I ask why?"
"Not the marrying type." It wasn't necessarily a lie.
"You were crazy for Miss Robinson."
Dean sighed this time, and gave a gentle pet to his horse's mane-that was how he should act, right? "I was," I guess… "But now I'd just prefer to keep to myself."
He wasn't lying. Maybe once upon a time marriage had seemed like an okay idea; a good idea, even. Living with Lisa and Ben may have had its rocky times, but it wasn't like marriage had never crossed his mind. Lisa was amazing-beautiful, smart, patient, and she was an excellent mom. What wasn't there to like about her, or what about her wasn't worth marrying her for? It was when he thought about it, and tried to picture it, that he couldn't see himself married to her in the end. And when it came to Cassie, how long had it been since he'd seen her? Eight years, or something close to it. He could still admit that he'd loved her, but there was no way he could have been himself with her, not with how she'd reacted to the whole, By the way, I'm a hunter of ghosts, demons, monsters, and other assorted supernatural creatures, thing.
"Not everyone gets to marry the one they want, but it's not as though you can't take a mistress if your heart's not in the marriage."
Cheating probably wasn't in the English lexicon yet, was it? Dean almost choked in surprise, and he had nothing to choke on. He was a lot of things, he knew that, but he wouldn't put cheater anywhere on that list. "That's adultery." See, Sammy? He could do it, too. "No."
"You have no heirs, Dean, and you're 34. You need an heir."
Dean's mouth was already halfway open before he stopped himself from arguing on. He was still so loyal to John; willing to throw his own happiness and goals aside for what his father thought best. Well, he was 34 now, not 26. He apparently owned an estate, and had more than 100 people working for him. He'd already been married. But right now he had slightly larger fish to fry, just as he'd told Mary. He resolved to himself that he wouldn't give in to John. His answer was resolute. (More than that, why was he letting these issues be any of his concern?)
"No," he said. What would alternate-him say? "If one day I find someone I want to marry, then fine; I'll marry them and … produce an heir." Wow. How weird did that sound. "But I doubt it, so don't be surprised if it passes on to Sam."
"Sam can't manage an estate. He can barely manage taking care of himself. I worry about Miss Jessica."
Something sharp got Dean in the side on Sam's behalf, and he could feel himself getting angrier at John's insult to Sam. Forget about himself. "Sam could manage better than I can! And Jess, or uh, Miss Jessica can handle herself if Sam couldn't. Which he totally can."
Like he'd never heard Dean's defense, John continued on, unfazed. "I've sent out an invitation to the Lady Harvelle and her daughter Miss Joanna to join us. "
"Jo?!" Dean laughed. He knew where this was going. "That's not gonna work."
John stopped his horse and turned it around hard to glare at Dean. Right, this John wasn't probably used to being told no. (Well, neither was the real John, but this one most likely had different ideas about obedience.) Dean looked at the horse, wincing after thinking about what Cas had said about the bits. John went on with an iron tone. "I didn't say you would marry her, but you will entertain her and at least consider the possibility of marriage. You've been widowed for a decade. It's time to move on." John turned back around, ignorant of the leer Dean was now directing towards him. "Things are structured as they are for a reason. It works."
Dean so badly wanted to spoil about 500 years' worth of history to pass, but decided it probably wouldn't be in his best interests.
"You need a structured base, a foundation. I'd been hoping you'd take example from me, but I can see that it's not going to work out the way I wanted it to," John groused, starting their ride again.
Dean shook his head just the tiniest bit. He hadn't asked for this to happen to him. Going to check the weather out in Scotland was one thing. Being thrust into a whole different time period to discover his dad wanted him to get married and have kids was a completely different thing entirely. (And surprising, considering that his previous experience had been the isolation of a hunter's life.) The managing estates thing while he was here? That might fly. But beyond that his concerns were getting home, and figuring out how to deal with Cas. (To put it in harsh terms.)
"I just want to do my job, Dad-"
"What makes you think you aren't?" John asked. "Do you think I'd bring this up if I thought you couldn't handle it on top of your responsibilities?"
John had a point, but it still wasn't good enough to trump Dean's no. "I'm not marrying," he said flatly. "Jo-Miss Joanna is my friend, and she deserves more than I can give her."
"You owe it to her."
"How do I owe it to her?!" Dean demanded. "I haven't done a thing!" Unless John was talking about, somehow, what had happened in Missouri. It made no sense, since obviously this Jo was still alive and not. You know. Blown to bits.
"You well know why." John's voice lowered, and it clicked. Dean understood perfectly well why John was eager for Dean to marry Jo, and it was no better than some crappy 'heirs' reason.
Dean almost delighted bringing it up, but sent a "Sorry," upwards. "You're marrying her into the family through me to make up for what you did to her dad? Wow." Dean shook his head with a laugh. "That's definitely somethin'."
Though the horses undoubtedly carried on, it was as if John had just stopped. Likely from a combination of anger and shame, and rather than a sense of victory at his pin-point accusation, Dean just continued to feel disappointment at John's tense silence. But then worry set in soon after at the thought that maybe, just maybe, his real dad had ever been capable of something like pawning his responsibilities off on his sons; marrying Dean off to atone for his own sins. Fear was new to the board, though. His culture shock had been the only fear he'd actually felt before now, but now it was morphed into something a little more depressing. He knew that while his family here was technically real, they still weren't really his family. Mary wasn't really his mom, and John wasn't really his dad. The only real ones with him were Sam and Cas.
