A/N: My dear darling doves! Thank you so much for your reviews. Your reward this week is a bass fish mounted on a plaque that sings "Carry On Wayward Son" and flaps his fins in rhythm! I know, it's not much of a reward, but we're all cleared out from the Father's Day rush this weekend. You wouldn't believe how many people want to give their dads our Extreme Sexyness Castiel (TM).*

*The answer is none.

In other stews, this chapter has been coming for a long time and was therefore difficult to write. The pacing was also difficult, because I pretty much see this whole thing as a TV show in my head and TV shows get to do fun things with simultaneous events that are difficult to do with writing. So please review and let me know if you think it works or not.

Enjoy the chapter!

The five of them followed Bela down the long entryway, through a narrow corridor lined with oil paintings, and to large oak double doors intricately carved with lions and tigers. She stopped at the door, and knocked three times.

The doors swung inward, and the pirates stood in awe.

It was a giant hall, fifty foot ceiling and crystal chandeliers, amber-colored marble floor. In the center a long polished table that would comfortably seat a hundred men was set with a sumptuous feast big enough to feed two hundred, and at its head sat a magnificent green velvet throne backed by a pure gold sunburst that evoked a baroque painting of the messiah. But easily, easily the most impressive thing was the dozens of wolves sitting on the floor, their snouts turned expectantly toward Bela.

The pirates stood frozen in the doorway.

"Come in, they're quite tame," Bela assured them. She walked up to a wolf with a black muzzle and stroked his head. "There's nothing to be afraid of."

"W-we're not afraid," Ash stammered. "We're just. Um. Boy, did you train all these guys yourself?"

She smirked, and stepped her way between the wolves to her throne. "I'm an experienced handler. Please, have a seat, you must be hungry."

They walked warily amongst the wolves, hearts thumping and hands shaking. The wolves stared up at them intently with gold-yellow eyes and black quivering noses, the very tips of their tails flicking the ground. Sam walked by one with a brown ruff and he could see it visibly strain towards him, and a soft whine squeaked from its throat.

Bela sat down on her throne and gave a wave of her hand. "Yes," she sighed, "you can say hello."

The wolves leapt up as one and attacked.

Later, everyone would deny having screamed. Andy would admit to a manly yell, but the other three blamed Jo, who insisted that she had cringed with a boyish shout. Nevertheless, five unison screams rang abruptly through the hall, followed by blank silence, because –

The wolves were jumping, licking, panting, wagging their tails excitedly, pawing at their legs and nosing their elbows, as friendly as retriever puppies.

Bela grinned.

"Hey, buddy," Ash said weakly to the wolf that had put paws on his chest and was eagerly licking his face. "Down, boy."

She snapped her fingers, and every single wolf sat down obediently.

"Enough playtime," Bela said. "You can fraternize to your heart's content after lunch."

And Sam became instantly aware of the incredible smells wafting from the table, the roast pheasant and wild hen and soft buttery rolls and fresh fruit, and his mouth watered and he went weak in the knees.

They all pulled out chairs and sat down uneasily, and began to pile food onto their plates.

…..

Dean kind of hated Sam right now.

Sam made the decision that Dean and Cas should come ashore with the others, and then hide in shade of the outcropping of trees on the beach. Cas, who hadn't been responsive since his last conversation with Dean, had to be carried into the small lifeboat. It was only as they pulled the boat up onto the sand that he suddenly roused himself in a fit of delirium, thrashing about and babbling gibberish. They'd managed to drag him into the shade and instructed Dean to try and calm him as they marched off on their oh-so-important mission.

Dean wasn't even allowed to eat anything. That was alright, he'd just wait here and die of hunger, no big deal.

Luckily Castiel quickly exhausted himself and gave up, silent and limp, his bony elbows and knees bent at slightly unnatural angles, like a ragdoll. Every so often he would shiver convulsively.

"It's okay, Cas," Dean said. He sat against the trunk of a tree with Cas's head resting on his leg; Cas's glassy eyes stared up at him. He stroked his hair like he would a sick cat, or an injured bird – gently, soothingly. "It's okay. You're okay."

That was the furthest thing from the truth, but it was easier to say than You're dying, you'll be dead soon, it won't hurt anymore. Dean's stomach was hollow and his heart was hollow and his head was hollow. He'd be damned if he'd let Cas die without thinking he had a friend in the world. "It's gonna be okay. Just listen to the ocean."

The waves lapped at the glittering surf, curling under and gushing and swirling onto the sand, slowly ebbing farther and farther down the beach.

Cas stared up at Dean, and his eyes welled up shiny and bright.

"It's okay," Dean whispered hoarsely.

