I apologize for the few days' wait on this chapter. I never liked how I was writing Cas and Sherlock meeting. I also really wanted to write the Winchesters on a plane, so I'm sorry that took up a lot of the focus. This might be the last chapter for a few days (or about a week) because unfortunately, finals week is approaching. But I am planning to bring the Doctor in for either the next chapter or chapter 6. Thank you to my readers and please keep reviewing! I love reviews!
Ch.4: Everyone's Gone to the Moon
-Cardiff, Wales-
For Sam, the flight from Sioux Falls to Cardiff was relatively uneventful. He mostly slept, which made the flights feel more like a half hour each. The hum of the plane acted as white noise for him, and the heat from the sunlight filtering in through his window was welcome. Dean had made him take the window seat so that he couldn't see how high up they were. He could better imagine being in a stationary room if he was sitting in the middle or aisle seat. Besides, he wanted Sam on one side and Cas on the other. Sam wasn't sure what kind of protection that would offer, but if it got Dean to calm down during the flights, then it was worth the trouble.
When Sam was awake, he'd rhythmically chew his mint gum to stave off the inevitable ear popping and listen to his iPod. As much as he loved listening to classic rock with his older brother, he missed listening to his own favorite music. He only kept in one ear bud so that he could hear the stewardess and respond with a polite smile. Other than that, he stayed quiet and tried to ignore Cas and Dean. He wanted to fly in peace.
Switching gates between flights went over smoothly, and all their luggage made it to Wales. When Sam stepped off the plane in the UK, he stretched and shuffled with the crowd towards the terminal. When he entered the gate, he turned to look for Dean and Cas. Both the angel and the human looked effectively annoyed. Apparently the flight hadn't been so restful for them.
Dean had sat rigid for the whole of the first two flights. He ordered about three beers on his first flight alone, billing Bobby for the alcohol. When the engines initially fired up, Dean gripped the armrests and harshly hummed Metallica.
Cas leaned over and mumbled, "Dean, I believe it's the engines. We're still on the ground."
"Shut up, Cas," Dean mumbled back gruffly. He had seen enough movies and TV shows to know that planes could still explode on the runway.
Sam leaned over and held out a little paper carton of gum. "Chewing gum helps at takeoff. It stops your ears from hurting as much." Dean slapped the pack of gum out of Sam's hand and sent it bouncing off the floor of the plane. Sam just looked at his suddenly empty hand for a moment. "Alright then," Sam said quietly, trying to conceal a smile.
As the plane sped down the runway, Dean broke out in a cold sweat. The nose of the plane tilted up and Dean pressed himself into the back of his seat, looking very pale and like he wanted to just disappear. Cas had his eyes closed and Dean felt a pang of sympathy for the angel, though he didn't let it show. Cas probably missed having the time and energy to fly in peace, so he had to close his eyes at takeoff to simulate the feeling.
A few minutes off the South Dakota ground, the pilot's voice came over the speaker and a stewardess stopped by their row asking if they needed a drink. Cas tilted his head at the woman and looked to Dean for guidance. Seeing Cas being so...Cas made Dean relax a little and he ordered a water for Cas and a beer for himself.
Three beers and a few near-panic attacks later, plane number two touched down in New York. The Winchesters and Castiel switched gates and boarded the plane that would take them across the pond. Sam went first and found his seat, ducking his head under the overhead baggage compartment as best he could to squeeze into the window seat. Dean was just stuffing his backpack in the overhead compartment when a middle aged woman slid into the seat next to Sam. Dean let out a quick, "Hey-" before Cas cut him off by grabbing his arm.
Sam was sitting in the seat E6. Cas had seat "E4" printed neatly on his ticket. Dean's ticket read, "F5." Dean stared down the tickets in disbelief before looking over at the woman in E5. "Excuse me, ma'am," he said, clearing his throat. The woman looked up at him over the tops of her glasses. "I think there's been a mix-up. My friend booked me the wrong seat, I should really be in yours."
Dean let his words sink in with the woman, but she gave no sign of understanding. "And?" she asked callously.
"Well, I was hoping we could switch. My seat's just the row behind you."
"If it's just the row behind me, why don't you sit there?" she continued rudely, looking back down at a newspaper she was reading. She was obviously unsympathetic about Dean's plight and just wanted him to go away.
"Look, I was really hoping to sit with my brother and my friend here," Dean said, getting angry. He was struggling to maintain his calm.
"Excuse me, but I-"
The thick-headed woman cut off with a gasp as Cas grabbed her arm roughly. She looked terrified of him, as was natural. He stared her down intently and unkindly as a warning. His piercing blue eyes were usually intense, so Dean could only imagine how it felt to a regular person to have those steady and unrelenting eyes on you. "My friend here is afraid of flying. I'm watching over him. I suggest you move seats," Cas said evenly.
The woman hastily fumbled with her seat belt and stood up so quickly that she almost hit her head on the bottom of the overhead compartment. She shuffled as fast as she could out of the seat and into the row behind her. Cas stood to the side to allow Dean to take the middle seat.
"Cas, that really wasn't necessary," Dean grumbled as he sat down. He clicked his seat belt securely and watched Cas click his seat belt as well. At first Cas hadn't understood them and Dean had to help him, but by the third flight, he knew what he was doing. "But thank you," Dean said quietly so that no one except Cas could hear him.
Another two flights dragged on, and with Sam snoring quietly next to him, Dean and Cas talked the entire time. By the time the trio landed in Cardiff, they had run out of things to talk about and were arguing effective hunting methods. Well, as much as Cas and Dean could argue. It was more like Dean arguing and Cas simply responding in his monotone way. Their argument delighted the little boy in the seat across the aisle from them and he listened intently while his mother read her book.
