AN: Still going strong on this one, although I don't have a lot of time to write it at the moment, with exams and assignments to do! But I will finish it - I anticipate 2 more chapters after this one.

Enjoy!


Sam stared out at the port side of the ship, his expression concerned and apprehensive; Castiel watched him, his face equally troubled.

The day had come. They were going to rescue Dean Winchester.

They had approached the port via a route Castiel had set out for them, explaining how it was the one blind-spot of the copious number of lookouts at the port; how, when they stepped ashore at the one place it was safe to dock, they wouldn't be far from the naval prison where Dean was undoubtedly being kept. Castiel had felt like a traitor giving away these secrets away to pirates – but one earnest, thankful look from Sam, and that feeling all but disappeared.

He knew, in his heart of hearts, that this was right – despite what the voice of Zachariah in his head was saying to him. Instead he thought of his sister, telling him to do what he wanted, as long as it was the right thing to do – he listened to her, instead, and put a hand on Sam's shoulder. Sam idly reached up to brush a hand against Castiel's, before turning to the deck with a deep breath.

"We'll be there very soon. The landing party should be as small as possible. Don't wanna attract any unwanted attention," He addressed his crew, thinking logically through how they were going to pull this off – if it was even possible. "I only want me and Castiel to go ashore. Any objections?" He asked, surveying the faces staring up at him.

A sea of shaking heads greeted him – it figured, that a bunch of pirates wouldn't want to spend any time at all at a pirate port, if it wasn't necessary.
"Adhere to the code. Whoever falls behind . . ." Sam began, glancing at Castiel mid-sentence and pausing. The officer's blue eyes weren't sultry or seductive like they were the night before – but they were just as loyal, and trusting. Sam hoped he wouldn't have to betray that trust, as much as he hoped he could get Dean back.

". . . Stays behind," He finished, his voice quieter than before. There were a few reluctant calls of 'aye' from the crowd - he saw Meg stare up at him, neither agreeing or disagreeing . . . Just staring. He frowned at her, but she turned away.
"Captain . . . Sam," A voice called from the crowd. He sought it out, and saw Jo, looking behind him with a haunted, horrified look in her eyes. She pointed, and everyone followed her gaze: there, on the cliffs that surrounded even the most isolated and forgotten parts of the port, were the corpses of dead pirates, strung up for sailors to see; rotting, with birds pecking at their eyes and skin. They were leather and bones, now: weathered and decaying and reduced to hideous signposts, and cautionary tales.

Just close enough for them to read, a wooden sign adorned the hanging corpses, tied up alongside them in a message that might have been specifically for them:

Pirates, ye be warned.


"You do know the way, right?" Sam inquired in a hushed tone of voice, as they crept along the corridor of the prison. They'd made their way there through the secret passage Castiel had been referring to: having grown up in St. Mary's, and stayed there until he was sixteen and began naval training, he knew a lot about the place. Sam had been born there, too, but had left at the age of six months – looking around as they'd snuck into the prison, he'd wondered at the life he could have had, had his mother lived; had his father continued to be a naval officer. Perhaps he and Castiel would have both grown up officers, too, alongside each other. How different things could have been.

"I have not been stationed at this prison for years," Castiel admitted, pausing for a second as they heard a door swing shut somewhere close to them. Voices sounded along the corridor, echoing back to them – but they were soon silenced, drifting away as their owners took their scheduled break.
"Oh, good. That's comforting," Sam hissed irritably. Castiel rolled his eyes.
"I did not say I do not remember the layout, Sam," He chided. Sam sighed: he couldn't wait to get out of there. They'd agreed to rescue Dean first, then go looking for the crew: they were likely to be in a less-well-guarded part of the prison - if they were even still alive - as they weren't as high-profile as Dean. This high-security part of the prison, as Castiel had described it, had indeed had many sets of guards they'd managed to slip past, or occasionally incapacitate (all while making as little fuss and noise as possible). Castiel had adorned his wig again, making it easier for them to be overlooked . . . Or perhaps it just made him feel as if he wasn't so out of place, like he had been for the last week or so, taken by random circumstances to places he would never usually dream of going.

And all of them with Sam.

The pirate skulked along beside Castiel, his face steely with determination, and his eyes wary, constantly looking for assailants. There was something fascinating about watching Sam work with such a single-minded sense of purpose. It was hypnotic.