The silence grew thicker and became more awkward than ever. They were less than half a mile away from Lawrence Hall, returning, when John announced a different visitor. Honestly, the Harvelles Dean didn't mind. Jo was cool, and Ellen was amazing. Being married into their family was just something he didn't want. But after learning of the guest his father revealed, Dean would have rather married Ellen than have him 'drop by for a visit.'
The Duke Dunwhestle, surname Crowley, would be arriving in the week, staying at Lawrence for several nights before continuing up to Cumberland. (All Dean knew was 'north'.) While it had still been weeks since he'd last seen or heard anything from Crowley in the real world, having him back seemed suddenly brusque and was entirely unwanted. Why his father felt he was permitted to just rent out chambers in Dean's house would probably be a mystery for forever to Dean, but … still wasn't really appreciating it.
Less than an hour later, Dean had seen his horse to the stable, and replaced his doublet and jerkin for a loose shirt when he finally got back to his chamber. He had no real plans to leave it, instead deciding to focus on figuring out how this whole estate management thing worked. It had proved a difficult task; more pressing to him, apparently, were Crowley and Castiel, and thinking of those two in the same sentence set off warning bells in his head. He was going to have to think of something to figure everything out, but….
That could come later. First he had to try and figure out just what all of these expenses were; this list he'd asked the steward for. Dean wasn't the most scholarly or academic of men, but he could spell. English people, apparently (and ironically), could not. And how did they write with feathers? It had been a week, and he was forced to write with feathers. Fragile little quills that crushed easily in his hand. It was ludicrous! Frustrated, Dean gripped the quill hard and went to throw it at his chamber door just in time for the door to open. Cas walked through, his face the crumpled quill's new target, and a line of ink scratched its way down his cheek. In response to the questioning stare Cas sent him, Dean just shrugged with a failed attempt at a smile.
"I was mad…?" No, really. It was a horrible attempt at a smile.
Cas nodded skeptically, and walked farther into the chamber. He sat on the bed, trying to wipe at the ink on his face while Dean took a backwards seat on his chair. Cas pulled his hat off to play with the feathers. God damn it. "I spoke with your Lady mother while you were-"
"What? 'Lady mother'? Cas, just call her Mary, or my mom."
Cas rolled his eyes. "Very well. I was speaking with Mary earlier while you were out. She said that your father wishes you to marry Jo. She also wants you to marry Jo, but she seemed reserved."
"Yeah, because she's doing what she should do: Letting me make my own choices about who I marry. My dad? Thinks I'm still some pathetic kid who gives in to his orders." Dean stood up and went to pour himself some wine. (He was so happy the day he discovered his room had some kind of alcohol in it.) "Not any more, Pops. Thirty-four years old, I can damn well say no every once in a while." He drank long from his goblet, slamming it down happily. "But it's not an issue. Not my issue, anyway. That's Other-Dean's problem." His eyes roved from the empty cup to the papers the steward had given him, and he frowned as his headache started to set in again. "Don't even know what's going on here," he admitted, waving his hand at the parchment. "And I'm not gonna be here long enough to find out," he muttered.
Again silence started stretching between them and so it was with a bit of awkwardness that Dean resumed his previous position on the chair. "So uh. Did you have any input on the matter? You wouldn't have brought it up if you didn't, right?'
"I can't say that I do or don't."
Always with the neutrality.
"Marriage is expected, especially in these times. You don't have a son to give any inheritance to. Personally, I always found it a bit baloney, especially the 'arranged' part. I much prefer modern marriages, assuming both parties actually love each other."
"Without Cupid's interference?" Yeah, Dean was still a little icy about that.
"Yes. They seem happy, and it's genuine."
"Yeah, yeah, I didn't get zapped to the past to watch Ye Olde LyfeTyme."
"You asked for my opinion, Dean."
"And I didn't ask for your analysis on romance-"
"I can't help but shake the feeling that you're still mad at me." Cas' eyes shifted back and forth. "That's the real reason I came here. It's been bothering me. Although since we've been here it's not been as bad, you've kept responses short and conversations minimal."
"You ever think that's just how I deal with things when I'm trying to get over something?"
Castiel hung his head, trying to come off as amused, and trying not to grin. "Part of how, maybe," he said. "You've not been drinking as much."
He stared up so his eyes landed on Dean's, and Dean refused to look away. To him it was a challenge, and one he refused to back down from. "Fine. You know what, I am. I'm still mad, and yeah, I'm still working on forgiving you, I really am. Every time I come close to it, though? I can't help but remember your little deal with Crowley, or my brother being soulless, or what you did to him." There was no hint of Cas' previous attempt at a grin, and even if Cas had tried to look away, Dean didn't think he'd have been able. Instead, all Cas could give him was that kicked dog look, and say nothing. "I know you're sorry, and I-I get what you were trying to do, okay? I just … that was a lot of stuff, man. Big stuff."
