Fic: Precious (Chapter 1/3)

Title: Precious
Author: clueless_psycho
Fandom/Genre: AU/Drama/Slash
Pairing(s): Dean/Castiel
Rating: R
Word Count: 20,304
Warnings: AU, deaths, but not the major one, war, gore



Summary: Dean, Kubrick, Jake and Ash were US Special Force members stationed in Afghanistan. An attack got them separated from the basecamp and lost in the mountainous area. They came across a house, kept by Castiel who fed them, let them stay the night and tended Jake’s wound. Nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary until Kubrick was found dead upon leaving the house.

Alpha and beta readers: seraphim_grace and randrews25
Special thanks to my unofficial cheerleader: singerofdark





So take my hand
I’m a stranger in the strangest land
I’ll return the favour
Slide into my heart
We’ll hide there in the dark

Strangest Land – Tom McRae



“It’s a full moon,” Castiel spoke quietly, his voice floating in the air like smoke.

Dean shifted his head to the window so he could see the sky outside and it was indeed a full moon, the soft beam brightened the sky and it reminded him of colorful lights in Las Vegas.

“I’ll show you something,” Castiel said again as he handed Dean the last plate to dry.

They were in the kitchen, washing the dirty plates and glasses and spoons and forks. Castiel had told Dean that he didn’t need to help him, but Dean insisted because Castiel had been very kind to feed him and his friends and give them a place to stay the night, this was the least he could do to express his gratitude.



Although, dish-washing turned to be a little hard to do as the plates were made of very fine porcelain, the glasses crystal and the spoons and forks and knives silver, they could have come from Louis XIII’s palace if Dean may say so about them, and Dean was used more to handling guns and hunting knives than silver eating utensils, and there was no electric dishwasher. Still Dean enjoyed it, he enjoyed being around Castiel, who wore a gamis, a robe made of kaftan, like an Afghan woman, and moved so gracefully as if his feet didn’t touch the ground at all and the correct term should be “glide”.

Castiel took a candle in its candlestick and Dean did the same and he followed Castiel. They walked toward the stairway, passing doors that led to rooms. They passed the living room where Kubrick was smoking a cigar and drinking wine while playing solitaire chess, using a set made of ivory. They passed the library and Dean saw Ash was browsing leather bound books, as thick and big as pillows, yapping about the lack of electricity that prevented him from booting up his self-made laptop and accessing the net. They went up to the second floor and Dean could hear Jake’s heavy breathing from behind the nearest door from the stairs and he was glad to know that Jake was getting better so fast after Castiel tended to the wound caused by a knife in his left thigh.

They walked up to the third floor- which turned out to be a maze of corridors and Dean was convinced that if Castiel suddenly disappeared while they were there, he would never find his way back to the living room; Or he would, but not until another century had passed and if he was still alive by then, and the house would be exactly the same.

Castiel finally stopped in front of a huge wooden door with a rusted handle and hinges. It wasn’t locked but Castiel had to make a real effort to make the door budge a little, so Dean helped and decided that the door weighed at least a tonne.

“This leads to the tower,” Castiel said after Dean had pushed the door enough to make a gap for them to slide through. There was a stairway behind the door, made of river stones, but Dean didn’t remember having seen a tower attached to the house. Naturally he was wrong and he decided that he had to stop guessing or making any assumptions about the house because the house was clearly not average.

They began climbing the stairs, Castiel didn’t make any sound at all except for his even breathing while the soft whisper of Dean’s military issued boots shushed against the hollow cylinder stone walls and followed by the noises of his panting after several tenth of steps.

“You okay?” asked Castiel without pausing or looking back at him.

“Yeah, peachy keen,” Dean answered, trying to sound cheerful and brave, although he wished that at the top of this seemingly endless stairway, there was his mom’s awesome roast beef sandwiches that he missed so much.

“We can stop here and go back if you want,” Castiel offered although he didn’t show any intention to stop.

Dean wanted to tell him that he had gone through worse when he went through tests to join the Special Forces. Two weeks in Hell seemed to be more appropriate. But he stayed quiet and followed on.

When he finally saw the door at the end of the stairwell, Dean felt like his lungs were going to burst. He stopped and took a deep breath while Castiel opened the door. Dean had stopped counting Castiel’s strangeness, so he held his tongue back and went after Castiel’s heels.

They entered an empty room, dark except for the candle light and moonbeam flowing through the huge hole in one of the walls. Dean took it as a window, although it looked more like a King Kong smashed a hole with one hand.

“Come here,” said Castiel, jerking his head toward the make-shift window. “You can see things best here.”

