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They set sail as the sun peeks through the dank cloud. The winds are strong and cold, rolling off the Pacific and swooping into the sails. Bearing north, the Hunters head to the west coast of Ireland: Clew Bay.
It’s a notorious pirate port as well as a drop off point for the Enochian. Dean watches the dark blue waves crash against the belly of his ship; he swallows reflexively. Sunlight pools on the surface, pale patches that shimmer and dance in a fluid motion. He inhales the salt catching in the back of his throat. The crew go about the deck, cleaning, singing, messing around.
Nerves run riot in his gut, twisting and knotting his insides.
Dean Winchester doesn’t get anxious. He’s the model for shutting those thoughts down before they even get the chance to arise. But something about this shit storm that’s brewing; it’s so much bigger than him and his crew. Sighing, he turns from the ocean to watch his friends – family – and wonders at what cost they will follow this through. Sure, they’re labelled as tyrants and murderers, though these people right here? They are personally invested in protecting people. They don’t do it for recognition, a thank you, for the money.
Piracy doesn’t pay.
They do the job because someone has to. If not them, who? Kicking ass and taking names is the only thing many of them have ever known. Dejectedly looking down, he takes stock of the tatters of his clothes, the scars cowering beneath the layers. He can’t let them get too far into this. Slavery has to end, yes, just not at the cost of their lives.
Cas is unusually quiet. I mean, the guy is usually stoically quiet. This, though, this is different.
They touch, silently. The kisses become less intense, less frequent and if Dean didn’t know any better he’d say that Cas was nervous. Which, in itself, is hilarious because the guy barely even gets excited about something, he is a blank sheet, only starting to develop emotions and reactions outside that of the factory settings he was raised with. Dean’s childhood may have sucked ass, but at least he didn’t turn into a mindless drone. Cas never even questioned orders before...
And people say he’s a blunt instrument. Cas used to be a frigging hammer!
They port 3 days later.
The town is much larger, the coast bulging at the seams with business and activity. Centuries old buildings still stand, layered behind ships and boats of all sizes. Dean appreciates the different craftsmanship; despite no one’s vessel coming close to baby. He affectionately rubs his hands over her wheel, steering so that they’re parallel with the port.
Scrambling to the boats, they gradually row into shore. Everyone is eerily quiet. He glances around his boat, no body talking, nobody laughing. No one meets his eye. He sighs. Whose fight is he still fighting?
Cas offers him a small smile. He returns it, although it comes out as more of a grimace.
They reach the coastline in a similar silence, the boats bumping against the concrete walls. The beaches are protected, surrounded even, by concrete. It’s one of the few ports that is exploiting new materials – not that it is an improvement – choking the bright sand and coast with muted grey and dull charcoal.
“Right,” He draws their attention. His crew looks beat. Guilt and regret swirl in his veins. Trying his best to swallow it down, without being too obvious, he scratches his neck and continues to address them. “We’re just scouting, ok. You see anyone, Fed’s, the Enochian crew, you hightail it outta there, got it?”
He gives Benny, Garth and Pam a pointed look. Charlie and Kevin reckon that the missionaries are docked here, extra information that he doesn’t care to know how they received. The intels good, Charlie is the most reliable person he knows. She helped to sort of the tracking system on all their maps, coordinating colour with a whole bunch of variables. They had spent last night in his cabin, checking to see if it fit the pattern. Surprise, surprise, it did.
His crew nods, a few mumbling ‘yeah’.
Tiredly, he lets them split up and start searching. Cas remains a constant shadow at his side. Maybe he is afraid of seeing an old member of his crew. Maybe Dean should be worrying about that too. It would definitely spell trouble; it is no secret that the Enochian believes themselves above everyone else (in general) and especially regard the Hunters as mud monkeys, bottom of the hierarchy.
“Preachy bastards,” He mutters to himself. If they actually wanted to help people, they would stop blabbing the word of some non-existent or, should God exist, sadistic asshole and get people out of the situation.