Finally Castiel looked down, making Dean feel like something of a douchebag; it wasn't as though Cas hadn't proved himself, or felt regret for what he did, but-well, like he'd said! He couldn't get rid of those memories of what Cas had done.
"I was trying to protect you. You couldn't have defeated Raphael on your own."
"Good job protecting us," Dean shot. "You let Lucifer control Sam's OnDemand, killed countless people and angels, and let the Dick of all Dickdom stupefy America."
"I didn't realize-no one could have known what would happen."
"Don't defend yourself when you know you did wrong, or make up some kind of shit excuse!"
"Well my apologies don't seem to be sinking in, Dean!"
Rather than the regret Dean was accustomed to hearing from Castiel, it was anger. There was fight left in him, and used to having the upper hand recently, Dean felt a little threatened. Cas was fighting back, and while Dean supposed that was a good thing, he couldn't help but feel just a little uneasy since when Cas got angry with Dean, it usually ended up with Dean pushed up and bloody against a wall-and not in the good way. He forced himself to keep his mouth shut; he had a feeling that anything he said could probably be twisted to be used against him.
"You took my earlier apologies as a joke. Again you disregard all I've done for you. I Fell for you. I've died for you time and time again, never knowing if it will be the last time I'm able to protect you."
Dean bit his tongue. He couldn't say why, as he had nothing to say.
"I'm sorry for betraying you, and I'm sorry for what I did to Sam. I'm sorry for unleashing the Leviathans. I betrayed you so I could defeat Raphael, and I broke Sam's wall out of spite."
"Cas-"
"I'm not finished, Dean."
Dean closed his mouth. His grip on his chair tightened.
"Soon enough I will be human, and I don't think God will fix it. I'll live the next 40 to 50 years knowing what I did to Earth, Heaven, and you. I will die, and … well. Jesus died for Man's sins; not angels'."
Castiel didn't even bother looking at Dean as he stood up, fixed his hat, and straightened his coat. Suddenly Dean didn't feel like the Big Man on Campus anymore, and felt even less when Cas did look at him, and smiled. That smile was really more of a giant middle finger and a, 'Fuck you.'
"Should you continue to prefer playing tennis with forgiving me, I won't stop you. I will help you get home, but I will then leave you and Sam if that's what you desire."
He was gone in a whoosh of air and a pat of feathers.
Dean couldn't say anything. Now that Cas was gone, he had lists of things to say; some good, a lot irrelevant, and most not-so-good. But his mouth was dry, now. His tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth, and it felt like his throat would never open again. Cas had been right. He'd given up a lot to bring Sam back to normal, and he'd apologized over and over again. Dean never wanted to hear it, but understandably, right? Best friend lies to him, best friend makes brother's brains scrambled eggs. It was pretty straight-forward. Then again, the apologetic track was also really straight-forward, so….
With an angry, disgruntled huff of air, Dean paced aimlessly about the chamber for several moments, then walked over to the window. He stared out to the back grounds of the hall, where he had a rather nice view of some gardens and the forest. The sun was high, and hidden behind the clouds that just never seemed to go away. Agh, Britain.
Dean hated this so far. A week of crappy food, crappy clothes, crappy women. Crappy expectations, crappy mandatory church-going, crappy … crappers. The whole place was just crappy, and he was sick of it.
Boot heels stomping on the wooden floor, Dean stormed out of his room and back down to the stables. He was going for a ride of his own.
Part II (a) | * | Part III
Sam was still asleep on the other side of the room, and so it left Dean sitting in front of his own forgotten book about deeds and lands and things he generally didn't care about. Just as Cas had, Dean slammed his book shut and piled it on top of the others he and Cas read through. He glared at the small stack, shaking his head just minutely. Nothing was going his way. Well, that was obvious, but at least something could give him a break, right?
"May I help you, Lord Smyth?"
"Huh?" Dean looked quick back to Mary. Her embroidery was again on her lap, and with all the elegance he would think of an Elizabethan woman, she stood from her seat and went to join Dean. She sat across from him, setting her work aside and pulling out a deck of cards. "Fancy a round or two, Dean? One and thirty?"
"What?" Dean sat just a bit straighter as the cards' shuffling cut into the air
"One and thirty-the game? Did you hit your head the other night? You've been a little off, lately."
Dean tried laughing it off as well as he could. "Well, it's just. Been a while since I've played any card games." For good reason, in his opinion. Last time he was made a withering old man. "And I'm tired from all this research."
Mary didn't say anything, or inquire any more of his readings; at least Dean was granted that much. She finished shuffling, and dealt out three cards to both of them before explaining the rules in a careful, but light, manner. The game was simple enough, pretty close to Blackjack, but Dean decided it would probably be a better idea to keep his mouth shut about that one. Their first couple rounds were rather quiet in terms of conversation, but any victory-shouts or moans of loss were kept to themselves so as to let Sam sleep on. (Who knew how long he'd even been in the library, or last slept?) It was when she was drawing a card that Mary asked,
"Are you set on not marrying again, Dean?"
More than startling him from some kind of trance, this question caught him completely off guard, especially when asked by his once-supposedly-dead mother. The subject itself was a bit of a shock, but the 'again' shocked him the most. He'd been married before in this universe. Well that was great. "It's just not meant for me?" he tried. "Arranged or … not." Reading his cards (an Ace of Hearts, and a 2 of Diamonds), Dean softly grunted. "I've got enough on my plate to worry about right now without worrying about marriage," he grumbled as he added a 9 of Clubs to his hand.