Knowing his brother, Sam assumed he'd already tried to escape many times. But, as no tales of the daring escape of Dean Winchester had made their way to him, he guessed that none of them had been successful. He guessed that the high security wing of the prison had lived up to its name.

Finally, they reached the turn-off for the corridor they'd been searching for: a large, wooden door stood at the end of it, guarded by a solitary offcier, who didn't look much older than eighteen. Castiel frowned at the sight – a young man just out of his adolescence, left to guard the high-security wing of the prison alone?

They hid behind the corner before the door they sought to pass.
"The wing's behind that door," Castiel breathed, and Sam nodded. Should be simple enough to get in, he thought to himself. He went to lunge out and attack the guard, but Castiel frowned, placing a hand on his chest to stop him. He shook his head, frowning at the floor in deep thought – that guard . . . Much too young. And almost defenceless, should Dean Winchester break out, or someone try to break in.

Dismissing those thoughts and focussing on the task at hand, Castiel stepped out from his hiding place, catching the guard's attention:
"Hey! You can't be here! This is-" He paused his barking about restrictions on prison personnel, his eyes widening. ". . . Hey, I know you – you're missing," He gulped, his hand on the handle of his sword.
"Indeed, I am. But I have returned," He pointed out. "What is your name?" He inquired, trying not to spook the teenager as he moved closer to him.
"Samandriel," The guard replied, looking wary.
"Samandriel. I am Castiel, First Mate of the HMS Celestial," He introduced himself.
"You . . . You can't go in there," Samandriel told him, nodding to the door behind him.
"I am your superior," Castiel reminded him, a note of authority slipping into his voice seamlessly, in a way that made Sam – who was listening silently, imagining Castiel's calm yet dominant face as he spoke – want to jump him right there and then.

Samandriel's hand slipped from his weapon, and he nodded. He looked behind Castiel, clearly wondering if anyone else would be along soon.
"You may go, if you wish. I will vouch for you," Castiel assured him, his voice losing the hardness it had had before, and becoming gentler, and more persuasive. Sam didn't think he'd met anyone who had more potential to be a conman than Castiel. He wasn't necessarily good at lying – but he was good at making people trust him. Hell, Sam trusted him – he realised with a sinking feeling that Castiel could just be playing him, too, like he was playing this kid.

Samandriel bit his lip, and paused for a few seconds, before nodding; depositing his keys in Castiel's hand. He walked away from the door, thankfully going in the opposite direction to the place that Sam was standing – they'd come in through the back entrance, after all.

Sam slipped around the corner when he was sure the kid was gone, and regarded Castiel: he looked impressed, to say the least.
"There are more pressing matters at hand, Sam," Castiel said in a slightly exasperated tone of voice, that he never in a million years thought he would use with the famous pirate Sam Winchester.

"Right," Sam replied, keeping watch as Castiel opened the door to the high-security wing of the prison. Once it was open, he burst through: Castiel wasn't offended by his lack of regard for him at that moment, as he knew the fervour with which Sam was missing Dean; with which he needed to know that his brother was alive, and relatively unharmed.

Castiel watched him scope the place out like a bloodhound might sniff out a fox's trail: Sam strode past the cells on either side of him, looking into each one in turn to try and find his brother. Dean was so close, he could picture him in his mind – was he alone? Scared? Had he missed his brother as much as Sam had missed him? . . . What would he think of Castiel?

He reached the final pair of cells, looking first into the one on the right, then the left.
"If you've come to bring me that shit you call food, then-"

Sam and Dean caught one another's eyes at the same moment, and froze. Sam, in his position outside his brother's cell, hand poised over his weapon, ready for the situation to go south at any moment; Dean leaning back on his elbows, having sat up from his place on the ground the moment that he'd heard someone enter the wing. The older Winchester's sarcastic words died on his lips, and he found himself genuinely shocked, as he saw his younger brother standing outside his cell.

". . . Sammy?" He breathed, his eyes wide and unbelieving.
"Dean," Sam replied, his mouth suddenly dry; he was unable to move for a moment. Castiel watched as his mouth opened and shut, his eyes running all over his brother as if he'd never seen him before; he decided to unlock Dean's cell in the meantime, fearing that they might not have time for this emotional reunion.