"Dean," Cas said, his voice dry and barely louder than a breath. "Thah-lassah. Nehro."

"I can't understand you." Dean's eyes burned. "I can't understand what you're saying."

"Thah-lassah," Cas repeated, and a tear slid down the side of his cheek. "Nehro." His hand fluttered toward the waves. "Okeanos."

And just like that,

everything

clicked

together.

"The ocean," Dean said. "You want to go to the ocean."

More tears slid down the sides of his eyes. Cas's mouth pulled into a trembling smile as he made a small noise of heartbroken happiness.

The sea roared in Dean's ears, and he said, "Well, fuck." Carefully he slid out from Cas and stood on unsteady legs. "If your dying wish is to get in the water, then by fucking God that's what we'll do!" And he pitched forward and hauled Cas up, grunting under the weight.

He slung Cas over his good shoulder and staggered forward, dimly aware that he wasn't going to have the strength for a return journey. The angry sun beat down on his shoulders and sweat trickled down his back and into his eyes and his other shoulder screamed and screamed and there was a pretty good chance he was delirious himself, but he didn't care.

A man's dying wish is something you respect.

….

The party sat staring at the food on their plates, napkins on their laps, their fingers trembling with anticipation. Ash looked at Bela and said, "Well, I guess we should say grace."

Bela crossed her legs and flicked back her hair. "Be my guest."

Ash clasped his hands together and glanced at the others. "Dear heavenly father, or… fathers, or mothers, as the case may be, thank you for this, uh… unexpected meal before us, and, um, thank you for our lovely hostess, and her… wolves." He paused a second, and then added, "Amen."

After a moment of uneasy silence, he clapped his hands together and proclaimed, "Let's eat!"

The food was incredible. It was all Sam could do not to abandon his silverware and shovel it into his mouth with his hands; he hadn't eaten in five days and each bite was a rush of ecstasy in his mouth. Though all the platters had been prepared before they arrived, they were all perfectly warmed (except the raspberry gelatin, which was wonderfully chilled, and the icy lemonade in their glasses). The sound of chewing and slurping and the smacking of lips filled the hall.

"So," Bela said, her eyes sharpening in Ash's direction, "what are your names?"

Ash wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "I'm Ash, that's Jo, Henrickson, Andy Gallagher, and Doc Samuel."

"Doc Samuel?" Bela asked, taking a sip of her lemonade. "He must be the brains of the bunch, then."

Ash chomped on some broccoli and shook his head. "Nah, it's kind of joke, like Little John." He chewed and laughed. "If dumb were dirt, Sammy here would have about 40 acres!"

Sam speared a hunk of meat with his knife and grunted in Ash's direction.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Ash said. "He has his talents." He gulped his lemonade and shook his head again. "'Bout as sharp as a sack of wet mice, but he has his talents."

They fell into silence again as Bela watched them eat, the occasional whine coming from the watching wolves. They gobbled and chewed and devoured. She smiled, and her smile pulled wider and wider, until she said, "You're a bunch of little piggies, aren't you?"

Jo snorted. Henrickson stuck his face in his mashed potatoes.

"You're pigs," she said, the words clear and forceful. "You're just pigs."

Silverware clattered to the table, and Andy made a noise halfway between a yelp and a squeal. Their faces began to change – longer, wider, noses folding flat, eyes sliding back, their grimaces of panic stretching out into hungry maws – and their fingers pressed together, hardened, congealed into their hands.

Sam soldiered on with his food, his heart pounding in his chest, his eyes carefully on his plate.

The others were completely swine now, squealing and shrieking, exciting the attentions of the wolves, who sat still with trembling eyes and snapped their lolling pink tongues into their mouths.

Finally Sam looked up, and stared slack-jawed at his transformed companions. A glob of candied yam dripped off his lip.

Bela frowned. "A late bloomer?" She stood up languidly from her throne and drew a small vial from a hidden pocket of her dress, walking toward Sam with an exasperated look. "I suppose I forgot to account for size. No worries, of course, I have a little extra…"

Sam gazed up at her wonderingly, blankly.

She reached a delicate manicured hand out and stroked back an errant strand of hair behind his ear. "You'll be such a handsome pig," she murmured. "It's almost a shame." And she uncorked her vial, and tipped it towards his mouth.

That's when Sam leapt up, grabbed her wrist, slammed her to the table, and pressed a knife to her throat.

"Almost," he growled.

A chorus of answering growls went up around him.

She gazed at him calmly. "You might want to reconsider your plan. I say the word and two dozen wolves will rip your throat out."

"Not if I cut yours first," Sam countered through clenched teeth.