"Oh. Such as?" Mary asked humorously.
Dean paused, wondering how to lie without actually lying. "Well…" he began. "I have to get some things here in order, y'know? The uh, the estate." However that worked. "Something's up with Cas and I'm a little worried about the guy, so … gotta help him out." Read: Find a way to shake off the rest of what happened between them. "And of course there's Sam's wedding! Can't take that away from him, right?"
"I think I know what the issue is here." Mary played her cards, a perfect 31 and a win. "You're scared of dishonoring Cassie by remarrying."
The cards in Dean's hand crinkled in his clutch just a little. Cassie … Robinson?
"It's all right if you are, Dean, though it's important to note that you wouldn't." Mary drew her new cards and scowled down at them. Soon enough she sighed, setting them down and fixing Dean with The Mom Look. "I can't make you. Things take time, especially if they're meant to be." She grabbed Dean's hand. "Over the years, I've had to learn patience, and it's not easily come by, but it is essential. So…." She grinned. "The choice is yours, but make sure you know it's the choice you want. I'll keep your father's whims at bay as long as I can. As for Castiel, he'll be fine. You just returned home. You have to be careful, and give time to mend things."
With that, Mary grabbed Dean's cards, and piled them together with the rest of the deck. Dean remained quiet, still taking in her words even as she came around to press a kiss to the top of his head and hold him to her. Dean's arms wrapped around her, holding her tight and feeling warmth he'd been long deprived of. He had to stop himself from pulling her back as she let him go.
Then, she said it as she pat his cheek. "Good night, Dean. Angels are watching over you."
Dean had to swallow hard. "Night, Mom," he rasped. He watched on as she walked away, slowly disappearing as she went farther and farther from the light of the fire. Dean immediately focused on the wood table beneath him, and he glared anew at the books from earlier.
Something within him was trying to make sense. Hell, a lot of things were, but they were small bits and pieces of something much larger. It wasn't necessarily the new knowledge, though. It wasn't learning he was a widower to Cassie, or even that his issues with Castiel carried over to this reality. (But that was just his luck, of course.) It was something not quite so intricate, but something clearly important that he needed to figure out. Almost like, and he would hate himself forever for thinking this, one of those Celtic Knots. He had to figure out where it began, where it ended, and how the Hell to get there.
If his mother's words had any truth, and he trusted they did, whatever it was would see its end just so long as he was patient. Dean didn't do patient very well, but in this situation, whatever it was, it seemed to be the only thing to do. Resigned for the time being, he sighed and muttered under his breath, "Only angel to ever watch over me has lost his marbles and follows the god damn butterflies."
"Hey."
Dean lifted his head to find a grousing Sam slapping his book on the table. He viewed the book with an almost contesting glower before returning to Sam just in time to watch him comb his hair back. "Morning."
"Dude, if I hadn't woken up as Mom left, I'd have believed you." Sam yawned, and took Mary's vacated seat as Dean piled the books he and Cas had been attempting to read atop Sam's. He was ready to follow Mary's example and get to his room before he fell asleep on the table: something Sam appeared more than happy to do at any moment. Or at least would have been more than happy to. Sam was a little distracted and from under the stacked books to his side, he pulled out two cards.
"Aren't those from Mom's deck?" Dean asked, catching eye of it.
Sam nodded. "Yeah, we were playing earlier today. These are hers. Eight of Clubs, and a Joker." His voice trailed off some as he looked closer at the card. His eyebrows knit together, an image Dean found amusing, but how the light and shadows cast on Sam's face as he lifted his head made Dean find it no longer so amusing. "Traditionally," Sam continued, "the suit of Hearts stands for faith, and emotion. Spades represents war, and military; government. Clubs represents agriculture, and Diamonds represents money and economy."
"Uh … that's great."
"They correlate! In a playing cards deck you have Spades, Diamonds, Clubs, and Hearts. But so do tarot decks! In each of those places, you have Swords, Coins, Wands, and Cups, meaning the same thing."
"How do you know these things? Is your brain literally a sponge for anythi-?"
"And I'm willing to bet that the Joker here matches up with the Tarot's Fool."
"Are we really back to the Tarot thing?" Dean laid his hands on his face, trying not to yawn as he stretched back. He was sure it wasn't too late in the evening, or night, but being woken up before the damned roosters made sure to change one's internal clock. Sam's coming epiphany would fit just right into the new scheduling. (Not.) But Sam remained quiet as he viewed the cards, back and forth, muttering to himself.
"Too bad Pamela ain't here to help you out, huh?"
Sam stood up from his chair, cards in hand. "Where's Cas?"
"He already went to bed, probably half an hour ago. Well, his chamber, anyway. Dude, what's up?"
Sam cursed under his breath. "It's gonna be really hard to find a psychic around here." With that, Sam had turned and hurried his way out.
"Wha'? Psychic-Sam! What're you doing!"
But Sam was already out of the library, leaving Dean alone with the fire and Useless Books. Dean grumbled. Sam was right though; Dean was no history scholar, but for Sam to find anyone willing to let him in on their secret lifestyle wasn't going to be an easy feat in the current era. Elizabethan England was no Lilydale.
