WOTR | Book 3 Part I
BOOK 3: THE HIGHLANDS
War Of The Regions:
Book 3 Part I
Masterpost
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The plane journey isn’t long and they’re soon being rushed off of the airplane and onto separate buses. Cas manages to stay close and they end up on the same bus but not sat next to each other, and it makes Dean’s anxiety racket up a notch. He’s always keeping his eyes peeled for Sam and so far he hasn’t seen anyone that looks like him, and he’s trying to keep calm, trying to resist pulling his knife out to demand answers.
They drive past villages and towns until they’re entering the main city, and it’s nothing like Dean’s ever seen before. The buildings are all lit up with electricity, and everyone is in brand new clothes, hair in strange shapes, colors on their faces. Nobody carries weapons, and nobody carries fresh game. There are no market stalls or fresh fields or lakes, and it makes Dean feel nervous, and he doesn’t understand how people can feel happy in all this cement and brick.
They go through the city but end up leaving it again, and there’s a dark forest to their right that seems to go on for miles. They go down a winding road passing more towns until there’s a looming grey building up ahead, with wired fencing stretched around it.
Dean glances over to Cas, who’s staring at the building with wide anxious, eyes. His main aim after getting off this bus is to get Sam, and once that is done, they can formulate their escape plan.
Dean lets out a slow breath. One thing at a time.
The Official stands up at the front once the bus has parked and holds his gun in front of him.
“Two people off at a time,” he barks, eyes sweeping over everyone. Dean has to bite his tongue, has to make himself appear inconspicuous and blend in so he can merge with the crowd and find Sammy. “Heads down, only speak when spoken to.”
There’s complete silence from the bus and the Official nods to himself, pleased. “Okay. Good. First two,” he says, waving at the front seats, “leave now.”
They get up hesitantly and pass him down the steps, and Dean sits up, cranes his neck to see, but the bus is too high to see them, and the Official is standing in the way of the front window. The Official glares at him and Dean slinks down, reminds himself he’s got to stay anonymous.
Five minutes later and the Official is pointing to Dean to get up. He does, followed by the girl next to him, and glances once at Cas before walking down the aisle and down the steps onto the ground.
“Arms up,” the Official standing there says, eyes narrowing at him. Dean does so, and the Official pats him down. He pats against the knife that’s slipped in his pants at his lower back and the Official pulls it out and holds it up.
“What’s this?” he asks, feigning confusion.
“A knife,” Dean answers, trying to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. He can’t start any trouble, not now.
“Why do you have a knife?” the Official asks. The other girl is standing behind him nervously, and from the corner of his eye he can see another Official walking towards them, gun slung over his shoulder.
“Cutting bread,” Dean answers, remaining neutral.
“How old are you?” The Official snaps.
“Seventeen,” Dean replies without a beat. Eighteen and he’s not a child anymore, and seventeen is just safe enough to pass as.
“Are you going to be any trouble?” he asks, leaning forward.
Without flinching, and looking straight ahead, Dean says, “No, sir.”
The Official looks him up and down, but then steps back and nods to the other Official, who comes forward and escorts him along. There’s an uneasy feeling in his gut at almost coming too close, but also at the thought of Sam managing to get through that. The kid can’t hear.
The Official pushes him along so he’s walking faster and Dean purses his lips, forcing himself to not speak. He keeps his eyes trained on all the children they’re passing, for anyone who might look like Sam, but they’re already heading into a building and he’s being pushed along a long, dark corridor. They’re passing metal doors with small numbers on and something flares like panic inside Dean, his natural instinct for him to fight and get away.
He can’t do that. Keep a steady head. Remember the plan. Find Sam.
They reach the end of the hallway which has a large white door, and they walk through it into another corridor with four rooms. They enter the first one in front of them, which brings them to a smaller room with a desk with a computer and a chair either side. “Sit there,” the Official behind him says, and he does without a word.
The Official sits opposite him and takes out a piece of paper and a pen. “Name?” he asks, glancing at him.
“Dean,” he says, voice carefully neutral.
“Surname?”
“Smith,” he offers, the first thing that comes to his head, and the Official doesn’t question it.
