Title: Building Steam
Author: Aithilin
Rating: G - PG?
Genre: Steampunk AU, pre-slash
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Spoilers: None
Warnings: non-graphic violence, utter AU
Word Count: approx. 3000 this section
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or series, and I am not making money from this.
Summary: Dean, captain of the Airship Impala, captures Castiel of the Angels. Dean has plans to clear out the brig as they pass through the mountain back inland.

Author's Notes: Title taken from the Abney Park song of the same name.

It was two days before he went back to check on the prisoners himself. He knew that there had been "food" given to them (hard, stale bread really didn't constitute food to Dean), and that the portholes in the ship's belly had been left open to keep them miserable. At least, he knew that he'd be miserable if he was in that position, maybe Angels were used to being treated like crap. Really, for all anyone knew about the whole air policing business, the people who made up the Angel garrisons (far less scarier than the full regiments, when he actually thought about it) were born into it-- possible freaks of nature.

There still wasn't any information coming from them, which was why he was going to make the visit down himself now. All of the real work for him was done-- course charted, shifts decided, and the immediate future planned while the distant future plans consisted of "don't get caught". They had turned around to get back to the salvage yard and have a talk to Bobby about where he got his information. All he had left to do was visit the prisoners and decide how they were going to die.

It wasn't his favourite chore.

"How you all doing down here?" As far as Dean could tell, none of the Angels had spoken to any crew members, and possibly not even each other. So he wasn't expecting a response.

"It's a little drafty."

Evidently not expecting something made it more likely to happen. Interesting. It was the blue-eyed one who spoke, voice so dry that it could have been used to keep the fires going.

Smirking, Dean wandered over to his cell, figuring that he could ignore the other two if they were going to ignore him. "What do you want me to do about it?"

"You could close the windows, for one."

He was about to respond, offer something else to see if the guy could take some baiting. But the heavy baritone of the hulking figure in the farthest cell broke into his thoughts. It was enough of a distraction from the (apparently) talkative captive, that made Dean straighten properly and face the far less amusing speaker.

"What do you want, pirate?"

The last word was spat out as an insult, which earned the man a glare from blue eyes that Dean really did like. But there were a few things that he just had to get answers to, even if his first questions was a bit trivial:

"Out of curiosity, which one of you broke rank first here?"

There was no answer and Dean couldn't help the urge to roll his eyes. Goddamned Angels were such a pain to deal with. Next time, he'll get Sammy to do the work on this sort of thing. "Seriously, you guys shut up the minute I ask a question?"

Again, silence. At least, until the fun one (he was going to start hoping that the blue-eyed Angel didn't end up being too much trouble-- he was starting to like the guy a bit more than the other two) moved in his cell. Dean thought that it was safe to assume that the blue-eyed guy was the one who broke rank-- if only because he seemed to be more sociable than the other two (hell, the redheaded woman hadn't spoken a word to him). So, with this assumption that he wasn't going to get any responses from the other two, he directed his attention to the most talkative of the three. He was close to forming thoughts into speech when the Angel interrupted the process.

"What would you like from us?"

If Sam had been there, Dean was sure that the question (the odd wording) would have been the subject of some one-sided discussion later. Instead, Dean just took it at face value as part of the Angel's patterns.

"Well, since you ask, I have an offer to all three of you. "

"An offer?" The dark, hulking figure of the Angel with the temper lurched forward in the cell. Every sky- and sea-faring worker knew the offers of pirates-- cheap promises, if the hostage was lucky. "You think you can tempt us, boy?"

Boy? No one had called Dean that in years. Not since his father died. That Angel was definitely not getting the offer.

"Not you." Frankly, Dean was wondering if they should keel haul, hang, or plank the guy right now. "But for you," he looks directly at the guy with blue-eyes; "and you," the redhead, now; "I do have an offer."

Two pairs of eyes narrowed. He guessed it was suspicion, or confusion about the exclusion of the third. He could be satisfied with that-- it was enough to keep the two he did want around to be kept off balance.

"You know the drill, you can either join my crew, or I can think of a fun way to kill you."

"You really think-"

"Didn't make the offer to you, chuckles."

Dean smirks at the utterly aghast look he earned for that. Adding further insult, he turned his attention to the blue-eyed Angel now glaring at him outright. Aside from the glare, Dean had to wonder what sorts of thoughts were being turned over in the mind behind those eyes.

"You expect a betrayal?"

"In a sense." The easy attitude-- adopted after many years of practice-- was second nature to him now. It was something that he liked-- other than keeping people off guard, a slouch made it easier to reach for his pistol or knife while giving an attacker an unclear picture of just how he would move. "Eventually. More like a turn-coating."

"Exactly what is it that we get out of it?"

The woman's voice was strong, calm (he thought he read some curiosity there). "Other than your life?"