He groaned and lifted himself from his seat. His bed and pillows were calling him, and he was A-Okay with conking out and temporarily forgetting anything he was currently involved with. The word patience continued to ring in his head, louder only as he eyed the books sitting beside him. It seemed he would just have to trust Sam and whatever plans he was concocting. Knowing would be nice, of course, but Mary's voice insisted further in trusting Sam and holding out.
And so it was with concerned trust that Dean went to his bed chamber, dismissed his servants, and fell on to his bed.
***
At breakfast the next morning, Sam announced his intent to travel to York and return within the fortnight. Jess' parents expressed concern about his absence so close to the wedding, but he assured them that it was work and that his assistance was needed. Afterward, he pulled Dean and Cas aside. Rather than go to bed, Sam had gone to Cas' chambers and asked what he knew of Gypsies in England. Cas hadn't known too much, since, as he'd said, he'd never been stationed in the British Isles. But he did know that there was likely a small concentration of Gypsies in or around York-it worked out perfectly. It turned out that Sam was some kind of bureaucrat and in being such he had some leverage in finding out what he needed with the right push.
(Dean had wanted to go, to, "See all the bling," but Sam shot him down. "It's not a TV show, Dean!")
Sam left the next morning, several servants in tow. Formalities were taken care of, some gagging Dean, but then it was his turn. He suddenly got just a little more worried; normally, his little brother going off on a case wasn't such a big deal, but this wasn't exactly their normal setting. Traveling to some city with people they weren't sure they could trust? Dean had to push that aside. Having seen Jess and Mary wish Sam a safe journey with their own smiles helped calmed him down, because who among them knew the era better than they did? So Dean looked at Sam, and it wasn't long before he snorted and pointed at his hat.
This one had long peacock feathers. Sam sighed. "I didn't pick it out."
"Uh-huh, 'kay."
"Dean…!" Sam rolled his eyes, then turned to Castiel. "Make sure he doesn't accidentally do or say anything that might throw him, or any of us, into the Tower."
Castiel grinned, and nodded. "I'll do my best."
"Be careful, Sam. Robin Hood could be out there, stealing from the rich-"
"Dean, do you listen to yourself?"
"I'm just sayin'! I worry about you."
Sam gave Dean a half-grin and shook his hand as a gentleman would. "I'll be back before you know it. Hopefully with some kind of information."
Five minutes later, Sam was riding off with the servants, out of the gate and heading east. Standing there with his family and Cas, Dean could feel things had started to shift without Sam there, most notably between John and himself. John had taken to discussing something with Mary, their voices slowly growing in volume, and he was pretty sure he heard his name mumbled about more than once. Cas, in the meanwhile, was busy looking off to one of the flower gardens, which left Dean alone with his thoughts.
"Dean!"
Not that it had lasted long. Dean soon enough found John walking towards him, Mary mouthing, I'm sorry, from behind his shoulder.
"Castiel, find a servant and have him ready two stallions for the Lords Wynncester and Smyth."
Like nothing, with a nod and, "Of course, Lord Wynncester," Cas was off, running around to the back of the Hall. Dean had watched him go curiously, and he turned back to John with a lowered brow. "What? Cas isn't a servant."
"I know, but your mother can't run that quickly to the stables, and you're going to go change into something a little more suitable for riding."
Dean had thought he'd gotten another, "What?" out, but his vocal chords froze and turned him mute for those few moments. All he could do was nod in acquiescence. Walking back in, he started cursing himself because he knew what it was. All these years away from John, and the tone Dean had apparently just pressed hold on, had pulled fresh from him the obedient soldier he'd been trained to be.
Back upstairs, a servant outfitted him in some more sturdy clothing. The first to make him truly groan? An extremely feathery hat that he was glad Sam wasn't around to witness. (And why a hat was necessary for riding he was probably never going to figure out, but he had to be thankful for the boots. After all, nothing said manly like a pair of leather knee-highs.) He wasn't gone for more than twenty minutes when he met his father back in front of the building, and found two horses flanked on either side by the stable boy and Castiel. Who didn't appear to be joining them on this outing.
The closer Dean came to the horses, he realized just how tall they were; how large horses actually were. It made him feel small, and that was a bit of a feat. Six-foot-one he may be, he was dwarfed by his gargantuan brother. Now, next to this monster horse? He wasn't sure his pride could take much more.
His mind was taken off such thoughts as Cas pulled at Dean's doublet sleeve, urgency written on his face. "Dean," he began rushed, and hurriedly. "While riding, you must be as careful as you can."
"No shit, Sherlock. One wrong move and I'll be tenderized."
"No, I mean, the horse. The bits in its mouth are made of metal. If you're not soft on the reins, you can injure the horse. People in this time don't value animals as much more than beasts." He paused a moment. "Did you know Her Royal Majesty is a fan of bear-baiting? People admire this woman and yet she is a fan of severe animal abuse. Always right when I start thinking that humans are something close to perfect-"
"You should join PETA, or something. Listen, I'll be careful. If the horse gets rough I'll just … hold on tight."