“What things?” Dean asked, approaching Castiel.

Then, as the whole scenery outside the window came into view, Dean forgot to breathe or even close his mouth for a minute. He couldn’t even get his brain to think of the right word. Fantastic. Magnificent. Beautiful. Awesome. Other.

Heaven.

The rocky mountains of Afghanistan stretched from one end to another, some with their tops covered in snow and the darkness made it look like a black and white photo and the moonlight made the snow shine. Leafless trees added to the eeriness of the picture and once, for one split second, Dean believed in God as the creator of this.

Too bad his cell phone was out of battery that he couldn't take pictures of what he saw in front of him, to show people back in the basecamp and back home what he decided instantly to be the most beautiful scenery on Earth.

Dean stood still, taking in every detail, etching them in his memory, hoping that he would remember it for the rest of his life.

“Wow,” he said after he could find his voice. “That’s amazing.” And the more he stared at it, the more he didn’t want to leave. He wondered how it looked during daylight with the Sun shining upon them. “What lies at the other side?”

“Mongolia. China. Tibet”

“Okay,” Dean nodded. That gave him some sorts of direction because really, the reason he and his teammates were here was because Ash kick-ass compass broke after a Taliban knifed it and they roamed in the mountains, running away from the Taliban, aimlessly. “Have you been there?” (Taliban is the same in plural)

He turned his head to see Castiel was staring afar, the the horizon, and he looked oblivious of his surroundings and probably he didn’t even hear Dean’s question.

Dean let several seconds passed before repeating, “Have you been there?”

Castiel slowly turned his head, and said, “No” with his blue, blue eyes boring into his. They were gleaming like they were the moon, and the same colour as it's corona.

“No?” Dean furrowed his eyebrows. “Never?”

“Never.”

“It seems close.”

“Yes, it does.”

“So why? Why haven’t you gone there? I’m sure you don’t even need a passport.”

“I’ve never been anywhere.”

* * *

The bath was luxurious in a room which must have been built during the stone age, just like the rest of the house. The water was hot and Dean didn’t have any idea where it came from because there was no electricity that made installation of water heater possible and he couldn’t see any kind of stove like what he saw in an ofuro in this bathroom.

There were clothes in the wardrobe, there were even underwear -, but Dean preferred his spare clothes from the backpack. He put on a wife-beater and his BDU pants and climbed onto the bed.

The bed was huge, four poster with canopy and drapes made of heavy brocade. The mattress was soft like clouds and the sheets were the finest woven flax linen. Dean slid under the blanket, it was cold and the thought of snow over the mountain tops made him shiver. There was a fire place but there was no wood and Dean didn’t think it’s appropriate to ask Castiel for that in this ungodly hour. It was a little after midnight.

He lay wide-eyed, staring at the canopy above him, trying to understand the patterns carved there. At first he thought it was some sort of calligraphy, either Arabic or Indian or even hieroglyph, but it didn’t look like that. He had learned a little Arabic during his stay in Afghanistan. He supposed he had better be sleeping, he was exhausted, but he couldn’t.

He was about to start counting imaginary goats in the hope that would make him bored enough to sleep, when Ash came barging in and hopping into the bed. Ash wore a tunic and loose pants and looked right at home.

“Dean, Dean,” Ash whispered in his ear. Ash too smelled of shampoo and soap which seemed like a good sign. Normally Ash smelled like dust and radiation. “There’s something about this house. It doesn't feel right.”

Dean sat up and stared at Ash. Ash was a good soldier but he was also a geek, a bad one, and sometimes, half of his words were not understandable by normal standard. “What do you mean?” Dean frowned. It was only an act. He knew there was something about the house, and Castiel.

“You know, the books I went through in the library, most of them are about magic.”

“What magic? Criss Angel’s magic or Harry Potter’s magic?”

“What? No. Criss Angel is a douche, it’s not magic at all. It’s illusion and if you ask me, it’s not even that spectacular; and Harry Potter is rip-off. I know better books. But the ones in the library are more like Merlin’s magic. Ancient spells.” Ash stopped and looked up. “There are lots of symbols like that.” He pointed up. “All over those books.”

Dean looked up too. “Isn’t it some kind of artwork? It might be a sutra."

“No!” Ash blurted. “But I will find out what it is. Castiel isn’t telling us the whole truth.”

Dean laughed. “Ash, he’s the owner of this house and we... we’re only beggars, staying here under his mercy because we need food and a roof while Jake needs medical treatment. He doesn’t need to tell us anything.”

