Chapter Text
Captain Dean Winchester of the Squirrel looked up from the cargo ledger taken from the Belvedere they’d looted three days ago. The hulking figure of Benny Lafitte, one of his trusted advisors, stood in his cabin doorway.
“Cher...” Benny’s expression and his hesitant tone suggested that someone had screwed up in a manner only the Captain could fix.
“What! Can’t you or Bobby handle whatever the fuck it is. Or if it involves anyone’s sensitivities, Sam or Charlie would be my choice.”
“We got a major problem, Cher. One people won’t take anyone else’s say so on.”
“Damnit Benny. What’s the point of having a first mate if they don’t ever deal with shit.”
Benny chuckled nervously. He didn’t move from the doorway, though. “Price you pay for being the great, infamous Captain Dean Winchester, I guess. No asshole listens to anyone else—besides we all know Bobby’s got his head buried in those texts about the angels and sirens and all manner of other imaginary beasties, he don’t listen to what anyone has to say.”
“Sonofabitch! Get Sam in here first then I’ll come find you. I trust you can get the crew to stow whatever crap this is for a few minutes. Or is that only something the Captain can do?”
With a sarcastic salute and small shake of his head, Benny turned and strode away yelling for Sam. Seriously, if that was all that was required, Dean could have done that himself.
He scraped a hand through the tangled mess of his hair, squinting at the numbers on the page in front of him while waiting for his younger brother.
“You got your lap dog to screech,” Sam said, still wiping his hands with a filthy, bloodstained rag. “What’s so urgent you pull me away from tending the walking wounded?”
“And how many will actually be useful to us again? Or are you playing nursemaid to mouths we’ll have to feed while they can’t do jack for us?”
Sam flopped onto a chair, kicking his long legs up on the table. “You know damn well, we only kept those that youagreed we should of the injured. Besides who else learned about herbs and poultices from the Witch of Tortola, and is considered by all—you included—ship’s healer?”
Dean huffed out a slow breath, clenching and unclenching his fingers, then pushed the ledger across the table towards Sam. He hated it when his brother was right; Sam had learned a few tricks (most likely literally) from Rowena that had kept the crew in better health than might be expected for a life of looting and debauchery at sea.
“Apparently there’s a problem Benny can’t handle. Division of the booty needs doing. As it’s either you or Charlie I trust to handle the numbers, and Charlie is at the helm...” Dean paused to let the implication sink in. “You get the honour, while I put the fear of the Lord Almighty into the morons.”
Sam smirked and gave Dean a knowing grin. “Yeah, I think this situation is beyond Benny’s authority to solve. Good luck, and er...better be prepared for Bobby to say something like “I told ya so, idjit!” With that, Sam righted himself, dragged the ledger closer and began tracing the lines with his finger, muttering under his breath.
Dean grabbed his hat—a fine feathered one he’d swiped from a commander of one of His Majesty’s frigates, now resting at the bottom of the ocean, courtesy of Dean and his crew—and stalked onto the main deck, scowl already in place. The Squirrel was still a mess, and at least a week out from the nearest safe port to make some of the necessary repairs. They’d suffered worse before, no doubt would again.
“Captain!” Charlie waved with one hand from the quarterdeck, the other on the wheel. “Steady course for Fortuna Bay?”
“Yes. Did you see where Benny went?”
“Below decks, stomping too. Did you nark him off?”
Dean flipped Charlie off. “What you all staring at?”
Several crew members were idling on the deck, watching the interchange between Dean and the ship’s Quartermaster.
“Nothing.”
“Sorry, Captain.”
“Just doing our jobs.”
“Not what it looks like to me.” Dean moved his hand to the hilt of his dussack. A posturing gesture. He wouldn’t ever cut one of his crew for something so minor. He wasn’t Blackbeard or Kidd. The Squirrel was more found family than a fear-based autocracy. But every now and then, Dean did need to show his teeth, even if everyone knew it was mostly for show. He crouched next to the one swabbing the decks nearest the ladder to the lower decks. “Well, did Lafitte go down there?”
The deckhand nodded as he vigorously scrubbed the same four inches in front of him, not making eye contact with Dean.
Dean grunted his thanks, but not before noticing the obvious signs of scurvy on the man’s skin. He made a mental note to get Sam to look at him, not that it was unusual for a seasoned sailor, even so the concern for the crew’s welfare beyond what bounty they acquired was one of the main tenets of the Squirrel.
He paused at the first deck, scanning for signs of a recent incident. When nothing obvious peered back at him through the gloom, he went for the tried-and-true method of yelling.
“Lafitte? Where are you?”