Castiel nodded, but turned to stroke down the stallion's neck, and he repeated it with the other. Dean watched on, somehow knowing that Cas was urging the horses to remain calm through the ride. The blue from his eyes stood out in contrast to the grey color of the horses, and the stark black of his clothing. Even shaded by the brim of his flat cap, they continued to call attention. At least until John clapped his hand on Dean's shoulder, and shook him out of it.
Patience.
Dean climbed up on to his horse, waiting for John to mount his. Castiel had stayed on Dean's side, still petting at the horse's neck and muzzle.
"This is a kind horse," he said. "You shouldn't have a difficult time with him, but it still won't hurt you to practice caution." After making sure that John was still speaking with the stable boy, he added, "Try to not let John send them into a gallop, or try to race. That will make you want to pull hard at the reins. While you're gone, I'm going to try to outfit the rest of the bits in the stables with something softer and less painful." With a final, firm pat to the horse's neck, Cas nodded his farewell to Dean and stepped back.
John hoisted himself on to his horse, and just a moment later they were trotting their way towards the forest.
Not long after clopping past the estate's gate, there was a path that John turned to. A bit rough of a terrain, dipping every now and then, but that was the forest, Dean supposed. His horse proved itself to be an excellent horse; he didn't make any surprise moves, and Dean's grip on the reins loosened considerably. (He'd made sure, of course, not to pull them back more than an extremely light tug when need be.) The ride itself was actually enjoyable, even with the slightly awkward silence between himself and his father. Every so often Dean would think to say something, but it died not long before he'd open his mouth. It either just fizzled away, or it would suddenly sound too awkward in his head to say aloud.
It didn't matter about half an hour into the ride. John had been the one to break the silence, but Dean was positively certain it wasn't what he expected the ice-breaker to be.
"Your mother said you don't wish to remarry."
Getting grilled for something he didn't actually do. Classic. Dean frowned, eyes closed, and answered, "Not really."
"Mind if I ask why?"
"Not the marrying type." It wasn't necessarily a lie.
"You were crazy for Miss Robinson."
Dean sighed this time, and gave a gentle pet to his horse's mane-that was how he should act, right? "I was," I guess… "But now I'd just prefer to keep to myself."
He wasn't lying. Maybe once upon a time marriage had seemed like an okay idea; a good idea, even. Living with Lisa and Ben may have had its rocky times, but it wasn't like marriage had never crossed his mind. Lisa was amazing-beautiful, smart, patient, and she was an excellent mom. What wasn't there to like about her, or what about her wasn't worth marrying her for? It was when he thought about it, and tried to picture it, that he couldn't see himself married to her in the end. And when it came to Cassie, how long had it been since he'd seen her? Eight years, or something close to it. He could still admit that he'd loved her, but there was no way he could have been himself with her, not with how she'd reacted to the whole, By the way, I'm a hunter of ghosts, demons, monsters, and other assorted supernatural creatures, thing.
"Not everyone gets to marry the one they want, but it's not as though you can't take a mistress if your heart's not in the marriage."
Cheating probably wasn't in the English lexicon yet, was it? Dean almost choked in surprise, and he had nothing to choke on. He was a lot of things, he knew that, but he wouldn't put cheater anywhere on that list. "That's adultery." See, Sammy? He could do it, too. "No."
"You have no heirs, Dean, and you're 34. You need an heir."
Dean's mouth was already halfway open before he stopped himself from arguing on. He was still so loyal to John; willing to throw his own happiness and goals aside for what his father thought best. Well, he was 34 now, not 26. He apparently owned an estate, and had more than 100 people working for him. He'd already been married. But right now he had slightly larger fish to fry, just as he'd told Mary. He resolved to himself that he wouldn't give in to John. His answer was resolute. (More than that, why was he letting these issues be any of his concern?)
"No," he said. What would alternate-him say? "If one day I find someone I want to marry, then fine; I'll marry them and … produce an heir." Wow. How weird did that sound. "But I doubt it, so don't be surprised if it passes on to Sam."
"Sam can't manage an estate. He can barely manage taking care of himself. I worry about Miss Jessica."
Something sharp got Dean in the side on Sam's behalf, and he could feel himself getting angrier at John's insult to Sam. Forget about himself. "Sam could manage better than I can! And Jess, or uh, Miss Jessica can handle herself if Sam couldn't. Which he totally can."
Like he'd never heard Dean's defense, John continued on, unfazed. "I've sent out an invitation to the Lady Harvelle and her daughter Miss Joanna to join us. "
"Jo?!" Dean laughed. He knew where this was going. "That's not gonna work."
John stopped his horse and turned it around hard to glare at Dean. Right, this John wasn't probably used to being told no. (Well, neither was the real John, but this one most likely had different ideas about obedience.) Dean looked at the horse, wincing after thinking about what Cas had said about the bits. John went on with an iron tone. "I didn't say you would marry her, but you will entertain her and at least consider the possibility of marriage. You've been widowed for a decade. It's time to move on." John turned back around, ignorant of the leer Dean was now directing towards him. "Things are structured as they are for a reason. It works."
Dean so badly wanted to spoil about 500 years' worth of history to pass, but decided it probably wouldn't be in his best interests.