Cas follows Dean cautiously. This is the closest he’s been to going home in months. He’s concerned as to the outcome of Dean, any of the Hunters really, being seen here. They are not even being discreet. The only plus side is that Dean’s tattoo is hidden beneath multiple layers of clothing, as is his own. However, Dean Winchester is somewhat of a legend, famous before Cas laid eyes on him.
Pirate. Murderer. Thief.
The list has some pretty interesting adjectives too, none of which do the man justice. Very much entranced by his own thoughts, he doesn’t realise he has been diverged from Dean’s side until he fully registers the hand on his arm. It’s clamping down, hard. He rips the hand round, pressing the culprit to the nearest hard surface, putting pressure on the delicate wrist and shoulder joint.
He is surprised to see fading white hair.
“Castiel! Unhand me at once.”
He inwardly cringes. Zachariah.
Letting go, he steps back and straightens his trench coat. He looks for Dean, only to find that a milling crowd is passing them by unaware and they are in an alcove of a building.
Zachariah glares at him; he rolls his eyes.
“You will do better to remember your place, Castiel. Now, where is it?”
Cas tilts his head, an unbreakable habit.
“Where is what?”
Hunters have taught him the delicate art of deception and deflection.
“The book Castiel!” He hisses violently, “The solution to our disgusting pirate problem. Word has spread that you located John Winchester’s journal.”
“I do not have a way in which to acquire it.” That is not a complete lie.
The withering man looks at him incredulously, his cold grey eyes venomous and leaking anger into his wrinkles.
“You mean to tell me, that one of the best soldiers of the Garrison cannot steal one... Little... Book?!” He gets closer with each word until Cas can feel the condescending spit on his face.
“It is kept on his person.” A weak excuse if ever he gave one, however, the truth. The truth seems to merely serve to aggravate him further.
Without warning, a hand is behind his head and Zachariah is propelling his face into the brick wall. Once... Twice...
Blood seeps miserably from his cheek, nose, and temple. He carefully places a blank expression on his face. Twitching his cheek, he attempts to inconspicuously remove the red dust threatening to make him sneeze.
“You let your feelings misguide you Castiel. Michael will be disappointed in you.”
Cas raises his fists to retaliate but Zachariah is already gone. Instantly becoming consumed by the working crowd, Cas runs out to follow him. He stands, hopelessly turning, scanning each face as they pass him.
A hand grabs his bicep; he reacts reflexively and yanks away.
“Cas?”
It’s Dean. He hasn’t got time to formulate a good enough lie.
“Cas,” Reaching out, Dean gingerly brushes the pad of his thumb across his bruising and bloody cheek. His hands are calloused and rough, though are devastatingly tender in their actions. “What the hell happened to your face?”
He’s thinking of a reply, shying away now from the touch. The fact that Zachariah is here means that Michael can’t be far from him. Zachariah is his pit bull, and he delivers without fail. Dean needs to know the possibility of a trap, increasing the longer they stand there. He doesn’t know what Dean was planning to achieve from this – confused as to what information they can gather from the estranged family of Lucifer – promptly deciding to tell him that they need to leave. Immediately.
Opening his mouth, he doesn’t even get the first syllable out before he is cut off.
“Dean!” It’s incredibly distressed and Dean drops his hand immediately to catch a crying Charlie.
“Woah Charlie,” He holds her tight, rubbing circles on her back. His focus is on her and only her until he looks up and frowns. “Where are Jo and Kev?”
Charlie begins to sob hard. Her words are lost in desperate breaths and he clings to Dean’s body like it’s the only thing keeping her together. Cas has never, not even when he informed her of the impossibility of magic, seen her crack this bad.
“Charlie,” Dean pushes her back gently, holding her shoulders. “I need you to take a few deep breaths and calm down. Can you do that for me?”
Nodding quickly, she breathes in, swallows; rubbing her eyes and then breathes out. Dean smiles at her reassuringly. It doesn’t look like the first panic attack he’s ever had to resolve.