Ash snorted. “Oh yeah? And what about a room full of weapons? I mean: ancient weapons. Swords, spears, javelins, sabers… axes. I swear that one of the swords there once belonged to Minamoto Musashi.”

“Isn’t he fictional?”

“No! You should’ve read more history. He was real. And his sword was in this house. And the chess Kubrick’s been playing since after dinner, I bet that came from Shah Jehan’s collection.”

Dean shook his head. “You shouldn’t peek where you shouldn’t.”

Ash shifted away and sat down. “Damn, I wish I can get the laptop to work. I’m sure I’ve seen that symbol somewhere.”

“Ash, just try to sleep, okay? You’re exhausted. You’ll need the energy tomorrow.”

Ash took a deep breath. Ash had the ability of going on for days without sleeping. His record was seven days. Dean kept him company for the first three days before passing out for one and a half. If Ash hadn't suddenly fainted in the middle of gathering a refugee’s goats, he might’ve nailed a better record.

He shrugged at the suggestion. “You’re right,” he said. Then he crawled into the vacant space next to Dean.

“You have your own room,” Dean reminded him.

“Yeah, but I’m scared, man. You don’t seem like you will be able to sleep, you may as well watch me,” said Ash before yawning and putting his head on the pillow.

* * *

Ash snored like Dean's brother, Sam. Dean wondered whether it was a geek thing. Sam went to law school in Stanford. He would soon graduate, however he also had a passion for computers and the net that he wouldn’t be surprised if Sam ended up as a software programmer rather than working as a justice enforcer just like he always wanted to do.

At three am, Dean gave up on sleep. He climbed out of the bed, put his jacket and boots on and got out of the bedroom. He walked along the corridors, wondering whether he too should check the rooms for any surprises, like Ash did, but he shrugged it off. It was impolite. Castiel had been kind enough to take them in and take care of them, he really shouldn’t peek on what he kept behind closed doors.

He went out of the house through the kitchen. It was colder outside, and from where he was standing at the backyard, he could see the mountains, tall, huge and intimidating. Moonlight still shone brightly upon them. Dean slipped his hands into his jacket pocket and saw a chopping block with an axe lying on the grass and a pile of wood logs next to it. He laughed.

He padded to the chopping block and picked up the axe, testing its weight. There was no way Castiel could lift the axe, he thought as he tried to swing it. He had no problem doing it, he had the experience of swinging something heavier.

But then, if Castiel didn’t chop his own woods, how could he make fire to cook and keep the house warm as there was no gas in addition to the non-existence of electricity? Maybe someone delivered them on a regular basis or came over to chop the woods for him?

Deciding that the latter must be the case, Dean put one log on the chopping block and began axing it into smaller pieces. Maybe if he exhausted himself more by chopping logs, he would be able to sleep.

He was half-way through the woodpile when the kitchen door was opened and Castiel showed up.

“You’re up early,” Castiel said as he leaned on the door sill. He was still wearing the gamis, but this time with a cloak draped on his shoulder and at this point, Dean wanted to know if he wore anything else underneath.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Dean answered, avoiding Castiel’s eyes. He put another log on the block.

“Is the room not comfortable?” Castiel’s face darkened. “The mattress too hard, too soft?”

“No, no, no. Everything’s fine. Perfect. It’s just me.”

“You should’ve told me. I can bring you warm milk.”

Dean lowered his axe in maximum force and split the log into smaller pieces. “That won’t be necessary. I didn’t want to trouble you.”

Castiel finally peeled himself from the door sill and walked towards him. “I’ll bake some bread for you then,” he said. “May I take some of the wood?”

Dean smiled at him. “By all means, it’s all yours.”

Castiel took an armful and Dean watched him go back to the kitchen. Then he took an armful of logs too and followed Castiel to the kitchen. Behind him, the sun had begun to claim the day back from the moon.

* * *

Much to Dean’s surprise, Castiel made bread for breakfast. Granted it was only flatbread, which was very simple to make, but it was still bread nonetheless and the thought of putting a piece of warm bread, fresh from the pan, on to his tastebuds, made Dean’s mouth water and his stomach grumble. He helped crack the eggs, measuring flours and sugar and mixing butter. He also did the cleaning constantly while Castiel focused on bringing the bread into perfection.

And while he was in the kitchen he found a big sack of Moroccan coffee beans, another big surprise. Dean happily ground them and brewed them. Even Dean’s lack of skill in making coffee didn’t ruin it, it still came out tasting like Heaven, which was a very exciting change from the basecamp supply.

By the time Castiel finished baking the last bread and the coffee was ready, the kitchen smelled pleasantly like a bakery.

