Chapter 11
The trek across the Capital Wasteland was a long one, even with the aid of Crowley's merchant caravan. The factory they'd raided had been far north, beyond the mapped area of the wastes. Deathclaws had roamed the area in droves, packs of greater numbers than are typically seen in the Capital Waste. With Crowley's medical supplies and a bit of luck, the trio had made it in and out of the facility with no casualties to speak of.
"My back is killing me," Dean groaned, stretching out his legs in the caravan beside Crowley. Dean may or may not have pushed himself in hauling out the power armor crates, resulting in a strained back.
"Would you quit your whining? Just be happy I let you ride in here at all!" Crowley snapped back, pulling his legs up and to the left, avoiding direct contact with Dean. "And has anyone ever told you raiders that you need to bathe more often? You smell like a mutant mole rat."
"Yeah? Well at least I don't look like one, pudgy," Dean quipped back. He'd quickly learned that surviving with Crowley required a certain thickness of skin and alertness of mind. When Dean thought about it, it wasn't really that different than dealing with raiders –only Crowley was a lot more conniving. "How much further is it anyway?"
"Are you a child or something? 'Are we there yet?'" Crowley mocked in a whining, almost sing-song fashion. "It's pretty far south east, especially considering how far north we were to begin with-"
"But it's been like three days, we've gotta be close by now."
"Do you wait for anything?" Crowley gave an (over)dramatized sigh, "Honestly Cas, how do you put up with this pup?"
"Who're you calling a pup?"
"Would you two quit your belly-aching!" Cas shouted into the caravan, still walking beside the thing. They needed to protect the caravan all the way to Lincoln Memorial, otherwise they wouldn't get paid. "I swear I'm baby-sitting two brats! One stuck up and the other a whiny bitch! Just shut up and enjoy the damn ride back because it can't be much harder than the fucking Deathclaws!" He rolled his shoulders to stretch them a little, cracking his neck as he tossed his head back and forth. "Sheesh."
Silence washed over the caravan while Dean and Crowley simply stared at one another, processing Castiel's added outburst. After a few moments of peaceful quiet, Dean muttered, "You're totally the whiney bitch." Which was promptly followed by an incredulous stare from Crowley.
"At any rate, yes –we're just about there." Crowley pointed casually out the side of the caravan, to a few piles of rotting bodies, "You can see the piles of supermutants? That's Jet's doing. Lincoln Memorial is smack dab in the centre of The Mall region of the wastes, close to several other museums including the Washington Monument, the National Archives, and the Museum of Technology. It's also the second most heavily infested supermutant camp in the Capital Wastes."
Cas glanced and nodded; appreciating the quality work that Jet's people did in piling the bodies. "So he's got plenty of culture around him, bet he doesn't go looking at it either." He snickered, knowing that only real dorks went to look for old history shit like that. "Well at least they can handle the pests."
Dean nodded absently in reply, his mind drifting elsewhere. 'I bet Sam would've loved this,' Dean looked around at the surrounding buildings, museum after museum, and landmarks of political significance... or now insignificance. Dean had always known Sam to be overly bookish, and that was saying something when the collective literature of the Capital Waste was only in the high hundreds. Dean looked from the buildings to the rotting corpses that littered the horizon line.
Dean grimaced at the sight, glad he couldn't smell it from the caravan, "What's the first most heavily infested area?"
"Vault 87," Crowley leveled a knowing look at Dean, "the one connected by a back passage to Little Lamplight."
Dean swallowed hard and stopped with the questions. Again with the stupid vault, and all of those poor kids. Dean always knew it was in the town's best interest to leave that stupid vault alone, but Bella would never hear the end of it. She had been convinced that the vault held the answer, all the supplies that they would need and a better living environment. Dean had decked her for it, and hadn't heard a peep about it before he left –but that didn't mean she didn't push the matter after he was gone. If the supermutant outbreak was her doing, what if it could have been avoided? Dean could have warned Sam about Bella's obsession... No, thinking like that wouldn't help anyone: it was all too little, too late.
