Summary: When Castiel awakens in a darkened London alleyway, he remembers nothing about the man he used to be. It is only in staring into the dark eyes of a man who identifies himself as Jim Moriarty that Castiel finds comfort- and a new life as a man named Sebastian Moran.
Supernatural / Sherlock crossover. Amnesia!Cas meets In-Need-of-an-Assitant!Jim.
The Men Who Would Be King
Chapter One: A Man With No Name
When Castiel woke up, he had no idea where he was, not really. He could feel his entire body burning, feeling as though it was bursting at the seams, being licked by white-hot fire. He could see scarlet red stains all over his white tee shirt, and he could feel something warm soaking into his dark dress pants. Running a hand upward through his mussed hair, he realized that his head hurt, really quite badly. But that was the extent of his self-awareness.
Expanding his focus, branching out from considering only his own body, Castiel began to take in the details of the world around him. His back was pressed against a cold, hard brick wall, and another, nearly identical wall stood parallel to it. A deep blue dumpster was tucked into a corner, and, beyond it, there was a chain link fence. The sky above was dark; it had already given in to nightfall. The air was chilled, but not cold, just brisk.
As Castiel blinked rapidly, he began to suspect the presence of someone watching him. Turning to his left slightly, painfully, his deep blue eyes met with a far darker gaze.
"Good morning, darling" the man to whom the eyes belonged drawled, "Welcome back to the world of the living. What might your appellation be?"
Castiel tilted his head to the side ever so slightly. "My uh… what?" he asked, completely and utterly confounded.
"Your name," the man demanded in a huskier, more commanding tone, "What is your name?"
Oh, his name. His name? Castiel's brow furrowed in confusion; he honestly could not for the life of him remember. "My name is," he began, then said the first thing that came to mind, "Sebastian." Yeah, that would work. He had always liked that name.
"Sebastian," the other man trilled playfully, his voice seeming to be testing out every rise and fall of the name. Finally, he nodded, a smirk stealing his expression and slightly lightening his dark eyes. "Jim Moriarty. Pleasure, I'm sure."
Extending his hand to connect with Jim's in a firm handshake, the freshly-named Sebastian attempted a smile. However, the slight pull at the corners of his mouth didn't last long, not when accompanied by the sharp, shooting pain that ran through his head.
Jim's forehead creased. "Got a bit of a headache, do you?" When Castiel nodded, Jim rose from his squatting position, yanking the other man up with him. "Well, you certainly look like a bloody wreck. Come now, let's clean you up."
The sudden change in altitude only worsened Castiel's plight, but he followed along after Jim. He wasn't sure that this was a good idea, simply being towed along in this state behind a complete stranger, but he hadn't the energy to fight it. So he just followed.
Jim didn't say a word until the two men reached the door to a flat in the center of a town Castiel vaguely conjectured to be London. After shoving a key into the door and throwing it open, Jim flicked on a light and motioned for Castiel to enter.
"Home sweet home," he said, pulling Castiel toward a small chair in the living room. "Sit. Wait."
With that, Jim disappeared down a narrow hallway, returning a few minutes later holding two bottles, a sewing needle, and a spool of thread. Holding one of the bottles out toward Castiel, the one that read Johnnie Walker Blue Label, Jim murmured, "You may be needing this," and, without another word, pulled the hemline of Castiel's white tee shirt up and over his head.
The night passed in a blur of pain and whiskey. Somewhere between Jim's pouring of hydrogen peroxide into Castiel's wounds and his apparent medical licensure to stitch significantly deep lesions, Castiel came to find out that he quite liked whiskey, and he did not like sewing needles. He also learned that too much whiskey sent him directly into a blur of dreamless sleep.
Sun was pouring through the windows of Jim Moriarty's London flat when Castiel awoke. Blinking sleepily, Castiel again found himself staring into endlessly deep, dark eyes, the kind of eyes that signified a man lingering somewhere quite near to the edge of insanity. A smile stole Jim's features when Castiel groaned lightly, the pain hitting him once more like a bad dream.
"Morning, Seb," Jim greeted him, "You don't mind if I call you, Seb, do you?" But the question was hypothetical, never actually meant to receive an answer. No matter what Castiel had said just then, something told him Jim would call him whatever he damn well pleased. "Tell me about yourself."
Straining against the bright sunlight streaming through the window, Castiel tried to dig into his memory bank, but he couldn't remember a single thing. With a sigh, he decided to wing it; after all, improvising had worked out just fine the night before. "My name is Sebastian Moran," he began, wincing at the sound of his own voice, "And I was a soldier. For years, I fought a war I could never really win, a war nobody could ever win. I fought in deserts, forests, frozen fields, all the corners of Creation no mortal had ever before dared to venture into. I was a leader, and I had friends, but it all became too much- I was tired. So I made a poor decision. I endangered some people I cared deeply about, and I ended up broken down and alone. Then you found me." It sounded believable to him anyway.
"Uh-huh," Jim responded, and Castiel could see a wheel beginning to turn in the other man's mind. Moriarty was interested, that much was written all over his face. "I take it you can shoot a gun, yes?"
"Undoubtedly," Castiel agreed, wondering if he'd ever actually held a gun before.
"Well then," Jim said with a sly smirk that reminded Castiel of something reptilian, "I have a proposition for you, a job opportunity we'll call it."
Castiel nodded, waiting for Jim to continue.
"You'll live here with me, and you'll do what I tell you. In return for your unwavering loyalties, I can give you the world, but, turn your back on me, and I can take that world away with a snap of my fingers."
Castiel extended his hand to shake on it. Why the hell not, right? He was completely and utterly alone, he hadn't the slightest inkling of his true identity, and here this man was offering him a home, sustenance, and, possibly, the world. If that wasn't a good deal, then Castiel didn't know what was.
Jim smirked once again, tugging at the sleeve of his Westwood suit coat, making it lie flat. "Pleasure to do business with you, Seb."
So I've not the slightest idea where that came from... But there it is nonetheless. I guess my Sherlock feelings met and befriended my Supernatural feelings at some point. Great. Because they weren't strong enough on their own... Just what I needed.
The thought of Castiel with amnesia just drives me insane, and I think that may be what added fuel to this fire. That coupled with the desire to know more about Sebastian Moran. So. Yeah. Juxtaposition.
Plus, imagine them together? It'd be like Cas interacting with an intensified Crowley. Castiel all stoic and powerful and righteous, and Jim, all brilliantly mad and unpredictably changeable. Things I wouldn't mind seeing. Oh, and Cas staring intently down the scope of a sniper rifle. That is all.
It's late-ish. I'm rambling. I should sssssss-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h now.
Anyway, opinions would, of course, be ever so adored. REVIEW!
"In a world of locked rooms, the man with the key is King, and honey, you should see me in a crown."