Her eyes flashed with something – intrigue? Frustration? – and she raised an eyebrow. "And after that? I suppose you think I have entirely unsecured enchanted mansion? The moment you poke your nose in the wrong place you won't have a nose anymore."

"Then I'll use a stick!" he snapped.

She smiled, and curled her body suggestively underneath him. "I like the way you think, Sam. And your gesture, though futile, exhibits a certain… cunning that interests me. What is it that you want?"

"Turn them back," he told her. "All the men you turned to animals. I don't just mean the pigs. The wolves too."

Her pulse quickened under his fingers, and her eyes widened just a fraction. "You're not quite the idiot I was expecting," she said evenly. "So you must know that nothing comes for free."

Sam stared back just as evenly, never letting up on the blade pressed to her skin. "Wouldn't dream of it."

Bela reached her free hand up and put it to his chest. "Then perhaps…" She slid her hand down and eyed him approvingly. "We can work out a deal."

Sam swallowed.

….

They were so close. Dean knew it. His legs shook and his shoulder had been lit on fire. Just a few more feet… His body rebelled but he forced himself to continue. He stared at the sparkling ocean until his eyes stung and his vision swam and his face melted into the sand.

Then he felt it.

Cool, gentle water licking at his toes.

He half-knelt, half-fell to the ground and slid Cas off his shoulder, trying to cradle his body carefully instead of simply dropping him, even though he felt something rip in his bandaged shoulder and a strangled gasp tore out of him. "We're here," he panted. "I took you to the ocean."

Cas's head lolled to the side, his eyes open and blank.

Dean tapped his cheek. "Cas. Wake up. We're even now. I took you to the ocean."

Cas laid still.

"C'mon." Dean wiped his forehead with the back of his arm and tried to ignore the sinking dread in the pit of his stomach. "C'mon! We made it!" He shook Cas's shoulders. "This was all you could think about! You can't die yet! We just got here!"

The water swirled around Cas's ankles, eddying and ebbing, white foam around his toes.

"Please." Dean pressed his hand to Cas's wounded chest and felt for a heartbeat, a breath, anything. "Don't die yet." His eyes blurred and his nose tickled, and he snuffled it back, saying, "How am I supposed to kick your ass if you're dead?"

Cas laid blank and silent beneath him.

And suddenly it was too much for Dean, and he fell forward in the sand, and collapsed next to Cas's body. I tried, he thought. I really fucking tried. He turned his face to Cas's, unable to tear himself away from that empty, dead gaze.

All for nothing.

The sea water flowed around their legs, cool and aimless.

Cas's eyes closed.

Dean started. "Cas? Cas, you in there?"

Castiel opened his eyes, and they were solid blue.

He began to mutter in what Dean had thought was gibberish but suddenly understood was another language, an ancient language, a language of power. His eyes glowed such a perfect blue, no pupil, and the blue shimmered along his body, shifting, changing, electrifying, and he reached a hand out and grabbed Dean's shoulder and the blue surged into Dean. Every hair on Dean's body stood up and he cried out not exactly in pain but in the unbearable strangeness of the sensation, the feeling of knitting and growing inside his own skin and the sparks crackling along its surface.

Dean felt like he was dying and coming alive at the same time. Stranger still, he knew Castiel was feeling the same thing. And for a moment, he felt like he was Castiel, the same person, the same organism, staring at a twin of himself as undeniable as a reflection or a shadow.

In the next moment, that feeling vanished entirely, and was replaced by the trembling fear and humility of understanding the incredible power looking him in the face and knowing how very insignificant his strength was in comparison, how very paltry and weak he was in the grip of its terrible might.

Then that was replaced by the singular thought of What the fuck?

The fuck just happened?

What the fucking fuck?

Castiel's blue eyes slowly faded back to a normal shade, and the black pupil resurfaced and focused on Dean. He sat up and peered at Dean with concern. "Are you alright?"

"Fuck!" Dean wheezed, finding it hard to breathe.

"I think I overdid it," Castiel said. "I'm sorry. I didn't have very good control." Gone were the bags under his eyes, the sallow skin, the gauntness of his cheekbones. His face was the picture of health, beauty, everything – crisp and clean and sharp and new, like a man reborn. "You may fall unconscious."

Dean lurched upward. "Unconscious?" he barked, outraged. But just then, the edges of his vision turned grayish black and began to close in on the world around him.

"Just stay calm," Castiel told him.

"Gonna murder you," Dean gasped, clawing at the sand, struggling to stay awake. The world went dark and he fell back onto the beach. "Swear I'm gonna kill you…."

The last thing he heard was, "That seems highly improbable."

And he knew that son of a bitch was smirking.