"You need a structured base, a foundation. I'd been hoping you'd take example from me, but I can see that it's not going to work out the way I wanted it to," John groused, starting their ride again.
Dean shook his head just the tiniest bit. He hadn't asked for this to happen to him. Going to check the weather out in Scotland was one thing. Being thrust into a whole different time period to discover his dad wanted him to get married and have kids was a completely different thing entirely. (And surprising, considering that his previous experience had been the isolation of a hunter's life.) The managing estates thing while he was here? That might fly. But beyond that his concerns were getting home, and figuring out how to deal with Cas. (To put it in harsh terms.)
"I just want to do my job, Dad-"
"What makes you think you aren't?" John asked. "Do you think I'd bring this up if I thought you couldn't handle it on top of your responsibilities?"
John had a point, but it still wasn't good enough to trump Dean's no. "I'm not marrying," he said flatly. "Jo-Miss Joanna is my friend, and she deserves more than I can give her."
"You owe it to her."
"How do I owe it to her?!" Dean demanded. "I haven't done a thing!" Unless John was talking about, somehow, what had happened in Missouri. It made no sense, since obviously this Jo was still alive and not. You know. Blown to bits.
"You well know why." John's voice lowered, and it clicked. Dean understood perfectly well why John was eager for Dean to marry Jo, and it was no better than some crappy 'heirs' reason.
Dean almost delighted bringing it up, but sent a "Sorry," upwards. "You're marrying her into the family through me to make up for what you did to her dad? Wow." Dean shook his head with a laugh. "That's definitely somethin'."
Though the horses undoubtedly carried on, it was as if John had just stopped. Likely from a combination of anger and shame, and rather than a sense of victory at his pin-point accusation, Dean just continued to feel disappointment at John's tense silence. But then worry set in soon after at the thought that maybe, just maybe, his real dad had ever been capable of something like pawning his responsibilities off on his sons; marrying Dean off to atone for his own sins. Fear was new to the board, though. His culture shock had been the only fear he'd actually felt before now, but now it was morphed into something a little more depressing. He knew that while his family here was technically real, they still weren't really his family. Mary wasn't really his mom, and John wasn't really his dad. The only real ones with him were Sam and Cas.
The silence grew thicker and became more awkward than ever. They were less than half a mile away from Lawrence Hall, returning, when John announced a different visitor. Honestly, the Harvelles Dean didn't mind. Jo was cool, and Ellen was amazing. Being married into their family was just something he didn't want. But after learning of the guest his father revealed, Dean would have rather married Ellen than have him 'drop by for a visit.'
The Duke Dunwhestle, surname Crowley, would be arriving in the week, staying at Lawrence for several nights before continuing up to Cumberland. (All Dean knew was 'north'.) While it had still been weeks since he'd last seen or heard anything from Crowley in the real world, having him back seemed suddenly brusque and was entirely unwanted. Why his father felt he was permitted to just rent out chambers in Dean's house would probably be a mystery for forever to Dean, but … still wasn't really appreciating it.
Less than an hour later, Dean had seen his horse to the stable, and replaced his doublet and jerkin for a loose shirt when he finally got back to his chamber. He had no real plans to leave it, instead deciding to focus on figuring out how this whole estate management thing worked. It had proved a difficult task; more pressing to him, apparently, were Crowley and Castiel, and thinking of those two in the same sentence set off warning bells in his head. He was going to have to think of something to figure everything out, but….
That could come later. First he had to try and figure out just what all of these expenses were; this list he'd asked the steward for. Dean wasn't the most scholarly or academic of men, but he could spell. English people, apparently (and ironically), could not. And how did they write with feathers? It had been a week, and he was forced to write with feathers. Fragile little quills that crushed easily in his hand. It was ludicrous! Frustrated, Dean gripped the quill hard and went to throw it at his chamber door just in time for the door to open. Cas walked through, his face the crumpled quill's new target, and a line of ink scratched its way down his cheek. In response to the questioning stare Cas sent him, Dean just shrugged with a failed attempt at a smile.
"I was mad…?" No, really. It was a horrible attempt at a smile.
Cas nodded skeptically, and walked farther into the chamber. He sat on the bed, trying to wipe at the ink on his face while Dean took a backwards seat on his chair. Cas pulled his hat off to play with the feathers. God damn it. "I spoke with your Lady mother while you were-"
"What? 'Lady mother'? Cas, just call her Mary, or my mom."
Cas rolled his eyes. "Very well. I was speaking with Mary earlier while you were out. She said that your father wishes you to marry Jo. She also wants you to marry Jo, but she seemed reserved."
"Yeah, because she's doing what she should do: Letting me make my own choices about who I marry. My dad? Thinks I'm still some pathetic kid who gives in to his orders." Dean stood up and went to pour himself some wine. (He was so happy the day he discovered his room had some kind of alcohol in it.) "Not any more, Pops. Thirty-four years old, I can damn well say no every once in a while." He drank long from his goblet, slamming it down happily. "But it's not an issue. Not my issue, anyway. That's Other-Dean's problem." His eyes roved from the empty cup to the papers the steward had given him, and he frowned as his headache started to set in again. "Don't even know what's going on here," he admitted, waving his hand at the parchment. "And I'm not gonna be here long enough to find out," he muttered.