Castiel was walking into view of Dean's cell, leaning down to open the door with the appropriate key, when Dean broke out of his disbelieving stupor:
"Whoa!" He exclaimed in surprise, jumping up and looking fearfully between Castiel and his brother. He recognised that face, from the fateful day Sam had been thrown overboard. It was the exclamation that snapped Sam out of his muteness.
"No, no – Dean, it's okay, he's working with me," He explained hastily.
"This guy?! This guy, who threw you overboard?!" Dean asked angrily. Castiel looked up to Sam in a silent plea to calm his brother down before he released him, so that he wouldn't be attacked.
"He didn't – I pulled him overboard, but – that's not the point. He helped me get here – he's gonna help get you out. He's on our side," Sam explained quickly, sharing Castiel's fears about them not having much time.
"Seriously?" Dean asked incredulously, though he was a shade less angry than he'd been before. Sam nodded, a sincere expression on his face.
"Really," He confirmed, and nodded almost imperceptibly to Castiel, who unlocked the door.

Dean came barrelling out: Castiel stepped backwards fearfully, but he needn't have – Dean was actually heading for Sam. He enveloped his brother in a crushing hug, his fingers like claws, grasping desperately onto Sam's coat.
"Thought you were dead, Sammy - they . . . They told me you were gone," He confessed, his voice a whisper in Sam's ear.
"Thought you might be, too," Sam responded, holding on equally tight.
"I hate to break up your reunion, but we are currently in the middle of a prison crawling with guards who would very much like you dead," Castiel pointed out, not unkindly.

They pulled away from one another, Dean eyeing Castiel analytically, not quite as trusting of the guy as Sam was yet.
"Right. How we getting out of here?" Dean demanded, looking between his brother and the officer.
"The Impala," Sam replied with a grin. Dean gaped, looking elated by the news.
"Baby?" He asked, his surprise turning to happiness about the return of his ship. He'd thought the navy had sold it, after all. That's what they'd told him.
"I got her back, Dean. Ellen had her," Sam explained, sharing Dean's excitement. Castiel looked between the two of them – while he was happy for Sam, he felt a sudden pang of an ugly emotion he didn't want to admit was jealousy.

He wished he could make Sam smile like that: like he meant the world to him, and like he only wanted to make Castiel happy.

"Good work, Sammy," Dean told him with a smile, and a pat on the shoulder. Sam practically preened with the praise as Castiel watched – when Sam caught him staring, Castiel raised an eyebrow. Sam dampened his enthusiasm slightly, though he wore his smile a moment longer, just happy to have Dean back.
"Let's move out," Castiel told them both, heading for the door they'd come in through. "Getting the crew out should be easier," He pointed out, as they made their way back the way they came.
"Bobby and the others – they still alive?" Sam asked Dean, wondering if he knew.
"Yeah – there were some cracks in the wall in my cell back there. I could see the gallows – and I ain't seen any of my crew down there yet," He explained.
"They'll be in the main part of the prison. All we have to do is sneak into those less heavily-guarded areas, and-"
"-didn't you think it a little strange, Castiel, that the high-security part of the prison only had a solitary boy on guard duty?"

The three of them bristled: they were stood just outside the door of the high-security wing, when a large, grey-haired man stepped into view from around the corner. Around him stood many naval officers, gathering in large numbers and staring at the three of them with smug, callous smiles. Many of them had drawn their swords. Castiel recognised members of his own crew amongst the crowd – a reluctant Inias; a disgusted-looking Hester; an angry Rachel; a vengeful Virgil . . . They were focussing on him, too, as well as the pirates.

Their leader, as always, was Zachariah. The captain chuckled to himself lightly, as if he wasn't capturing men he would soon condemn to death.

"We knew you'd come, Sam – you and your brother are so psychotically, irrationally, erotically codependent on each other . . . You just couldn't resist, could you?" He mocked.
"Go to hell," Sam growled, not wanting to rise to the taunt but at the same time, unable to let the captain to get away with speaking about Dean like that. Zachariah merely laughed again.
"I held off on hanging your brother this long in order to wait for you, so we could have a double-hanging. Just think – both of the Winchesters, gone at last," His eyes shone with the thought of it. "Worth it not just for the reward, and for my undoubted promotion to admiral . . . But to get rid of you two, who have been a pain in my ass so long I can't even remember a time I didn't want to see your rotting corpses hanging from a cliff," Zachariah explained. His crew remained silent, maintaining their various negative emotions towards the three captives.
"At least buy me dinner first," Dean muttered to himself. Sam stamped on his foot.
"But now I have you – both of you, and your crew . . . I knew when and how you were going to exact your daring escape plan, after all," Zachariah added with a self-satisfied smirk.