Cas looked up into the caravan and shook his head, asking questions was a thing that Dean always did and he almost never liked the answer. 'If now was an appropriate time to say I told you so about asking questions…' He thought morbidly.
"Here we are, Pismo beach and all the clams you can eat. Now get your smelly ass off my caravan." Crowley gave Dean a feeble kick toward the exit and hopped out the other side himself. "Now I just meet with Jet, get our pay, and I disappear for a while. You two stay here and watch the caravan, I'll be right back." Crowley straightened his pre-war suit and vanished inside the building.
Cas nodded and crossed his arms, watching the building closely before glancing around at the funny looks some of the inhabitants were giving them.
Dean looked around at the people milling about, "There are so many people here, were they all slaves?" Dean turned to look at Cas, as though the other raider would know.
The older raider met Dean's eyes and after a long and thoughtful stare he just shrugged with an 'I dunno' slurred into one word.
"Well if they were," Dean pushed the conversation, starving for anything other than the mind numbing silence and the dredge of thoughts that came with it, "that would explain why they're looking at us funny. To the average person, what's the visible difference between a slaver and a raider?" Dean looked around at the faces of the passersby, "They're probably scared."
"Who's saying they shouldn't be? You're rough around the edges and I'm far from friendly, I'd slit their throats for bumping into me." Cas was using his rough, raider voice as he growled out the words, trying to look tougher than he felt. Truth be told he was exhausted. He'd walked the entire distance back since Dean was in the caravan and he hadn't really slept since before heading out to get the armor in the first place. He stifled a yawn that was brought on by the thought of it.
"No, you wouldn't," Dean looked at Cas, and not even he was sure if that was simply a statement –or a threat. It had been a long time since Dean had seen Castiel in that sort of light: the man was his partner and lover, they shared a home together –and a pet. The last time Dean remembered being afraid of Cas was when he'd first left Little Lamplight and discovering the carnage of Big Town. Dean hadn't known Castiel then, and even now he couldn't imagine the man actually killing a stranger for no good reason. On the other hand, Dean really didn't want to see any bloodshed among the freedom fighters here.
Cas frowned, his face scrunched up distastefully. "You don't know that," he grumbled. He knew full well these ex-slaves were uneasy about his presence to begin with and he wasn't feeling up to the challenge of fighting them all at that moment. He shrugged grumpily, "I would if I wanted."
"I get that you're tired Cas, but that doesn't mean you need to put up your 'tough guy' front, I can see right through it." Dean shifted his weight to lean on his rifle –that reminded him, he really needed to replace that shot gun that he lost to the deathclaws, he liked that gun.
Glancing around quickly to make sure no one was particularly looking at him in that moment, Castiel stuck his tongue out at Dean followed by a light snarl. "Shut up…" Was all he could come back with.
Crowley strolled into Jet's meeting room with a big grin on his face, "Hey there, partner. How goes the planning?"
Jet looked up from his planning table and a smile spread wide on his face, "Crowley, my man." He straightened up and walked over to the businessman with a strange kind of stroll, difficult to pinpoint whether he was confident, hesitant, or just plain happy to see his shipment might finally be in.
"I have the supplies, as promised. A suicidal run up north of mapped territory landed myself and my escorts in Deathclaw country –the heart of which held our destination: an old power armor factory." Crowley loved to over exaggerate the troubles he went through, no matter what. Everything he did for anyone was a huge favor –everytime. "My caravan's out front, filled with laser pistols and rifles, power and combat armor, and not to mention the microfusion and energy cells. All I need is the rest of my payment, and I'll be out of your hair."
Jet didn't feel all that bad about what Crowley had to go through, the man said he would deliver armaments, Jet didn't tell him where to get them. "Of course, here you go." Jet handed the payment over; he'd had it ready and waiting. "Good job."
