Cadmus training ground, outskirts of Thebes, 338BC

Dean spent the next few days on his own, training hard, throwing all his aggression and resentment into his targets. The other soldiers were clearly afraid to wrestle him after he almost savagely beat one of the older men during one training session. There was one poor olive tree that had been impaled again and again by his spear.

Some of the other soldiers who had also lost their erastes tried to talk with him, to bring him around to the idea that he was too old now to have a lover, that he could be that for the new recruits when they arrived. He tried not to be too scornful in his response.

It wasn't that he was angry with the system, or that he didn't know he could be as good a teacher as a pupil. He was angry with Benny. They forged their bonds on a foundation of trust, they had to in case they were called upon to fight. Benny was meant to have his back and he was meant to keep an eye out for Benny too. And even if they weren't bonded for life, they did have a bond, and Dean would have appreciated more warning that Benny was leaving him. It was a betrayal of the very thing that was meant to unite them.

Finally, he was summoned by one of his superiors, as a new group of rookies arrived. He heard the other established soldiers making their choices, picking out those with the broadest shoulders, the thickest chests, the tall men who looked as though they would fight well. Dean studied each of them, trying to see if any of them held a spark of interest for him. On first appearances, no one stood out.

The rookies were put through their paces under the blazing sun, tested for their fighting ability, their endurance, agility, and ability to take orders against those soldiers who wanted to bond with them. Dean sat towards the back of the crowd, and soon found himself watching a particular soldier.

He was slight compared to the others. His olive skin was at odds with startlingly bright blue eyes, the likes of which Dean had never seen before. He held himself upright, tense, as though he was trying to seem as big as all these other men. There was something in his eagerness that piqued Dean's interest. He stepped up to fit his armour, and Dean did the same, grateful that none of the other men did so. In fact, they were all laughing at the man, who didn't quite fill out the bronze chest plate. He held the sword clumsily as he stepped awkwardly into the circle. Dean stood, prepared, and tried to get a read on this man. He didn't move.

Dean began to circle him, trying to encourage him to start the contest, but still he did nothing.

"We're practicing fighting with xiphos," Dean told him. He nodded.

"Yes."

"The aim is to fight?"

The soldier held his shield closer to his body, but made no other move. Exasperated, Dean went for the initial attack, making a large swipe at the soldier's sword. As quick as a bolt from Zeus, the new soldier reacted, meeting Dean's xiphos with his own, sparks flying as the blades met.

The limp wrist disappeared, as did the other man's inactivity. They were moving quickly, their swords meeting over and over. Dean couldn't get a read on this soldier. It wasn't that he didn't have a style so much as that he seemed to anticipate every move Dean made and had a counter for it. He was defensive, not looking for an attack or a weak spot, not seeking to disarm as Dean often did, but merely blocking any attack on himself. And Dean couldn't find an in. He could feel himself beginning to tire from constantly attacking this scrawny man who was somehow equalling him.

Dean backed off, not wanting to wear himself out completely, not wanting to feed into this man's strategy, if that was what it was. He circled him again, but still the soldier gave nothing away. He could sense the rest of the band talking behind his back, speculating that Dean had finally met his match in combat, their interest growing in this puny man. There was an edge of desperation as Dean engaged the rookie again. It was his rookie to win, not theirs. He put his all into the match, swiping with his shield, jabbing and slicing with the blade, pressing his advantage. The man ducked and dodged as though he had been practising dance, and not one of Dean's hits landed. And still - still! - the man did nothing by way of attack. Dean was getting increasingly frustrated and exhausted. He stepped back again, and met his opponents gaze. His breath caught, and they stared at each other across the fighting circle. Time seemed to stand still, the air turned fragrant, and Dean felt a momentary respite from the ache of constant attack. Not even with Benny had he felt like this, not even with Michael.

The next moment, Dean was running back at his opponent, who finally went on the attack. Their blades cracked together in the air, sparks flying once more. The slim man was agile, quick, and very good at reading. His blade moved quickly, and Dean had to work to meet it, to parry and to block with his shield. They covered a lot of ground as they kept up their blows against each other. Eventually, one of the officers called time on the fight, and they both moved away, panting heavily. Dean could feel a heat in his stomach, and he knew it was due to the rookie. As soon as his armour was removed, he approached the man.

"That was an unusual approach to a fight," he commented. The man looked at him with a cock to his head.

"I was hoping that you wouldn't be the one to pick to fight me," he said quietly. Dean smirked.

"My reputation precedes me?"

"No." The soldier shook his head. "You are the most handsome soldier here. I didn't want to mark you."

Dean laughed.

"Are you telling me you were holding back? You gave me a better fight than I've had in a long time."

"I was indeed holding back. I wish I had continued to do so now," he looked quickly at the other single men. "What if one of them wants me?"

"You're meant to be desirable," Dean reminded him. "Who wants to partner with a man who won't demonstrate how he will protect and care for his other half?"