"Other than that."

"Place on my crew, out of the cells. We'll see how it goes."

"What do you want in exchange?"

"Anna, you're not seriously--"

The hulking man is stopped short (again-- for such a bulky man, it was odd to see him so easily cowed by a petite woman) by a raised hand from the redhead-- Anna, now that Dean knew. It was enough to draw a smirk from the captain and encouraged him to take a few bolder steps closer to the woman. He could admire the way she didn't back down. A challenge was a challenge, after all.

"I'm sure I could think up something for you to do, sweetheart." Maybe, but if she could silence the big guy, then he'd reconsider any plans to get the girl alone. Angels rewarded strength, after all. "But in the meantime, I need information."

"What kind?" This was from behind Dean, the blue-eyed man. Dean decided that he was going to need to sort out who was who first.

"Right now? I'd settle for knowing who you are."

"Castiel."

Well, that set the men apart from each other, now that he could set names to faces, and get Sammy started on researching who was honoured for what. "That works, then."

He pulls away from Anna's cell, knowing that they'd need to sort out what to do with who co-operated and how to kill who didn't. Once in port, Sam could pester whatever resources he had to find out whatever the two more co-operative (for the moment) Angels weren't saying. He knew that with the offer made, there was little else he could think to ask at the moment-- nothing that he expected to get any real responses from.

He was turning when the action was interrupted by Castiel's voice.

"Is that it, then?"

"For now."

"You're not going to let us go." It wasn't a question, and Dean had never pegged an Angel to be much of a pessimist. Unfathomably patriotic or loyal to whatever that "home" thing was on the ATC propaganda, but not the sort to actually boil things down into simple-if-depressing basics. Well, he never really thought that the Angels were the sort of people to have much independent thought, at all.

"Haven't decided yet," Dean offered a winning smile, playing up the image he loved of the confident pirate captain. "But I have some ideas."

-----

"So, what are you going to do?"

"I have no fucking idea."

"Well, it's going to take us a few days to get back to Bobby's." Sam leaned back, balanced on the edge of Dean's desk. He was the first one aware that they had a problem with keeping three Angels in the brig, and there was no way in hell that Bobby was going to be able to help. "It gives us time to get rid of them."

"Do we have to?"

"What?"

"I'm just asking." A shrug by way of explanation. Dean knew that it was a stupid question. "Anna seems okay, and that Castiel guy is actually interesting."

"Dean, we have to get rid of them. We have no idea how recognizable they are, or how much the ATC is actually going to look for them."

Dean knew this routine, too. If he didn't stop his brother now, then he was going to be treated to a thirty minute lecture on why Angels were dicks and that the authorities were to be avoided (as if Dean hadn't taught Sam everything he knew). "Dude, I know. I just don't want to kill those two, okay?"

"What about the third."

"Him, I want to toss overboard. He's a dick."

"Really?"

"Yes, really." There was a problem with tossing anyone overboard while over land: angry farmers. Despite the violence and the trade route targets, the Winchesters had always banked on their charisma when dealing for supplies they needed. It was hard to be charismatic when you're trying to convince a farmer that the body in the vegetable garden was an accident. "We're passing through the Rockies, right?"

"Yeah…" Recognition dawned on Sam; they hadn't done a mountain drop in ages. "Dude, come on. We can't."

"Why not?"

"Because there's a good chance he'll survive? And what about the other two? Are we just going to leave them there too?"

"Only the one."

"You really think that's going to work? He gets found, and we're screwed."

"So we drop him off on a glacier. He'll die of exposure in a couple of hours and we're home free."

Arms crossed, Sam practically glared at Dean. It was on principle-- his brother was looking far to smug with this slapped together plan. The had worked well as a team for years before their father died, and even better when they inherited the Impala. "We're going to need to restock on fuel as soon as we get to Bobby's. The mountains are going to strain the fires. And Daniel's going to hate you."

"Of course he will. He's the bosun, it's in the job description."

"I'll hate you if we crash."

"It's in your job description too, little brother." Something registered in Dean's mind and he looked aghast for a moment, as if Sam had just suggested some kind of taboo that could get them both hanged. "You think I'd crash the Impala?"

"You're going to drive us into a mountain."

"We've done it before." Back to grinning, Dean almost jumped to prepare the coffee when the water was ready. "Relax, Sammy. I know what I'm doing."

Reaching for an empty tin mug, Sam really shouldn't have been surprised when Dean snatched it out of his hand for that coveted first sampling of the coffee. Satisfied with the plan to dump one of the Angels off at the mountain crossing, they just needed to figure out what to do with the other two.

"Just need to trust me, Sammy."

-----

It was hard to surprise a crew of pirates used to seeing everything. But announcing the mountain drop had resulted in a spike in mood before the danger of actually getting close to the mountains sunk in. Then there were the standard suggestions for alternatives and "making it better" that Dean had to brush off.