“Age?” he asks without looking up.
“Seventeen.”
The Official gives him another look before continuing. “Any medical issues?”
He wants to tell him about Sam, let him know Sam’s harmless, not difficult on purpose, just that he can’t hear, and that Dean can take care of him. But he can’t risk that, he can’t risk bringing any undue attention to them.
“None.”
“Any siblings?”
“None,” Dean says, trying to keep calm. The Official ticks the box and looks back up at him.
“Where are you from?”
“The Regions,” Dean answers, realizing now that they’re past the easy stuff and onto the more difficult questions.
“But you weren’t collected from the regions,” the Official says, twirling the pen in his fingers, “Where were you collected from?”
“The Outerlands,” Dean says, feeling himself tense. He wants to start throwing punches but he has to, has to, keep calm.
“How did you get into the Outerlands?” The Official asks, leaning forwards.
“Jumped over the fence,” Dean says, staring at him.
“You can’t jump over the fence,” he says, dropping the pen and bringing his hands together. “So, how did you get over? Did someone help you?”
“No,” Dean says easily, bringing his own hands onto the desk. “I climbed. Like I told you.”
The Official narrows his eyes, but instead of challenging him, he asks, “Who were you with?”
“Just me,” Dean says. “I wasn’t with anybody.”
“No parents? No family? Just yourself?”
“My family is dead,” Dean says. The Official looks him over with his heavy stare and Dean tenses again, but he looks down at his sheet, seemingly satisfied, and writes something down.
“Do you know how to operate weaponry?” he asks.
“No.”
“Do you know how to hunt?”
“No.”
“To cook?”
“A little.”
The Official finishes writing and opens one of the drawers behind the desk, and brings out a rubber stamp and ink. He types something into the computer, writes something else down on the form, and then stamps an ‘A’ in the top right hand corner. He stands up, tells Dean to, “Wait here,” and walks to a door at the end of the room. He opens it to reveal a cabinet, and takes out a black bag.
There’s a number on the bag, that he copies onto the form, and then taps into the computer, before handing the bag over. Dean takes it hesitantly.
“Your clothes,” the Official says, without looking up from his computer.
Dean swallows and peers inside the bag.
“And that’s your identity number - 1017106.”
“My identity number?”
“Unique to you,” the Official says, filing the form away and turning to face him. “Okay, excellent. Now, you are going to get changed, put your clothes in that bag, give it to me, and then you will be escorted to your room.”
The Official leaves the room and Dean changes quickly before knocking on the door that the Official left by and handing him the bag. The Official takes it, puts it in the cabinet, and then takes Dean roughly by his bicep and pulls him out of the room.
They walk along another corridor and Dean tries to remember their route, to get an idea of the structure of the building in case it becomes important.
They ascend some stairs and stop at the first door, which has the number ten painted on the front. There’s a red button, a black button, a keyhole, and a number keypad, and Dean watches carefully as he enters in some numbers, waits for a beep, and presses the red button. He puts his key in the keyhole, unlocks it, and he pulls it open, ushering Dean inside. He goes without any resistance, and stands there until the door is shut behind him.
He looks around to see five other teenagers his age, looking at him with wary eyes. There are bunk beds along the walls, of which there look about twenty. Close quarters, then.
He chooses one at the back, opposite the door and just off center, so he has a clear view without being obvious. The other teenagers which him without saying anything.
“I’m Dean,” he offers, sitting down on the bed, and assessing them. A blond boy with a dirty face nods at him.
“I’m Luke,” he says.
“And you?” Dean asks, nodding to a girl next to him.
“Charlotte,” she says quietly.
“It’s a pleasure, Charlotte,” Dean says, smiling at her. “What about you, huh?”
A boy with red hair looks at him and glares. Dean knows the kind of kid, knows he won’t get anything out of him, but says anyway, “Hey, we’re bunk buddies now, so we must as well know each other's names, right?”
“We’re not buddies,” he says, frowning at him. “And I’m not here to make friends.”
Dean raises his eyebrows at him but moves on to another girl, shorter than the rest of them with blonde pigtails. “Your name, sweetheart?”