"Thank you very much –oh, and one more thing," Crowley remembered almost as an afterthought. "The raiders I hired to make the run, they want in on your war against Paradise Falls, something about a goofy brother from Little Lamplight possibly being dead or captured."
Jet's ears burned a little, glancing back at Crowley before the man left, "Raiders want to help?" He glanced out the door then to Crowley again, "You're kidding me?" He peered out the door regardless of the answer to look at the hired help. The first one he recognized, Castiel's name had gotten around enough for Jet to have heard it. "That is one mean raider… What the fuck does he want here?" Jet muttered to himself before walking outside entirely.
"Yeah, I s'pose he's tough. He is still alive, after all," Crowley counted through the caps vaguely –with this many to carry, there was really no way to know for sure if the full amount was there. "I should have you pay me for the raiders too," Crowley joked, well –half joked.
Jet shot the man a look, "You wish." He wasn't even half joking with that.
"Hey," he started casually, arms crossed.
Castiel looked up and scanned the man standing there, tall, well built, a shaggy brown haircut, and… those eyebrows. They were thin but had a sharp shape to them, like he meant business even with a neutral expression. "Hi," Cas offered in return.
Dean looked between Cas and Jet, eager to sign up and ship out. This was the man leading the fight against the slavers, against the sons of bitches who stole his brother, if his brother was still alive. But Sam wouldn't have been the first lamplighter taken to Paradise Falls, not by a longshot. Dean had a bone to pick with them, on principle alone. But Dean knew the drill –Cas did the talking. Cas was known, he had a reputation and good business sense. And if Cas didn't have the answers to his questions, he wouldn't be signing up for this, and Dean really didn't want to do it alone.
"So I hear you boys want to join the cause?" Jet smiled a little and stepped down the front steps until he was level with them, though he was taller than them both. He remembered the things he'd heard about Little Lamplight, about the slavers taking whoever was left alive.
"You heard right." Cas was doing the talking for now; he wanted to feel out what kind of person Jet was before doing anything with him.
"You know it isn't a job that I'll pay you for, right?" Jet didn't want to deal with raiders who thought they'd be getting a good payoff out of it.
"We know, we're still waiting for our dear Crowley to give us the rest of the real payment." Cas raised his voice as he spoke, loud enough for Crowley to hear that he still expected the remainder of their share. "We'll have enough money after he gives us what we're owed." He nodded toward Dean, "He's the one who wants to help you."
Crowley didn't skip a beat, strolling down the stairs of the Lincoln Memorial, "500,000 caps left owing, and I've got 'em right here." Crowley tossed the sizeable 'coin purses' at Castiel's feet. "I believe our contract has been fulfilled by all parties involved. Nice dealing with you."
Cas picked up the sacks of caps and handed one over to Dean, "Likewise Crowley. I'll have time to count this later so now's your chance to tell me if you're flaking on us." He smiled to indicate a sense of joking though they both knew full well Castiel would hunt Crowley down and kill him if something wasn't right.
Jet looked at Dean and his expression softened, "I… heard about Little Lamplight. I'm sorry." He offered his hand, "Name's Jet, and you are?"
Dean looked Jet up and down, the man was definitely tall, and built, but there was something akin to compassion in his expression. He was someone fighting for a cause greater than survival, greater than himself; Dean found that he kind of liked him. "My name's Dean Winchester, I left Little Lamplight a little over two years ago –probably the last one." Dean's expression hardened as he dwelled on his reason for being here, Sam –possibly dead, possibly enslaved. "I left my little brother behind, I was supposed to meet him again, go back for him, but..."
"Brother, eh…" Jet scratched the back of his head, not sure how he could break it to this guy. "It doesn't look good for the kid, I gotta tell ya, man." Jet was a little surprised to see an old Little Lamplighter standing before him. Most of those kids ended up dead, especially after Big Town. But often they were too weak to be out in the real world, taken away by supermutants, raiders, or slavers. Well.. This one was taken by raiders, obviously, but somehow he ended up being one of them. And with Castiel of all people, you had to be one tough kid to be able to do that.