While he wasn't directly opposed to keelhauling Uriel before cutting him lose on the mountain, which seemed too dangerous for the moment.

He didn't warn the Angels, but he was sure they had figured it out by the time the air cleared and the wind temperature dropped sharply. They definitely had it figured out by the time several of the expendable crew had dragged Uriel from his cell and towards the deck. There was scuffling, shouting, and punches being thrown until thick rope and iron rods were brought in to (mostly) subdue the man-- enough, at least, to have him out on deck.

Not really the deck proper, in any case. It was too cold to have the crew out in the winds. Instead, they had gathered close to the doors and had teams of crewmen designated to brave the cold to make sure the deed was done. It was less secure, and Dean knew the potential for betrayal was there. But then he could just lock the door and the mutineer was trapped outside (it wasn't the perfect plan, given the vulnerability of the airbag out there, and the propellers, but they had timed how long it took hypothermia to set in once).

There had been enough of a fuss below deck that Dean just ordered the crew to haul up whichever other Angel made a ruckus. There was barely a moment of surprise to see that Anna was the next one brought up to the deck, still fighting like a fury. He supposed there was some relief to know that it wasn't Castiel who was going to get tossed overboard-- he was starting to like the guy.

Still, they had planned to maroon one Angel, not two. Two meant that there could be definite survival, and that was too dangerous for Dean to just give them.

This moment was for the crew, though; and while he didn't like Uriel, he also didn't like the fervour for stranding people that most of his crew had. He supposed, in a way, it was better than the outright blood thirst found on other ships. Anna's wings and uniform had been brought up by order, making sure that the crew knew there was a different plan for her.

Even in the doorway, with most of the crew shielded from the wind, everyone was still wearing the mask and goggles worn out on deck. No one wanted to deal with thin air and freezing winds longer than they had to. But the masks-- covering half a person's face from nose to chin-- did nothing but muffle the cheer when Uriel was tossed out to the glacier.

Anna was a different matter, and for this, Dean took off his mask to properly speak to her. He almost wished he hadn't. The air was so cold that it burned, tickling the back of his throat as he tried to maintain his composure and standing as the ruthless captain (and not break down into a fit of gasping coughs that were just wholly undignified). Even inside, mostly shielded by the crew from the direct winds whipping through the door, Dean had to yell his part of the conversation to Anna.

"Sorry about this."

"Go to Hell."

If he had a dollar for every time he heard that, he'd safely give up pirating. "Probably."

They had checked the mask and uniform before bringing it up for Anna, securing the air filter, but removing the communications device (Sam was going to examine it later with Bobby to see how it worked and if it could be replicated). He offered it to Anna now.

"We're giving you your wings back. Pick a direction and fly."

Everything else was shoved into her arms as she accepted the mask. An Angel's mask was meant to cover the whole face with standard black and silver. They eye pieces seemed small, but Dean had tested it himself and knew that the up-down peripherals were perfectly fine-- and when flying, that's all that really mattered. He still had no idea how the wings actually worked, though. Supposing Castiel didn't impart any revelations on the matter to them, Sam could just tear through Uriel's set before they were sold for scrap metal to Bobby.

As soon as Anna's mask was on, she was shoved out the door to the dumping team.

Airships could move slowly, but not hover in place. So, by the time Anna was lowered (not so much tossed as tethered and then tossed-- cutting the tether when she was close enough to fall without breaking something) to the snow, the Impala was already at the next peak over. Duty done, Dean waved everyone back inside to their stations. Mountains had a great tailwind once you were heading inland, but fighting the cold had consumed most of their fuel. Never mind how pissed off the rigging team was going to be if they dropped to warmer air too fast and damaged the airbag.

But Dean could leave the work to Sam. He wanted to know why Castiel was the one they were keeping. Why the guy had just seemed to accept the loss of his comrades without nearly as much a fuss as what Anna had put up.

The brig seemed bigger without the other two Angels there. The pile of confiscated equipment was smaller and seemed less impressive-- wings crumpled and almost folded under the heavy black coat seemed far less interesting than they originally had. Yet Castiel, glaring at the door for good measure-- anticipating whomever was going to arrive next-- seemed just as defiant as before. It was interesting to Dean, to see that smaller figure still looking ready for a fight, despite the odd calm in the room. He knew that look. It was the same calculating look Sam got-- the planning, conniving, "sneaky bastard" look-- when he was plotting a raid or joke.

Casually, as if he hadn't just tossed to people overboard without giving them any real way to ensure their survival, Dean leaned against the cage that once held Anna. He looked over Cas-- critical, pulling his captain guise over his curiosity. There was almost a moment of surprise as he realized that Castiel was staring right back at him, like a challenge.

"So, we need to talk."