“Becky,” she says, offering a small smile.
He grins at her, all charm, before moving onto the last person.
“Lizzie,” she says, before Dean even says anything. “Nice to meet you.”
“And you, Lizzie. How long have you been here?”
“Came today,” she says, glancing at the others. “I think we all did.” A few people nod.
“The Outerlands?” Dean asks.
“Yes,” she replies, walking over to him, and sitting on a nearby bed. “I was walking in the woods when they came.”
“You didn’t, by any chance, see a boy about this high,” Dean says, indicating with his hand, “with floppy hair, hazel eyes, looks about fourteen?”
Luke raises an eyebrow at him. “There were a lot of kids that could fit that description.”
“Well, he would’ve been struggling,” Dean says. “He can’t hear well, so he probably wouldn’t understand what they were telling him?”
Lizzie looks at him with sympathy. “Your brother?”
“Yeah. I look after the kid, so I need to find him.”
The boy with the red hair snorts a laugh, and Dean turns to him with a glare. “You got something to say?”
“You obviously don’t look after him well if he got caught.”
Dean’s up on his feet before he’s even realizing what’s happening. “You wanna say that again?” he says, walking over to him.
“Hey, come on, guys,” Luke says, stepping forward. “Let’s not kill each other, okay?”
The kid with the red hair laughs and shakes his head. “Whatever, man. Not worth it.”
Dean’s right about ready to clock him between the eyes when the door beeps and he can hear it unlock. He gives the red haired kid one last warning glare before heading back to sit on his bed.
The door opens and a boy with curly, brown hair gets shoved in. There’s a huge sense of disappointment that wells up inside him, and Dean is a little shocked by it. He had hoped that was Cas walking through that door. Same height maybe, and same build, but that’s it.
Dean swallows hard, and lies back on his bed, not even bothering to make conversation with him. He takes the bottom bed for easier extrication, and tries to get comfortable on the lumpy mattress. He misses Cas, more than he would ever voice out loud. In the Outerlands they were learning to be happy together, and Dean misses his warm, soft skin pressed up against him at night, and his soft, sweet, butterfly kisses.
He closes his eyes and lets himself imagine his piercing blue eyes and the way he smiles just a little. Everything about Cas’ expressions are subtle, but they speak volumes.
He can hear Lizzie and Luke talking with the new boy, whose name is revealed to be Oliver, but he tries to tune them out and think of sitting in the sunshine with Cas at his side, and Sam and Jess sitting opposite them. That day feels so long ago now, and the Outerlands feel more like a surreal dream than what was a short reality.
He lies there listening as more people enter, as they talk about the small bathroom at the end of the room, which Dean glances to and decides to use for the sake of it. He wanders back onto his bed afterwards and lets his eyes closed, letting the sounds of the others turn into a dull hum.
The door opens again, and then shuts, and Dean doesn’t look around. He doesn’t think he needs to.
“Dean?”
He opens his eyes with a start and turns his head to see Castiel standing in the middle of the room, his dark hair tousled, standing awkwardly in his uniform.
Dean grins and gets off the bed, and walks towards him. “Cas,” he says, grinning, without being able to stop. He wraps his arms around him and places a kiss on the top of his head.
He hears a snigger and he steps backwards and looks over Cas’ shoulder and sees the red haired boy from earlier looking at them. Dean asks, “We got a problem?”
He shakes his head, still smirking. “Not at all.”
“Didn’t think so,” Dean says, before going back to Cas and smiling at him. He doesn’t give a fuck about who sees them, more grateful than he can express at the fortune of them landing together. From glancing around the room he can see they all look about the same age, and there goes the hope that Sam would maybe end up with him.
Still smiling he pulls Cas close again before leading him over to the bunk he’s chosen.
Cas sits down beside him and lets out a slow breath. “Dean, this is a difficult situation.”
“I know,” Dean says quietly, wrapping his arm around Cas’ waist. “But we’re going to get out of this. I don’t care what it takes.”
Cas leans his head against his shoulder and Dean rubs his hand comfortingly up and down his back.