"I know that he might not even be there, what with the supermutants and all, but I've gotta know. I used to be the mayor of Little Lamplight, and yeah we're all kids, but we watched out for each other. This isn't the first time those slavers have taken people I care about, and it has to stop. I'll make it stop."
"That's the spirit." Jet smiled a little, a somewhat crooked grin though he meant well. "That's all you can do, my friend. Channel the anger and outrage into something useful, something that'll make a difference. You'll fit right in, Winchester." Jet pat him on the shoulder from a comfortable distance before glancing over at Castiel again, giving a quick nod to the renowned raider.
Cas tipped his jaw a little to return the gesture, though his mind was far from in the game, he was so freaking tired.
"Well you guys can take whatever open room suits your fancy." Jet smiled widely, "This one's mine so you know where to find me."
Cas gave a short wave and started heading into the residential areas, as odd as that sounded to him. "Let's go, Dean." He ordered with a slight yawn, "God I could use a nap…"
"A nap?" Dean quips derisively, "We almost get ourselves killed for a bunch of old technological junk, and now you just want to sleep? I won't have it, old man," Dean knew how much it bugged Castiel to hear that. Dean wasn't sure if it was because the age difference between them bothered the raider, or if it was because Castiel genuinely felt it. Dean grabbed Cas by the belt in his armor and started leading the man away. "You're staying up for at least another thirty minutes."
Cas yawned loudly in response, "You little shit, we almost got ourselves killed when fighting giant monsters, hauled every piece of the really heavy old technological junk only so you could sit in the caravan on the way back while I had to walk." He let Dean lead him regardless; they were headed to the same place, "Like a whole freaking day of walking after all of that shit! Little wussy baby like you wouldn't get it." He was defensive of his age; people didn't live very long anymore, not like they did before the war. You were lucky to live as long as he had already, even more lucky if you made it to that age with all of your limbs.
Dean pointedly ignored the 'I had to walk' statement. Cas had been fairly reckless at the start of the fighting and Dean figured a good punishment for it was not getting a turn in the caravan.
Cas was complaining but he wouldn't deny that it'd be a decent stress reliever; he'd felt pretty tense since getting to this god-forsaken place. "You asked for it," he snarled, taking a firm hold of Dean's collar and pushing his lover hard against the nearest wall. His hands were rough and his touch far from gentle, he kissed along Dean's neck, nipping at the soft flesh there. They both needed to clean up, sweating and bleeding to the point it was a permanent taste in their skin. Dean moaned and shuddered from the touch, his hands coming up and running through the matted black hair of the man pinning him. He liked how rough Cas could be, enjoyed it to the point that it might not be healthy anymore.
Castiel dug his nails into Dean, his grip a surprising thing for someone so slender and apparently small, his strength had never been something to scoff at, Cas was more than capable of throwing Dean around the room if he deemed it necessary. That didn't mean Dean wasn't just as able to stop him, able to hold him down and cradle him like no one else could. As nice as that sounded, Cas knew he'd never stay awake through it and at risk of insulting Dean completely, he figured taking the rough route was a more fitting decision.
He was tired, God knew he was tired and everyone knows it's nearly impossible to get it up when you're that exhausted. Cas threw both of their clothes to the floor, his mind was a little drowsy but he knew a good trick to get him ready; his hand clenched into a fist full of Dean's hair, forcing his partner to his knees in front of him. "You first," he growled low, his voice rumbling deep in his throat.