“Cargo.” The reply was more clipped and muffled than Dean liked, so he scrambled down the next ladder with as much dignity as he could.
“You, stay there. Don’t move, don’t speak, don’t.... don’t even look funny at anyone, you hear?”
“Damn stupid bastard. Gets too close for comfort and won’t stop staring!”
“Do we need to wait? Can’t we throw him overboard....he smelled my neck, wouldn’t stop when I asked.”
“Told me to stand still, tilt my neck to the side and then got weird when I told him no.”
“It’s a demon, I tell ya! Get Singer; he’ll know.”
Dean paused on the second from last rung, sucked in a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose trying to separate each voice and work out what the hell had happened down here.
“Captain,” Benny said, hurrying to Dean’s side and lowering his voice. “See what I mean. They’re out for the new deckhand’s blood. Usually I’d let ‘em sort it out but—”
“What fellow?”
“The prisoner from the Belvedere? You said we should keep him if he was able-bodied.”
Dean pinched the bridge of his nose, realizing that this was indeed a problem of his own making. In all the kerfuffle, he’d not really thought about it. A prisoner on a merchant ship would jump at the chance to join a pirate crew, instead of jail or hanging right? So, ergo, they wouldn’t cause any problems—well not right away at least. Shows what Dean knows.
“Well what is the situation? No, games.”
Benny grimaced. “You mean apart from Creaser trying to rile ‘em all up thinking the new hand is some supernatural beast of ill omen?”
“For the love of all that is unholy. Bobby has a lot to answer for with his tall tales!” Dean fingered the handle of his pistol, then the hilt of the dussack. From what little he’d gleaned from his father’s oldest friend, neither would do him much good if the newcomer was a demon. Sonuvabitch! Definitely been listening to the old coot for too long.
“Come on, before he decides to start acting strange again.”
Benny clapped Dean on the shoulder and trudged (not a good sign) to the cargo hold.
“Him? That’s the troublemaker?” Dean stared at a man in petticoat breeches and a linen shirt with a ruffled front and high collar, sat on a barrel with his knees and feet together, hands held neatly in his lap, head tilted to one side. What he definitely did not notice was the plump, but dry and cracked lips, or the piercing gaze that seemed to be searching Dean’s soul, under a mop of messy dark brown hair, capped off with a sharp chiseled jawline.
Benny gave him a silent yes, then took his position off to the side. Ostensibly, between Dean and the crew members but clearly behind Dean. He tucked that information away for later consideration. No matter how fanciful some of the crew could be, Benny was keeping his distance from the new hand. Something about him had got to Benny too. Maybe he should fetch Bobby? No. I’m the Captain, I deal with it. If he needed Bobby’s input he’d go find him in the galley later.
“What’s your name?”
“Castiel.”
“I’m Dean Winchester, Captain of this ship.”
The head tilt increased and the furrow of Castiel’s brow got deeper. He seemed to take a deep inhale through his nose as if sniffing something, then pursed his lips and shook his head.
“My pleasure to meet you, Captain Winchester.”
Castiel stood and stalked, chest puffed out, head held high, right up to Dean. Closer than anyone other than any crew member not one of Dean’s inner circle would dare stand to the Captain.
“Watch out, Captain!”
Dean took a half step back, hand ready to draw the dussack. “Woah. Personal space. Get back.”
“See! Told ya. I said I seen his eyes glowing red. See there’s fangs too. Right there, peeking over his lip.”
“Creaser, fuck off. Not helping. Cas, what the hell!” By the saints this man was gorgeous. Dean wouldn’t find it hard to believe he was an incubus sent to bring destruction on the Squirrel —if those things weren’t stories meant to scare the weak-minded and keep them in line and lining the Church’s pockets.
“Apologies. I merely wished to scent you.” Castiel didn’t actually take a step back, but he stood straight not leaning in towards Dean. “Cas? No one has ever called me that before.”
“Well don’t scent me.” Dean turned to the crew. “All right. I got this. I’m sure you all have things you should be doing to get us shipshape again. If not, I’m certain First Mate Lafitte, Cook Singer, or our ship’s healer can find you something to do.”
A lazy shuffling began.
Dean stamped his foot and clapped his hands. “Did I stutter or make myself unclear? If I catch any of you not turning the Squirrel back to her rightful state, I’ll toss you overboard myself. Now get.”
His command was met with a few snorts, but mostly a round of “aye, Captain” as the crew left the hold.
“Not you, Cas!”
“Oh.”
“Sit.”