Slowly, Sam and Dean put two-and-two together, and turned to look at Castiel. Dean's face was the picture of anger, flames of ire burning behind his eyes; Sam's expression, though, was so much worse - it was as close to pure heartbreak as Castiel had ever seen. His mouth was parted slightly, and his breath had stuttered to a stop; his eyes were wide, and he was shaking his head slightly.
"No," He breathed in denial.
"You sold us out?! . . . You really are a no-good son of a bitch, aren't you?!" Dean snarled.
"It's not true! I did not betray you!" Castiel denied, looking horrified at the prospect – that was when he realised that his loyalty, once and for all, lay with the Winchesters.

He had only felt mildly uncomfortable betraying his crew to get Sam into the port undetected to break his brother out of prison, while now he felt alarmed at the thought of being considered untrustworthy by the two pirates – mostly Sam, whose breath was coming faster now, to accompany his expression of hurt.

"No, not him – one of your current crew," Zachariah corrected, a tone of mock-boredom layered thickly in his voice, "One of them had this crazy theory about you having 'demon blood', Sam. He'd been looking to kill you for it for years – guess Mr. Walker finally got his chance,"
"Gordon?" Sam asked, perplexed. He cursed himself for not being more thorough with his choice of crew.
"That's right. We recruited him as a spy when we were in Covenant – he came ashore and warned us about you two, while you were sneaking through back-passageways, thinking you were so clever. We arranged for it to be easy for you to get in here – I suppose the problem for you now is getting out," He thought aloud, looking unbelievably pleased with himself. The three of them remained unamused.

"And this is just the beginning – your deaths are just the start of a revolution," The captain ranted, "Every single pirate is going to swing from my gallows . . . Everyone you love, everyone who's even considered helping you, is going to end up dead . . . Which brings me to you, dear cousin," Zachariah added, turning to Castiel with a sinister look of amusement on his face.

"He's one of us, Captain," Inias pointed out cautiously, looking at the floor and avoiding the angry glare his fellow crewmen were giving him.
"Was one of us . . . But word travels fast, you know – I hear you have been helping Sam Winchester – indeed, you've been getting very close to him, haven't you?" Zachariah sneered, obviously trying to provoke a reaction from Castiel or Sam.
"It wasn't his fault. I forced him to help me. He had no choice," Sam insisted suddenly. Castiel stared at him dumbly for a moment - he didn't return eye contact, staring steadfastly at the captain. Castiel's heart fluttered in his chest - Sam was trying to get him off the hook.
"Not according to Gordon Walker. He and his friends made it clear there was no 'forcing' involved," Zachariah replied. Sam ignored his brother's whispering voice in his ear asking what the hell was going on with him and Cas, in favour of paying attention to the conflict he was currently part of:
"Zachariah," Castiel warned, his voice half pleading him to stop, and half letting him know that he wouldn't stand for this taunting.
"I see you've been stripped of all respect for authority, too, taking that tone with your captain," Virgil commented. "I say we should beat it back into him," A few low voices agreed with him, and Zachariah smiled conspiratorially.

"Now, now – he was a member of your crew, after all," He pointed out, though it was obvious that he was not genuinely standing up for his cousin. Inias nodded anyway in agreement, unwilling to condemn Castiel, and not understanding the hidden threat in his captain's voice.
"However, I do not want to be accused of favouritism – he is my cousin, after all," The captain pointed out. There was silence for a moment, during which time Castiel stared into his superior's eyes, begging him not to do what he knew he was about to.

". . . Send the order to prepare the gallows. We're having a triple-hanging this evening," He dictated to his crew. There were a few cheers and hollers – at heart, they were nothing better than the sadistic crew of the Hellfire, Castiel realised sadly, as Inias' cry of shock and denial was drowned out by the noise of officers surging forwards, grabbing all three of them, and dragging them back into the high-security wing they'd come from despite their struggles and protests.

It was no use. The escape attempt had failed, and now they'd all been caught. They would all die today.