The new soldier fixed him with a steely gaze.

"I will not hurt you. If you had not fought me, you would have seen what I am prepared to do, but the moment I saw you when I arrived here earlier, I could feel it. I could sense it. You and I are meant to be something very special."

Dean swallowed. He had felt that too, as soon as they made eye contact.

"I'm not going to give anyone else a chance."

The new recruit gave a small smile, and retook his seat. Dean abandoned protocol and sat beside him, sending a silent signal to everyone else that he had already made his choice and they could continue to peruse the brawn still displaying their sword fighting skills. He saw some of the older men eyeing this soldier with renewed interest, and he scooted closer.

"What's your name, soldier?" He demanded.

"Eromenos."

"That's what you will be, but what's your name?" Dean pushed. "If we're going to spend the next five years fighting for each other, it would be useful to know it now."

"Call me Castiel," he acquiesced. "Can I know the name of my erastes?"

"Dean."

Castiel mouthed it, smiling faintly, and he began to watch the soldiers now fighting. He leaned into Dean slightly.

"The older man leaves his left flank open when he makes an upper cut with the blade."

Dean grinned, and placed a possessive hand on Castiel's knee, completely disregarding the pattern they were meant to follow.

"What faults of mine did you notice?"

Castiel didn't answer. Dean squeezed his knee.

"That's not a trick question, I'd like you to answer. It will help me to improve."

"I wasn't thinking straight, you stood up and I panicked, and then you were talking to me. I suppose the only thing I noticed was that you don't like to make the first attack. If you hadn't eventually given in, they might have stopped us with no attempts at a fight."

Dean watched this man with curiosity as he continued watching their peers. He was beginning to wonder how this hoplite could possibly have made it into the sacred band of Thebes, despite his swordsmanship and obvious sway to other men. He seemed too passive for an army, too gentle. Even as he watched the other matches, his expression was vacant and a little dreamy. Dean ran his thumb along Castiel's leg, still gripping his knee. He glanced around, and saw the other soldiers, most of them watching the new recruits demonstrations, but a couple of them were still eyeing Dean's new companion with interest.


Dean and Castiel remained side-by-side throughout the rest of the demonstrations. When it came to throwing spears, Castiel was deft, his aim accurate, and the spear flew through the air with a piercing whistle. One of the sandbags they were using as a target exploded on impact. Dean was completely smitten by this man. He showed the new recruit the tree he had been practicing on since Benny left.

"The poor tree," Castiel murmured, running his finger around the jagged splinters edging one mark. "You must have cared for Benny very much."

"Of course. We take an oath. We're in this band in order to be close to each other. Most men here were recruited from their original erastes. I feel more myself in this environment."

"Then I have a huge chasm to fill."

"No," Dean shook his head with vehemence. "You're not Benny. You're you. Already this feels very different to being Benny's eromenos, I don't think we'll relate to each other in the same way. But that's good, I don't want a replacement, not if my role is changing. And besides, as much as I miss Benny, I'm angry at him too. He didn't tell me his time was almost up, he didn't prepare me."

Castiel put a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"I think this is why I was drawn to you. I know your emotions are going to be genuine. Which means we'll look after each other properly. And I promise you, Dean, I will fight hard to keep you safe, whatever the cost."

One of their comrades approached then, his gaze glued to Castiel.

"Dean, you have to let the rest of us get to know your new acquaintance. Or are you busy telling him that your little brother couldn't keep his head and ran away rather than try to join the army?"

Dean rolled his eyes.

"Excuse me?" Castiel asked the other soldier.

"Did you not hear? Dean's younger brother came of age, and rather than move on like he's meant to, he's run away with his lover. It seems to be a fault of their family, they get attached and lose their heads."

"Oh. Well, that doesn't change anything," Castiel said meekly. "I'm still choosing Dean."

"Your choice only goes so far," their comrade said. "And a few of the men are interested in you."

Dean stood in front of Castiel protectively.

"I choose him too. I'll take the oath right now. Choose someone else."

"It's nearly nightfall," the soldier commented casually. "If you wish to lay with a real man, come find me."

He sauntered off, and Dean turned to Castiel, who was smiling softly at him.

"Can we take the oath already?"

"I don't know. But we should probably see about eating dinner."

"Dean? Was it true? About your brother?"

"Yeah. That's what they told me. My brother was always a patient kid, I don't think it was a spur of the moment thing. He and his lover had probably planned it for years."

"Then our comrade had a point - why would I want to be paired with a man who cares deeply, who comes from others who also care deeply? Why would I entrust my life to a man like that?" His smile grew. "Why would I trust anyone else? Why would I opt for a man who wouldn't read the air between two men and realise their endeavour was hopeless? May I lay with you tonight?"

Dean nodded, and flouted the system entirely, capturing Castiel's lips with his own, and tasting his sweet mouth. They kissed deeply, languidly, there in the olive grove as the sun set in the west.