Even before Castiel got to set up the dining table for breakfast, Kubrick and Ash had showed up in the kitchen, both with matching grins. They helped themselves with coffee while Dean cleared up the table to make room for the bread baskets.

Jake joined them just as Castiel was preparing a tray to take to the bedroom for him and it was good to see color had returned to Jake’s face. Jake was a good soldier, skillful and well-trained with strength above average. However, sometimes, it was all about luck and it was only a bad day for him when a Taliban managed to dig a knife into his thigh and tear the flesh before Kubrick shot him point blank. Jake lost so much blood although Ash had given him first aid, using a tourniquet before bandaging the wound to keep the flesh intact and the bleeding stopped, and Dean had to carry him and if they didn’t find this house, Jake could’ve been dead already.

“How’s your leg?” asked Kubrick.

“Good,” Jake said. “The wound has closed.”

Kubrick looked up at Castiel. “What kind of drug did you give to him?”

“Jake is a strong young man,” Castiel answered. “His body still has the ability of self-healing.”

Ash laughed. “Even so, it usually takes a normal body two or three days.”

“Some people heal quicker,” Castiel insisted. “It’s a blessing.”

Dean cut in. “I guess what matters now is that Jake is all right,”

That ended the discussion. Besides, no one seemed to want to let their coffee and bread too cold to enjoy.

They ate like they hadn’t been eating for the last month and Castiel refilled their coffee cups again and again. No one declined, although ahalf a cup of the coffee tasted as strong as double espresso and Dean suspected that Castiel must’ve added more sugar to make it really sweet. No one but Dean noticed that the basket didn’t seem to run out of bread. Dean didn’t say anything because he had his mouth full and he was taught the military way: eat as much as you can while you can because you never know when you’ll be able to eat again.

After finishing three cups of coffee and uncounted number of bread, Kubrick got up and spoke, patting his full belly,”I’m going to take a look around. If you don’t mind.”

“Oh no, not at all,” Castiel shook his head.

* * *

With breakfast done, Kubrick and Jake left the kitchen. Jake said that he wanted to go back to sleep, as he still felt very weak. Kubrick didn’t say anything. Dean and Ash stayed to help Castiel clean the kitchen, then Ash announced that he would go back to the library.

Kitchen clean and shiny, Dean went back to the bedroom, however when he passed a patio and saw Jake sitting at the edge of a fountain there, he changed his direction.

“I thought you were going to rest?”

Jake nodded. He looked disturbed. “Don’t you think it’s strange?” he asked quietly as if he was scared that the fountain and the plants and the walls had ears and could hear what he said.

“What’s strange?” Dean sat down next to him.

“This whole thing. My wound. Yesterday I had a wound that practically tore my leg open. Now what’s left is a fresh scar. No more pain, no more blood.”

“I guess you should be grateful. Some people have that kind of body.”

“I know, but this is extreme. Normally you have to put some kind of medicine. Like what they do for footballers. But Castiel - he didn’t do anything.”

Dean frowned. “Didn’t he? I saw him cleaning the wound.”

“Yes. And that was all he did. And he used the same water you and Ash used to wash me up, after you tore off my clothes.”

“Didn’t he bandage it?”

“Yes, but only to stop the blood from spilling out. And you know what? I took off the bandage this morning and it wasn’t stained at all.”

Dean nodded, making a mmm sound.

“I gotta get out of here,” Jake got up, and left the patio. "This place gives me the creeps."

Dean stayed there for a while, watching the water, feeling amused to see little fish the surface. They were swimming happily among some tiny water plants and they seemed to love to play with the splashing water.

* * *

Dean took a bath again as it seemed stupid not to take advantage of the free-flow hot water. He gathered his dirty clothes, put them in a wooden bucket and took them out. There was a small well near where he chopped the woods and he assumed that he could wash the clothes there. He wasn’t very fond of house chores but in the army, you take care of your own things. Besides, there isn’t really much things to do in the house. Jake had gone back to sleep, he was very weak although the wound had almost completely healed, he was still weak from losing too much blood. Reading could be a good choice of whiling away the time, but the library had been taken over by Ash, who was still determined to find the meaning of the symbol carved on the canopy ceiling.

He found Castiel near the well, with a pile of dirty laundry at his feet. Dean could see his friend’s clothes. He felt embarrassed at his friends’ attitude.

“I’ll do it,” he said as he put the bucket down.

“It’s difficult,” Castiel said. He bent to pick up Jake’s shirt. “This is blood.”

Dean wanted to tell him that probably it was easier to just burn the clothes anyway, but what came out of his mouth was, “I’ll take care of it.”