Castiel stared back at Dean, a quizzical expression on his face. “I’m sorry, did I offend you in some way, Captain Winchester?” The man still didn’t sit. “My apologies. I find myself at a loss to understand why my behaviour is considered odd.”
“Please, sit down. We need to get to the bottom of what’s going on.” Dean pointed to the barrel. He was going to need a bottle of grog after this conversation and the sun wasn’t even past the yardarm yet! He did not stare at the way Castiel’s breeches perfectly showed of his shapely ass. That would be rude and Castiel apparently had that down well enough for both of them.
Once Castiel was perched back on the barrel, Dean dragged a crate of something opposite and sat. Although he did keep one hand over his dussack, ready...for what he wasn’t sure but better prepared than dead or possessed.
“Is that truly required?” Castiel inclined his head toward Dean’s weapons.
“Do you know anything about life at sea?”
“Not really. I, well, that was my first trip being aboard the Belvedere.”
Now it was Dean’s turn to look incredulous. Surely nobody could be as naïve as Castiel was behaving. Didn’t he know he was a prisoner or—Nope. Not going there.
“Although, I must admit to be shocked at ending up here with your crew. Lee made a compelling offer—join or end up at the bottom of the ocean...and well if that’s what I’d wanted I could very well have done that myself...so, here I am, Captain.” Castiel gave a one-shouldered shrug.
Dean couldn’t fault the logic. He took a moment to consider the scant evidence he had. If he took Castiel at his word, he was clearly a naïve idiot who had no clue what had been about to happen nor what he’d apparently gotten himself into working on a pirate vessel. Good job he’d ended up on the Squirrel with Dean. There was no logical explanation for the strange behaviour but Dean had seen firsthand people who’d experienced massive shocks start acting weird. Not as if John Winchester had been all there in the head after Mary died was it?
“Here’s what is going to happen, Cas.” Lord have mercy, Dean hoped he wasn’t going to regret his next action, but being shorthanded left him with little option—and no bandwidth to keep Castiel in the brig. “You are going to promise me that there’ll be no more weird behaviour around the rest of the crew. Got it?”
Castiel nodded vigorously.
“You’ll do what is asked of you without question. When we next dock, you will be free to leave or stay. Which is actually more than I’m required to offer as Captain. You agreed to serve on this ship and I should make you abide by that, but something tells me you ain’t got a clue what you’ve got yourself into. Can you do that?”
For several seconds, Castiel sized Dean up, one eyebrow raised, head cocked to one side. Finally, he gave his answer, “Yes, Captain. I can do that.”
“All right. Up on deck and about whatever it was you were doing before...well, before you seemed to upset a bunch of jumpy pirates. Not a smart move, Cas. Take it from me.”
Dean stood, then kicked the crate back into place. He beckoned Castiel over and jerked his head at the ladder. Better he went first than have him at Dean’s back. It was wisdom. Entirely for his own safety, nothing to do with the view he’d get—nothing at all.
Once on deck, Castiel paused scanning the area and again looking as if he was sniffing for something. To be fair, Dean often wanted several lungfuls of ocean air after coming up from below decks.
Benny ambled over from where he’d been inspecting the repairs to a sail damaged in the fight with the Belvedere. On seeing Castiel, Benny’s hand also drifted to his dussack. He leaned in close to Dean as if to whisper in his ear but didn’t get chance to say anything.
“Back away from him. Remove your hand from your weapon.” Castiel was stood, feet wide, jaw tensed, hands clenched into tight fists at his side, glaring at Benny.
Something about the tone made Dean’s brain itch.
Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Benny take a half-step back and lift his hand, before dropping it again and drawing the dussack to point at Castiel.
“What the fuck!” Dean rubbed at his eyes as he sighed. “Stand down, Benny. Cas, it’s fine. My First Mate wasn’t going to harm me. Get to work—NOW.”
“As you wish, Captain. I was merely trying to protect you. My mistake.”
Benny stood frozen by Dean’s side. Dean guessed that like him, Beny was tracking every step of Castiel’s retreating form. “Why, Cher? That bastard is nothing but bad news. What did he just do to me?”
Dean wasn’t going to acknowledge that he’d felt some weak compulsion to—not exactly to obey, but at least to pay serious attention to Castiel’s commands. What the hell? Dean Winchester didn’t need protecting from anyone, let alone Benny Laffitte!
“I promised him safe passage to St. Thomas, Benny. You know I keep my word.”
“Yeah, you do. But, what if Creaser’s right and he’s a—”
“Don’t say it!”
Benny deflated but his face showed he wasn’t happy with Dean’s decision. “Your funeral. Better hope it isn’t that of everyone on board.” Benny stomped away, shaking his head.