Dean listened, lowering to the floor, eyes never leaving the striking blue that held his attention. Cas needed this, he knew it even if the raider refused to admit it, Dean knew. Not to mention that after something as hair raising and life threatening Dean felt like he had to have Castiel, couldn't live without feeling that intensity and closeness at least one more time. He leaned forward and wrapped his lips around the soft flesh, knowing his goal and duty at this point. His tongue stretched out along the underside of it, tasting the bitter salty skin as he dragged his teeth over the top. This drew a short but excited gasp from his partner, Dean could feel the pressure building slowly between his lips and he couldn't help a smile. The larger man bobbed his head faster, nipping harshly at the tip to earn a few more moans and yips in pleasure, he knew his lover's tendencies well enough to know a forceful mood when it started. He also knew it was because Cas was tired, falling asleep in the middle of sex never happened between them and it was unlikely the old raider would be the first to do it.
Cas shuddered, his hand still gripping Dean's hair, his hips bucked forward a few times before he caught himself, his legs trembling weakly. "Okay…" he breathed heavily, gasping through his shaky feelings. "Get up…" he tugged lightly, the slightest hesitation regardless of why earned a harsher pull, "I said up!" He growled, forcing Dean to his feet again.
Cas shoved Dean onto their new bed, pinning him there while he ravished his lover's lips, biting and dragging his teeth along the soft skin. His eyes, lust-blown and hungry, snaked up and down Dean's body until he decided on a spot, snatching his blade up from the floor. He traced Dean's beautiful hip lines with the tip of the blade, a soft hum in his throat as he trailed toward his chosen place, pressing a little harder and drawing blood easily. He always kept sharp weaponry but this blade was the only one of its kind that he really carried, it was for special purposes, after all.
Dean gasped and shook as long and excited shivers danced up his spine; he groaned and hissed when his skin was so easily cut open. He glanced down at the trail of crimson and licked his lips, what kind of masochistic creature had Castiel turned him into? It didn't bother Dean, really. He closed his eyes and smiled, shifting his hips up slowly in a gentle humping motion to keep Cas' interest. "You're amazing." He moaned.
"Shut up." His partner hissed in return, leaving another cut along the thick of Dean's inner thigh. Nothing deep of course, just enough to get some blood flowing. Dean moaned again and let another shudder roll through his body like a wave, the combination of Castiel's varied touch on his dick with the knife was starting to really work its magic.
A little fun with sadistic masochism was all Cas needed to turn Dean on further, to lengthen that heavy, blood-filled cock of his. It'd been a while since Cas had tasted it; he wouldn't dare admit out loud that he wanted to try it again. Though in this situation he didn't really have to say anything. They didn't really have lube and using blood was just unsanitary. Cas knew Dean would enjoy it regardless and so he slipped down, making sure his body's protrusions would drag along the over-sensitive head on Dean's leaking arousal.
Dean grunted and mewled quietly, thrusting up against the smooth body shifting over him. "Cas..." he whimpered vaguely though that earned him a harsh pinch against his new wounds. Castiel didn't take to whining or whimpering well, it was a sign of weakness and the older raider didn't have anything to do with that kind of thing. The word 'weak', if associated with someone, would get them eaten alive in the raider world and as much as Cas cared for him, Dean was pretty sure his partner would let it happen.
Cas licked his lips and took Dean's weight into his mouth after ensuring Dean knew not to whine at him again, moaning softly at the salty taste of it. He was surprised to know he missed the flavour, his tongue stretching and molding along the trembling shaft as he lapped it up to savour. He leaned in further, inhaling Dean's scent deeply. Many people disagree with a man's smell but Cas was a little odd in this way, he didn't like the smell of clean, it wasn't real to him. Anything clean meant it either belonged to someone rich and useless or it was a person and they didn't know life, they didn't know and could never understand him. Another reason why he liked sex with Dean, his boyfriend was almost never clean, though neither was he. There wasn't anything to really clean up with unless they wanted to wash off in irradiated water.