“Are you sure?” Castiel smiled softly at him.

Dean smiled back at him. “I’m sure.”

“I’ll help you hang them later.”

“No worries.”

Then Castiel walked away and Dean had just realized that Castiel had changed his gamis into tunic and pants.

He also realized that the laundry pile was quite a big one. He sighed, then he rolled up his pants to his knees, lowered his ass to a low wooden stool next to the pile and he began working.

In addition to the military issued clothes that belonged to him and his friends, there were also Castiel’s clothes, which were the least of his problems because they were made of linen, and there were bed sheets and pillow cases and blankets and Dean wondered why he didn’t see them before and whether Castiel took the advantage of having some visitors to do his annual linen laundry. Still he tried not to complain, and just kept on working.

He also found that blood stain was difficult to get rid of. Period. But he wouldn’t want to admit that to Castiel and made the real effort to eliminate it.

He was half way through the laundry and suffering a stiff back when Ash showed up, asking, “Dean, have you seen Kubrick?”

Dean tilted his head, then raised an eyebrow. “No, I don’t. Have you checked the living room? He’s probably playing chess there.”

“I did. He’s not there. The cigar box had also disappeared.”

“Maybe he went smoking somewhere.”

“I’ll check his bedroom.”

Dean only nodded and thought Ash should’ve done that before asking him. He resumed the laundry duty.

It didn’t take long for Ash to come back, this time he ran.

“I still couldn’t find Kubrick,” he said.

Dean squinted his eyes. “Ash, this is a very big land. He could be going for a walk to the mountain. He could be going to that forest over there.” Dean jerked his head toward a group of trees.

Ash furrowed his eyebrows at the trees. He was quiet for a moment then he said, “One of the knives is missing from the Armory as well.”

Dean sighed.

“I know!” Ash blurted again. “I counted the weapons, and you know I have a photographic memory. It’s a knife, a silver knife.”

Dean said quietly. “Maybe Castiel took it, maybe he needs it to do something,” he said quietly. “Slaughter a goose perhaps?”

Ash looked shocked and hurt. “Dean, you don’t use a knife like that to slaughter a goose.”He took one step back.

“So you think Kubrick stole it, along with the cigars?”

Ash only shrugged and turned around and jogged back to the house.

Dean watched Ash for a while, then he resumed the washing, he didn’t understand why Ash was so concerned about the missing soldier, the cigars suggested that he had just gone somewhere to be alone and smoke, and he could take care of himself.

The sun was at its highest position in the sky and despite the fact that the house was in a mountainous area, it still got very hot. Dean was perspiring through his t-shirt and he could feel sweatdrops sliding on his skin. He wanted a glass of lemonade.

Castiel showed up again just as he was hand-spinning the last piece of clothing. “Done,” he said, proud and relieved.

“Thank you,” Castiel smiled. “I’ll hang them. Then we can have lunch.”

Dean managed not to offer his help anymore, he was stiff and sore from scrubbing the clothes, getting water from the well and what not. He stood up, straightened his back, stretched, then he bent down again to lift one to the buckets to the rows of clotheslines nearby. Castiel carried another one.

Castiel started to hang the clothes in silence, he seemed to be carried away by the rhythm of picking on clothes, tossing it over the clothesline and keeping it secure with some wooden pins. Dean found himself staring at Castiel, at how he bent down and straightened up and at how the hem of his tunic floated with the breeze.

“Ash told me that one of the knives from the Armory disappeared.”

Castiel stopped mid-air from throwing a shirt over the clothesline. His back stiffened and he looked disturbed.

“Sorry that he had been peeking into the room,” Dean felt suddenly very bad. “He shouldn’t do that. But he noticed that one silver knife had disappeared.”

Castiel tidied the shirt on the clothesline and secured it with pins. “No, really. It’s okay if Ash wants to look. I never pay any attention to the room, I have no interest there. But I’ll check. I can’t remember all of them.”

“Okay.”

“Can you get another one?” Castiel asked, jerking his chin toward the empty bucket.

“Sure.”

“Thank you.”

Dean went back to the well and took another bucket. Except that he didn’t see Castiel anymore at the clothes line area. He scanned his surroundings with his eyes, hoping to see Castiel between the wind-blown bedsheets, but Castiel wasn’t anywhere nearby. He snorted then laughed then decided that it must be Castiel’s trick to get him to hang the laundry. No, he wasn’t going to get fooled again. He had chopped the woods, washed the dishes, cleaned the kitchen and did the laundry, he wasn’t going to hang them as well. If Castiel didn’t want to do it, so be it.