“Take top bunk,” Dean says. “Or bottom, I don’t care. But you’re not getting lost again, you hear?”
Cas leans up to press a kiss against his neck before nodding. “You’re not, either.”
He can feel people staring at them but he’s past the point of caring about any of that. The ginger boy is still smirking at them, and he hears a girl call him Aaron and Dean purses his lips, and makes a mental note to not draw any attention to himself, and stay away from him for the sake of remaining inconspicuous.
It’s not long before all of the beds are filled. An Official opens the door an hour later and tells them lights out is in ten minutes, and there’s no food this evening, but breakfast is early. There are a few grumbles but the Official is holding a gun and his eyes are dark, and there’s a smirk on his lips. He gives enough of a dangerous impression that nobody dares say any more.
The door slams shut again and people start to talk, and Dean tries to drown it out. Cas is on the top bunk, looking down at him, and Dean is lying back on his, and can see just the side of Cas’ head.
Cas’ hands hang down, and he says, It’s going to be okay.
Seeing his hands shape those signs is like a punch to the gut and he doesn’t want to fucking cry, not in front of all of these people, but he knows he’s said that to Sam time and time again, and he couldn’t carry through with the promise. He couldn’t do it this time.
He shuts his eyes, waiting for the lights to turn off, and the room is soon plunged into darkness. There’s muttering for ten minutes before the room turns surprisingly quiet, and there’s only the sound of rustling sheets and people whispering.
Dean is still squeezing his eyes shut against the tears, and he feels as Cas climbs down the side of the bed and crawls in beside him. He moves over to make room, and pulls him close.
“I can’t fucking do this anymore,” he whispers, squeezing his eyes shut tighter and hiding his face in Cas’ chest. “I want this to be over. I want Sam. I want my dad, and I want us to all get out of here.”
Cas rubs his hand over Dean’s back but doesn’t say anything, and Dean is grateful to be given the chance to just vent.
“I want to just find a way to get out of this place. Out of this fucking prison. Christ, I don’t even have an identity in this place. I’m just a number. I want to be more than that, you know? And you’re here, and I couldn't... I couldn’t do this without you. But we need to find Sam. I have to.”
“I know,” Cas whispers, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “We will.”
Dean lifts his head up and looks at Cas staring down at him and feels a warmth thrum through him. His eyes are bright in the darkness, and Dean reaches up to cup his hand gently on Cas’ cheek. “You’re not afraid?”
Cas leans forward and presses their lips together. Dean feels a weight ease off of him and wraps an arm around Cas’ waist and pulls him close, clutching him tight so he doesn’t slip away. “I am,” he says quietly, eyes closed.
Dean understands, he does. He understands why it’s so difficult admitting that, and yet it’s easier to find the words in the dark. He feels safe with Cas, and there’s a vulnerability there that he so rarely shows. But what Cas says next is something he doesn’t expect.
“I’m afraid of losing this. Of losing you. We’re stuck here, and that’s terrible. But I would feel just as bad, perhaps worse if we escaped, and we were free, and yet I lost you. It feels like an awful thing to say, but I would rather be imprisoned in here if it meant being with you. I know that’s selfish. I know.”
“You’re not going to lose me,” Dean mumbles, feeling his throat constrict. His eyes feel heavy and wet and he tries to swallow down the three little words that want to pour out. “I’m here. I’m right here.”
“I’m not afraid of what these people can do to me,” Cas says, and Dean expects more, but it’s left like that. Cas has made himself vulnerable, openly fragile, but just for Dean. And that scares him.
It makes Dean realize the huge power he holds over Cas, that he could hurt Cas in ways the Officials couldn’t even consider. The feeling overwhelms him and frightens him, and he wants to pull away from that, but Cas just holds on tighter and Dean melts against him.
He wants to promise everything will be okay, because that’s what he always does. He puts up a front and he smiles when things get bad, just enough that Sam doesn’t question anything and Dean is able to get them out of any bad situation. This time he failed, and he can’t find it in himself to offer any kind of false consolation.
They fall asleep wrapped up in one another, and in the early hours of the morning, Cas climbs back into his bed, and Dean watches him go in silence.
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