“We were just walking,” She pauses to sniff, “Through the square,” then points in the direction she came from, Dean following her finger, “When two guys approached us. I don’t know if they’re feds, or who they are, but we split and ran. I have no idea how, but they got them Dean. They have Jo and Kev.”
She nearly breaks down again.
“It’s my fault.”
“No.” He stops staring into the distance, mind calculating with the shift of his jaw, snapping his head straight back to her, “Don’t you ever say that.”
“But-“
“No.”
He turns, facing Cas who is standing, waiting, to tell Dean that it’s a trap and that suddenly Jo and Kevin getting caught is more than just coincidence. His mouth is open, words on the tip of his tongue when-
“Everyone, back to the ship now. Round everyone up,” Benny is walking towards them, Dean gestures him over with his hand. “You’re in charge brother. Get everyone back to the Impala.”
Benny doesn’t hesitate. “You got it.”
Cas can see the noticeable weight that has been lifted off of Dean’s shoulders. He is further faced with more questions. He surely isn’t going to leave them, but he can’t possibly save them alone. “It’s a trap.” Stating abruptly, he pulls on Dean’s arm.
From behind him, he hears Benny say, “No really?”
How can he be this dense? “I am certain.”
Chuckling, Benny returns, “And is this also the blinding intelligence that is certain of the existence of God?”
They are facing each other now, Cas squinting at Benny, “It is impossible to be visually impaired by a metaphysical idea.”
He sees Dean roll his eyes out of the corner of his vision. Benny looks behind him, counting the crew, then smirks, “Now you’re kidding me.”
“I am not ‘kidding’ you-“
Dean pushes between them. “You two are killing me here! You can have your little bitch fight when you’re standing on the deck of the Impala.”
Sharing a private look, Dean steps away from Benny and the anxious crew. Jealousy spikes in Cas’ gut. He frowns, tuning the feeling out. He watches Dean’s colours bleed into the other people, despondently tracing their steps back to the Impala.
It’s a trap.
Dean is walking straight into it.
“He’ll get caught.” Cas growls, Benny having taken place beside him.
“He knows what he’s doing.”
“The Enochian are here-“
Benny stops him with a large paw on his chest. “If he needs us, we’ll be there. Until then, all these people are in danger the longer we hang around. He just doesn’t risk his crew like that, Castiel.”
The conversation is successfully stunted after that.
Staying close to the shadows, Dean rounds the archway to where Charlie said Jo and Kevin were. He sees guards approaching and falls back against the wall. They don’t notice him as they pass.
Finding the jail is more of a case of finding the sign – it is alarmingly obvious as Dean looks up. Painted in bold black letters on a wooden plaque is ‘St Michael’s Clew Jail’. He snorts. They like to make it easy for him.
There are no guards outside, which is unusual, but Dean won’t dwell on good fortune. Though it has a habit of biting him in ass, he won’t think about the possible implications of how Cas knew it was a trap. He knows that it’s a trap because he is a wanted man... The look in Cas’ eyes made him think this was more than just the Feds.
Picking the lock, he pushes the wooden door in. It leads to a spiral staircase, that he transcends vigilantly, blade at the ready. He doesn’t want to leave a body trail, really, but Kevin and Jo are getting out of here. No doubt about it.
Whatever the cost?
No matter the consequences.
He jumps the last step, startling the sentry posted outside. Hitting the side of the man’s head with the butt end of his sword, he catches him and lets him droop to the floor. The steel bars of the cells stare at him as he looks up from patting the guy down. Damn, no keys.
“Jo, Kevin?” Swiftly moving, he stands with a pop to his knees. He groans at the feeling and leans against the wall. He’s getting too old for this shit.
“Dean?!” He follows the direction the voice came from. It sounded like Kevin, being muffled by something. Do they put bags over the prisoner’s heads here?!
“Kevin?”
He gets to the end of the corridor of cells, checking each one as he passes.
It’s empty...
The door at the end is open.
He turns in time to be smacked round the face with a block.
Everything fades to black.