He turned around and headed for the kitchen door. He was only a few steps away from the kitchen, when, through the door, he saw Castiel inside, and Castiel looked to be trying to save something from the giant oven. He probably tried to save their lunch.

Dean gave up and went back to the clotheslines.

By the time he finished with hanging the laundry, Dean decided that he had had enough of household chores for the rest of his life. All he wanted to do now was lie on the bed with his face buried in the pillow and dream that he was somewhere else but here.

He entered the kitchen to the burning smell of meat. He scrunched up his nose and saw Castiel staring at what suspiciously looked like a big bird in a metal plate on the kitchen table. Castiel looked up. “I burned the goose,” he said.

* * *

Luckily, after carving it carefully, Dean managed to save more than half of the overtly-roasted wild goose for lunch. Castiel had baked some potatoes and wild mushrooms to go with the goose, which made it perfect. Ash came to the kitchen to join them for lunch, informing them that Jake was still sleeping and he still couldn’t find Kubrick, and despite the fact that he still had some suspicions on Castiel, he ate heartily. To Dean’s surprise, Castiel sat down with them at the kitchen table and ate.

Kubrick didn’t show up even after they finished their lunch so Castiel said that he would save some for Kubrick and prepare some to take up upstairs for Jake.

He also served some rice pudding he had made for dessert.

“This is real good,” Ash commented, again with his mouth full with rice pudding. “You could become the best chef the world has ever had.”

“Thank you,” Castiel said.

“You could even try Top Chef,” Ash continued. “You could be famous and very, very rich.”

“You want me to take it up to Jake?” Dean asked Castiel.

Castiel turned to look at him. “No, it’s okay, I’ll do it. Why don’t you just rest? You’ve been working very hard today.” Dean swore he saw a tint of sadness in Castiel’s eyes.

“Okay,” Dean shrugged.

“I’ll clean the kitchen,” Ash offered as he reached for the second cup of rice pudding.

“Thank you,” Castiel smiled.

“I’ll see if I can find Kubrick,” Dean said.

But first, he went to Kubrick’s bedroom. He didn’t know why but he wanted to check on Kubrick’s stuff. It wasn’t a good thing to do, he didn’t have the habit to rummage into someone else’s belongings even someone as suspicious as Kubrick, but he felt like he needed to make sure that everything was all right. Kubrick’s stuff was there, his backpack, his canteen, his boots, his clothes. He checked Kubrick’s backpack, opened the wardrobe, pulled out the drawers, feeling that there was something missing there but he couldn’t remember what.

Finished with Kubrick’s bedroom, he headed for the front door to check the yard. He was passing a door when he decided to stop and take a look inside. It was the Armory. Again, without being able to hold back, Dean stepped inside and couldn’t hide his amazement.

Ash was right. It was a stunning collection of ancient weapons. There were swords and knives and sabers and axes and spears and javelins and there were more which Dean didn’t even know the names of. They were neatly fastened on the walls or lined on the tables with metal rings. There was nothing to protect them from getting stolen, no alarm system, no bomb-proof glass, they lay there naked and vulnerable.

Dean noticed that there was a vacant place. He fingered the holder, wondering what the knife looked like. It must be something really precious, like the rest of the weapons. He wondered if it was really Castiel who took it and used it to slaughter a goose that they had just eaten, or if Kubrick stole it.

He really hoped to hear from Kubrick soon.

* * *

Dean slowly combed the yard, looking for any signs of Kubrick. He felt that it was a wasteful effort, Kubrick could be in a village nearby or on one of the mountains, but he did it anyway. He must’ve walked along half the area when he saw a patch of land that served as a little farm of vegetables and potatoes. And Ash was working there - pulling out weeds, checking the soil and stuff. He didn’t look too happy. Dean laughed to himself. He wanted to know how Castiel talked him into tending the farm.

But something was off about Ash. Ash was wearing a pair of very old jeans and a checkered shirt, the sleeves had been ripped off. Back home in the United States, Ash dressed up like that when he wasn’t wearing the military uniform. He came from a hippy family whose idea of perfect clothing was stuck in the 1970's. They hadn't been proud of their boy joining the military.

Dean went to approach Ash. Up-close, Ash looked miserable covered in soil and swearing but that didn’t stop Dean from teasing him, “You look pretty much in your element.”

“I swear,” Ash gritted his teeth. “I’m sure that the reason why my parents chose to live in a caravan was so that we didn’t have to deal with this.” He tossed the cultivator away.

“Where did you get those clothes?” Dean asked, straight to business.