Through the next few days, Dean got to know Castiel better and better. He knew the weight of him in his sleep, knew the precise way he would make his akratos in the morning, the way he would tilt his head in order to better understand something being said to him. He was learning Castiel's fighting style, and was pleased to see, when practicing on a wooden stake, that Castiel was true to his word and was a much better fighter when Dean was not his target.

Finally, there came the day that those men who had recently been left by the departing soldiers got to choose their eromenos officially. The wrestling space was cleared, and the entire company turned out to watch who would be paired with whom. The rookies were called up one by one, and their potential suitors tried to make their claims. A single claim earned the rookie, more than one resulted in a wrestling contest. Whoever won desired the new soldier more. Castiel was somewhere in the middle of the group, and his name had barely been called before Dean was standing.

"He is mine!" He declared, confident that everyone had borne witness to how close he and Castiel already were. And yet;

"He is mine!" Two others called at the same time. Dean lost no time in making his way to the wrestling ring, stripping off to wrestle naked as was custom, and standing proudly in the middle beside Castiel. One of the other men swaggered his way into the ring also. Castiel and the general who had been calling the names left the area, and Dean considered his opponent.

He was broader than Dean. Heavier. Someone who would rely on his weight to win the contest but perhaps not have the dexterity or energy that Dean would be able to invest in making a match he wanted. Dean was not going to lose Castiel to anyone.

The entire company counted them in, and as soon as they finished, the other soldier was running at him full pelt. Dean imagined that Cerberus chasing you would look similar. But he was not afraid, and he was far more motivated. He waited until the last possible moment, and used his opponent's weight against him, ducking down and tripping him, sending him crashing to the floor. And then Dean was clambering on him, sitting astride his torso and raining down punches and slaps, rolling around to try and get a good grip on the man's back. His opponent tried to crush him, but Dean was like a serpent, like a lizard; sliding around him, not giving a moment's window of opportunity. The sweat produced by the heat of the day by both men made it easier for Dean to move as skin slid against skin, and worked against his opponent because Dean would merely slide out of his grip should he make an attempt to grab him.

Eventually, Dean managed to wrap his legs around the man's throat, twisting around and pushing his face into the dirt, sitting on his shoulders. He started to punch his head, his vision blurring as rage and desperation took over. He wanted Castiel … there was no one else … he wasn't going to be kicked out of the band because he didn't have a beloved. He couldn't stomach even the thought of someone else having Castiel, touching him … loving him …

He was eventually pulled off his opponent, the atmosphere tense. The other competitor lay in a pile of blood, and Dean began to feel nauseated. He was trying to claim Castiel, not take a life from the band. There was a stifled groan, and the other soldier moved, sitting up but appearing dazed. A couple of other soldiers rushed to his side, helping him to the tent where the medics resided. He walked, and Dean felt relieved, though he knew what he next had to say, and it felt hollow in his heart.

"Who else would challenge me for Castiel?"

There had been one other voice. It was silent now. Dean wondered if his actions would have changed Castiel's mind, but this was the protocol, and he would follow it doggedly now.

"I said, who would challenge me for my Castiel?"

Still, there was silence. Dean turned, as Castiel was brought to him, his gaze on the remnants of blood left on the dusty floor.

"He is yours," the general informed him. "And please, Dean, next time? Save it for a Spartan or two."

"There won't be a next time," Dean assured him. Castiel followed him out of the wrestling ring, and into one of the tents nearby, where he sagged onto a bench.

"Was I too brutal?" He breathed.

"Perhaps," Castiel responded. "Maybe you could learn from me as much as I can learn from you?"

He sat down on the floor in front of Dean, and grabbed a bowl of water and some fabric. He wet the fabric, and then started cleaning Dean off.

"You got some of his blood on you."

"I stopped focusing," Dean admitted. "I was so determined not to lose you I lost control."

"He will live," Castiel reassured him. "But perhaps if it were a sword fight, he would not have done so."

"I haven't scared you, have I?"

Castiel looked up at him with those exotic blue eyes, and tenderly wiped the now blood-stained cloth across his shoulder.

"Scared me? No, Dean. I'm not a young boy on the edge of becoming a man. I'm not delicate. I'm a soldier too. I know that love is a large component of this band, but I also know bravery and strength and determination. I see all of those things in you. If you are so willing to risk so much just to have me as your eromenos, then what would you do in battle?"

Dean grinned down at him.

"Kill any filthy Spartan who tried to hurt you."

"Do you make offerings to Ares with that mouth?" Castiel cocked his head. "Besides, you have seen it, I can handle myself."

"Ares would reject my offerings when I kill the children of his city," Dean reminded him. "You know Thebans are all about Dionysus."

Castiel chuckled.

"That's why they underestimate us," he conceded. They fell back into silence, and Castiel continued to clean him, before helping him back into his linothorax. Once dressed, Dean bestowed a sweet, soft kiss onto Castiel's lips, and then rested his forehead against his beloved's.