Cas and Dean followed Sam out to the airport terminal in Cardiff, both looking exhausted and annoyed. Sam gave them a quizzical expression and Dean shoved by him, saying, "Don't ask."
The Winchesters picked up their luggage and headed over to the hotel, where they got a few hours of sleep before changing into their fed suits and grabbing their fake IDs. By now it was early afternoon and the boys had to go check out the latest crime scene. It was the last place Dr. Joseph Burns had been sighted. Cas had disappeared once Sam and Dean left the airport.
Sam and Dean began their investigation like always. They showed up to the crime scene, flashed their badges, and were admitted, despite the fact that their badges were American. They gave the lead investigator, Detective Inspector Lestrade, their cover story, which he bought. The two men standing next to him hadn't seemed as quick to trust. The taller one's icy blue eyes had flickered with enough intelligence to unnerve both Winchesters.
The two men reminded Dean of Mutt and Jeff. He remembered reading the old comic strip at Bobby's when his dad was on a hunting trip and he and Sam were staying in Sioux Falls. John would occasionally drop the boys off at Singer Auto, if he was close enough. Staying at Bobby's was the closest thing to a normal childhood that Dean ever had. Sam had experienced a true sense of normal when he went to Stanford or when he was hanging out with friends from school, but Dean never had that luxury. Bobby was the one who taught him how to throw a baseball and watched football games on TV with him. Hell, Bobby even taught Dean a thing or two about real hunting and fixing up cars. But sometimes they would take out archaic newspapers that Bobby had kept from old cases and read the comics. Mutt and Jeff was a favorite and they'd pass the paper back and forth, laughing at the strange little printed people. But the two men in front of him, with their height difference and pompous dispositions that seemed foreign, harbored a great similarity to the characters Dean had read about.
Thankfully, both Mutt and Jeff bought their story. Mutt offered to show them the scene and the boys took him up on it. They went in and looked around a little, and that's when they realized that he hadn't bought their story at all. In fact, when Sam revealed their real identities, he knew exactly who they were, right down to their charges from the real FBI.
Then the yelling began, escalating into the threat of being deported back to the United States. Sam and Dean assumed that meant as convicts. Dean didn't know about Sam, but he certainly wasn't ready to go back to being harassed by people who didn't understand the danger and incarcerated for saving the world. He'd had about enough of handcuffs and interrogations from the people he was protecting.
That's when Cas decided to help, as usual. He had probably heard Dean's silent anxiety and decided that it merited his attention. With a soft swooshing of wings, Cas blinked into existence a few feet over Mutt's shoulder. "Dear God," Jeff swore under his breath. He scrambled backwards and knocked into a chair, almost falling over.
Mutt saw the look of alarm on his partner's face, though he didn't understand it. "Hello, Dean," Cas greeted over Mutt's shoulder. The man instinctively whipped around, but waited for Cas to make the first move of attack, if he was going to attack.
Mutt was shorter than the angel, but he studied him and looked at him as though he had the height advantage. His eyes were wide, but his breathing was even. He was trying to suppress his rising panic. He deduced that Cas hadn't come through a window, and the only doors to the room were behind his partner and to the left in plain sight. So how did he get in? His head spun, searching for possible answers.
"In case you were wondering, I didn't enter through means of this world," Cas offered.
"Alright, then tell me. How did you get in here?" Mutt demanded. His thick British accent and clipped speech was a beautiful contrast to Cas' overly proper American-accented English.
"Sherlock," his partner began. 'So his name is Sherlock,' Sam thought. Sherlock snapped his head to look at Jeff sharply. "I saw him, he just appeared." Jeff sounded almost apologetic for not being able to give Sherlock the answer he wanted.
"John, that's not possible," Sherlock growled. Dean wanted to laugh to himself at the name John, but suppressed it. He hadn't been far off the mark with his nickname for the guy.
"Hey, Cas," Dean smirked smugly. Sam nodded to the angel in greeting. Both boys felt empowered again. They had the upper hand on Sherlock. They knew something he didn't and now he knew it.
Cas looked up and gave a curt nod to the boys before answering a demanding Sherlock. "I flew. My name is Castiel. I'm an angel of the Lord."
Sherlock was quiet for a moment, studying Cas. He turned and walked towards John, pulling out his phone as he did so. He walked out of the room typing, disgust clear on his face, and John sighed. He looked up at the three men standing before him with a look that conveyed apology, frustration, and confusion.
"You boys are really putting him off, you know that?" he said accusingly. "No doubt he's gone to Lestrade and asked that you're removed from the scene at once."
"Well, what were we supposed to do?" Dean asked angrily.
"Look, I'm not going to fight with you, ok?" John asked, more of a statement than a question. His eyes widened to show sincerity. "An angel or…whatever you are appearing out of thin air is enough for me to believe that there might be something bigger here. It's at least something Sherlock and I haven't gone up against. I haven't decided yet whether it's technology or something different, but I'll believe you when you say we need your help. I was an army doctor, I've been trained to trust my eyes and I know what I saw."
Sam relaxed a little, unaware that he'd tensed in the first place. "Thank you…" he began, but trailed off. He wanted a real introduction.
John stuck his hand out. "John Watson," he offered. He nodded his head in the direction of the exit. "And that was Sherlock Holmes, the world's only consulting detective."
Sam shook his hand. "Thank you, John," he said gratefully.
Sherlock strolled back in with four of Lestrade's officers flanking him. "Those three," he growled. "Get them out of my sight."