Ash looked down. “They’re in the wardrobe in my bedroom. And they fit.” He shrugged. “Although, yeah, funny to think that Cas keeps clothes like this. But I guess deep in his heart, he has some passion. You know…”

Dean nodded. “Yeah, I know.”

Ash washed his hand in a bucket of water. “Come, I’ll show you something,” he said as he wiped his hands on the jeans.

They walked further away from the house until they reached the small forest at the other side of the land.

“You see the trees and grass are better here than in other parts of the land,” Ash said as he looked up. Dean had to agree that the trees looked very healthy. And the grass covered the ground like a thick carpet.

“Yeah,” Dean nodded.

“Do you know why?”

Dean tilted his head. He didn’t like trivia.

“I bet this area is a fucking cemetery,” Ash answered his own question.

* * *

Dean wanted to ask Ash what made him think that there were dead bodies buried under the ground, other than the sign of big, beautiful trees standing on that ground. It wasn’t that he was scared. He had seen dead bodies, he had dealt with dead bodies more than he wanted to for the rest of his life. He had seen people die in front of him - friends and foes; In a war zone it was inevitable.

He supposed Ash should give him hard evidence, but he respected the dead, as much as the living, so he supposed it wasn’t a good idea to start digging to find bones, or decaying bodies.

He wondered who they were, were they Castiel’s ancestors? Had there been a war, a fight on this land and people died and in the lack of proper funeral, they were buried all in the same big hole like plague dead?

He shook his head and told Ash that he would go back to the house.

* * *

Castiel was surprisingly not in the kitchen, cooking, as usual. He was in the library, putting books back into the shelves. Apparently, Ash had made a mess.

The library, Dean found that he liked it there. Granted that it reeked of leather and old papers and dust, but it was serene and quiet and somewhat soothing there as if people could always rely on the room to find solitude and tranquility.

“You know, some people think books are their most precious belongings,” Castiel said without even turning his head to see who was coming.

Dean knew. Dean knew that Sam and Ash’s love for books was as much as his love for roast beef sandwich, which he missed very much now like Ash missed his laptop and the internet, Dean liked stories but books weren't worth it. He let the silence pass for a few seconds, before he asked, “Cas, why do you speak English? Why don’t you speak Persiani? Or Pashto perhaps?”

Castiel gave him a side-long glance. “Would you understand it if I speak Persian?”

“I’ve been here long enough to understand some, yes.”

Castiel shifted his eyes back to the books. “There are probably ten thousand books here,” he said instead of answering Dean’s question.

Dean took a deep breath. He gave up. “Have you read them all?” he asked as he walked towards Castiel.

“Only a few. I don’t have time.”

Dean pulled one leatherbound book carefully out of the shelf.

“Herodotus’s Histories,” Castiel said.

Dean tilted his head.

“The original version,” Castiel added, as if to convince Dean.

Dean laughed, but Castiel took the book from his hand. He didn’t put it back into the shelf, he opened it, thumbed the yellow pages and stopped somewhere and began reading, in English, “Now the manners and customs of the Getae, who believe in their immortality, I have already spoken of. The Trausi in all else resemble the other Thracians, but have customs at births and deaths which I will now describe. When a child is born all its kindred sit round about it in a circle and weep for the woes it will have to undergo now that it is come into the world, making mention of every ill that falls to the lot of humankind; when, on the other hand, a man has died, they bury him with laughter and rejoicings, and say that now he is free from a host of sufferings, and enjoys the completest happiness.”

Castiel’s voice floated in the air, soft and sweet like cotton candy and Dean knew that if Castiel read him a whole telephone book, he would listen to it.

* * *

Jake joined them for dinner, but there was still no sign of Kubrick, although Ash had stopped asking about him. There was no point in trying to find him, even if Kubrick had left, he was a big boy, he could take care of himself. Besides, the farm job seemed to make him too exhausted to even speak.

Dean only hoped that if Kubrick did leave the house, he remembered to come back to help them. Jake looked concerned.

Castiel didn’t let him help with the dirty dishes and Dean decided it was only fair. He had chopped the wood and did the laundry, he could use a good rest. Jake looked to have healed completely so perhaps they could try to go back to the base camp.

Maybe he should try to talk Castiel into coming with them. Maybe he could take Castiel back to America, to Kansas City.

Maybe…

He was changing his clothes when Ash came barging in again.

“Look what I found!” he exclaimed as he deliberately bounced into the bed. He had a small book in his hand.

Dean furrowed his eyebrows. “Did you steal something?”

“No!” Ash blurted. “I only borrowed this.”

“What did you borrow?” Dean asked. He had decided to put on some of the spare clothes from the wardrobe – loose pants and tunic. He joined Ash in the bed. “Where did you get this from?”