Again silence started stretching between them and so it was with a bit of awkwardness that Dean resumed his previous position on the chair. "So uh. Did you have any input on the matter? You wouldn't have brought it up if you didn't, right?'
"I can't say that I do or don't."
Always with the neutrality.
"Marriage is expected, especially in these times. You don't have a son to give any inheritance to. Personally, I always found it a bit baloney, especially the 'arranged' part. I much prefer modern marriages, assuming both parties actually love each other."
"Without Cupid's interference?" Yeah, Dean was still a little icy about that.
"Yes. They seem happy, and it's genuine."
"Yeah, yeah, I didn't get zapped to the past to watch Ye Olde LyfeTyme."
"You asked for my opinion, Dean."
"And I didn't ask for your analysis on romance-"
"I can't help but shake the feeling that you're still mad at me." Cas' eyes shifted back and forth. "That's the real reason I came here. It's been bothering me. Although since we've been here it's not been as bad, you've kept responses short and conversations minimal."
"You ever think that's just how I deal with things when I'm trying to get over something?"
Castiel hung his head, trying to come off as amused, and trying not to grin. "Part of how, maybe," he said. "You've not been drinking as much."
He stared up so his eyes landed on Dean's, and Dean refused to look away. To him it was a challenge, and one he refused to back down from. "Fine. You know what, I am. I'm still mad, and yeah, I'm still working on forgiving you, I really am. Every time I come close to it, though? I can't help but remember your little deal with Crowley, or my brother being soulless, or what you did to him." There was no hint of Cas' previous attempt at a grin, and even if Cas had tried to look away, Dean didn't think he'd have been able. Instead, all Cas could give him was that kicked dog look, and say nothing. "I know you're sorry, and I-I get what you were trying to do, okay? I just … that was a lot of stuff, man. Big stuff."
Finally Castiel looked down, making Dean feel like something of a douchebag; it wasn't as though Cas hadn't proved himself, or felt regret for what he did, but-well, like he'd said! He couldn't get rid of those memories of what Cas had done.
"I was trying to protect you. You couldn't have defeated Raphael on your own."
"Good job protecting us," Dean shot. "You let Lucifer control Sam's OnDemand, killed countless people and angels, and let the Dick of all Dickdom stupefy America."
"I didn't realize-no one could have known what would happen."
"Don't defend yourself when you know you did wrong, or make up some kind of shit excuse!"
"Well my apologies don't seem to be sinking in, Dean!"
Rather than the regret Dean was accustomed to hearing from Castiel, it was anger. There was fight left in him, and used to having the upper hand recently, Dean felt a little threatened. Cas was fighting back, and while Dean supposed that was a good thing, he couldn't help but feel just a little uneasy since when Cas got angry with Dean, it usually ended up with Dean pushed up and bloody against a wall-and not in the good way. He forced himself to keep his mouth shut; he had a feeling that anything he said could probably be twisted to be used against him.
"You took my earlier apologies as a joke. Again you disregard all I've done for you. I Fell for you. I've died for you time and time again, never knowing if it will be the last time I'm able to protect you."
Dean bit his tongue. He couldn't say why, as he had nothing to say.
"I'm sorry for betraying you, and I'm sorry for what I did to Sam. I'm sorry for unleashing the Leviathans. I betrayed you so I could defeat Raphael, and I broke Sam's wall out of spite."
"Cas-"
"I'm not finished, Dean."
Dean closed his mouth. His grip on his chair tightened.
"Soon enough I will be human, and I don't think God will fix it. I'll live the next 40 to 50 years knowing what I did to Earth, Heaven, and you. I will die, and … well. Jesus died for Man's sins; not angels'."
Castiel didn't even bother looking at Dean as he stood up, fixed his hat, and straightened his coat. Suddenly Dean didn't feel like the Big Man on Campus anymore, and felt even less when Cas did look at him, and smiled. That smile was really more of a giant middle finger and a, 'Fuck you.'
"Should you continue to prefer playing tennis with forgiving me, I won't stop you. I will help you get home, but I will then leave you and Sam if that's what you desire."
He was gone in a whoosh of air and a pat of feathers.
Dean couldn't say anything. Now that Cas was gone, he had lists of things to say; some good, a lot irrelevant, and most not-so-good. But his mouth was dry, now. His tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth, and it felt like his throat would never open again. Cas had been right. He'd given up a lot to bring Sam back to normal, and he'd apologized over and over again. Dean never wanted to hear it, but understandably, right? Best friend lies to him, best friend makes brother's brains scrambled eggs. It was pretty straight-forward. Then again, the apologetic track was also really straight-forward, so….
With an angry, disgruntled huff of air, Dean paced aimlessly about the chamber for several moments, then walked over to the window. He stared out to the back grounds of the hall, where he had a rather nice view of some gardens and the forest. The sun was high, and hidden behind the clouds that just never seemed to go away. Agh, Britain.
Dean hated this so far. A week of crappy food, crappy clothes, crappy women. Crappy expectations, crappy mandatory church-going, crappy … crappers. The whole place was just crappy, and he was sick of it.
Boot heels stomping on the wooden floor, Dean stormed out of his room and back down to the stables. He was going for a ride of his own.
Part II (a) | * | Part III