Ash held up the book for him to see. It looked like a note book, the kind people liked to use to write things.

“The library,” Ash gave him a shocked look. “It’s a diary.” He slid under the blanket. Dean lay next him so he could have a good look. “See this. This is someone’s handwriting.”

“Yes, I can see that.” It said: Bobby Singer, March 1971.

Ash flipped the book open. “I don’t know why someone’s diary could be in this house. This looks like a journal. A travel journal. Starting on March second, nineteen seventy one. Read this. We’re finally off to Afghanistan. I can’t believe this. I don’t even know what to expect there except rocky mountains and militant Moslems.”

“Mujahidin,” Dean said.

“Yeah, whatever.” Ash flipped further. “Yeah, he seemed to be traveling with two or three friends.” He stopped. “March five. I’m done with riding a donkey for the rest of my life. Idjits. I do hope this is worth it. Lucky the inn we stay in, if it can be called an inn, serves decent food. I hope it isn’t the donkey we had just ridden on. Poor guy. But the meat is just too juicy to be an overworked donkey. I hope it’s a goat.” Ash stopped, frowned. “Idjits?” He read on. “I was smoking alone in the yard inn when an old woman approached me and asked where we are going. I told her that we’re going to the house. She told me it isn’t wise to do that. The whole house was spellbound by a very powerful wizard and guarded by a powerful djinn. She said whoever gets in never comes out, and lots of people had tried. I told her that we know the house was haunted, and that’s exactly why we’re here. She told me to just turn around and go back to where we came from. I told her that we’ve gotten this far, so we’re not coming back without anything. She looked sad and wished that may God be with us forever. “

He stopped because the door was pushed open and Castiel showed up with a pile of clean clothes, neatly pressed and folded and Castiel stopped at the door when he saw Ash in Dean’s bed. He looked surprised for one split second, then his eyes darkened.

“I’m sorry, am I disturbing you?” he murmured.

“No, no, no,” Dean got out of the bed. “It’s okay.”

“Yeah, I’m just reading him some bed time stories,” Ash said casually.

That didn’t seem to convince Castiel. Dean practically jogged towards Castiel. He smiled. Castiel smiled back at him. “You don’t have to do this,” he said as he accepted the clothes. “I can do it tomorrow.”

Castiel only said, “See you tomorrow, then.”

“You don’t wanna come in and listen to Ash’ stories?” Dean teased.

“No,” Castiel shook his head, then he turned around and walked away and Dean felt his heart fell to his knees.

He put the clothes on the table, then he exited the bedroom to chase after Castiel. Castiel was gliding along the corridors, and he called him out, “Cas!”

Castiel stopped and slowly turned around.

Dean balled his fists. His stomach churned violently. He had never had something like that since the first time he saw Lisa Braeden, the most beatiful girl in high school. Dean toughened himself up. “Look, it isn’t what you think.”

Castiel tilted his head. He didn’t show any facial expression at all. “I’m not thinking of anything,” he said.

Dean took one step forward, aware of his fast-beating heart, hoping that Castiel didn’t hear it. “Ash… Ash is like that. He does things… without thinking whether…” He stopped. He didn’t even know why he had to explain.

Castiel only nodded. “I understand.”

Suddenly, Dean couldn’t stop himself from grinning. He was standing very close to Castiel now and he wanted to lift his hands and put Castiel’s face in his palms. “You can read me bedtime stories some other times,” he teased again.

Castiel laughed. “You’ll fall asleep before I even read five words. I’m boring.”

“No harm in trying.”

Castiel smiled, then he said, “Good night.” Then he turned around and walked away.

Ash had fallen asleep when he got back, the journal was open in his hand. Dean took the journal, intending to put it away, but he found himself reading the open page.

March twenty three. This is insane. I don’t even know what to do. They had all died. I don’t know what happened to them. I don’t like having to bury them. I don’t want to stay here any longer. I’ve been to haunted houses, I’ve hunted ghosts. But this is different. There’s some kind of power here I can’t understand, a magic spell, so strong, there’s no way to break it or go around it. I should’ve listened to the old woman from the village. Anyway, I’m going tomorrow. And I’m going to take the book with me. I’m sure the book is the answer toeverything.

That seemed to be the end of the journal because there was no other entry as Dean thumbed it mindlessly.

There were probably ten thousand books in the library, Dean wondered which one Bobby mentioned as “the book”.

He decided not to be bothered. He put the book on the nightstand and climbed up the bed to lie next to Ash and sleep.

* * *

Continued in part two