Cas opened his mouth to let as much of Dean in as he could, pausing where his gag reflexes reacted, letting them settle and pushing a little further, his tongue working all the while to coax Dean a little more. His hands were raised, pressed firmly against Dean's thigh to balance himself and the other cupping and supporting the swollen flesh he was currently so enthralled with. Even though it threw him off a little, Cas lifted his balancing hand from Dean's thigh and paused for a moment to transfer some saliva to them. Returning to the blowjob, Cas slowly started to work Dean open with his fingers, prodding and circling with just a little too much pressure, the way Dean liked it.
Dean lurched forward from the sudden addition of his lover's penetrating fingers; he groaned and fell back again, arching against the rough surface below him. "Fuck, Cas..." he hissed and bucked down, forcing the intruding appendages as deep as they could go. "Ah... Ohh..." He bit back the softer, more delicate sounds and tried to replace them with expletives, his hips pulsing forward and his body rocking along with Castiel's rhythm. There was a brief moment he thought he might be too used to the pumping hand forcing its way inside him but it didn't last long, Castiel's mouth working him up further and further until he had to cover his mouth to stifle the outbursts.
Nearing the start of Dean's orgasm Cas quickly drew back until his lips were tightly closed around Dean's head, sucking vigorously. He'd relaxed the muscles around Dean's entrance enough by this time, he figured, it was alright to let his boy come. Dean gasped and bucked harder into Castiel's mouth, crying out louder as he dropped the protective hand that had been catching the sounds. Cas smirked, easily taking the pounding to the back of his throat as he listened to the sharp desperate cries. He felt himself twitch when Dean released, enjoying the sounds he was getting from his lover.
Cas kept the seed in his mouth, letting his tongue soak in the taste for a moment. He spat some onto his hands, swallowing the rest. Clapping his hands together and massaging the moisture between his fingers he took a firm hold of himself, coating it liberally.
Dean looked up lazily, his eyes half open after the bliss of his orgasm. He loved the crude way Castiel did things, the tougher man using bodily fluids as his lubricant, swishing it in his cheeks like mouthwash before spitting half of it out and consuming the other. It had just happened but Dean needed to repeat it to himself to continue basking in the way his partner did things. "Cas..." he murmured, reaching up for a moment though the other man smacked his hand aside.
"You should be ready by now," Cas snarled and forced himself inside, finding it was a little easier than normal, cursing himself mentally for opening Dean a little too much. He tried to counter that by pushing harder, angling himself until he found Dean's prostate.
The yelp of pleasure was all Cas needed to know he was hitting the right spot. He thrust harder, faster; pummeling Dean into the bed with as much strength as he could muster. Cas was breathing heavily, groaning loudly and losing himself in the mixture of Dean's breaths and the slapping sound that echoed when they slammed together. He didn't want to think, he didn't want to feel anything other than the physical sensations but he couldn't help it, his tired mind wandering even in the midst of all of this. The way Dean always looked at him, those endearing gazes just passionate enough without losing the strength behind them... They drove Cas crazy, he didn't understand how Dean could be so caring and loving toward someone so crass and rough around the edges. But yet, here they were. He moaned softly, tried to focus on the sex and keep his high going until he could climax but he couldn't. At least, not until Dean noticed. Dean clenched his muscles around the struggling erection buried deep inside him, shouting and crying out with each thrust that bashed into his sweet spot, blinding him briefly each time.
Cas' breath hitched as he pushed, finding the added friction more than enough to keep him going. After several moments he cried out, his body seizing and shuddering from the weight of his orgasm until he collapsed on top of Dean, gasping deeply. A few seconds to catch his breath before pulling out and dropping again, eye lids feeling much heavier now than they did 30 minutes ago. "Dean…" he sighed softly, his voice damn near unrecognizable it was so gentle; "I love you."
Dean, still panting heavily, wrapped his arms around the sleeping lump on top of him, knowing full well Cas probably couldn't hear him anymore he whispered anyway, "I love you too, Cas."
It took a full two months to get everyone in the Union trained to use power armor and laser weapons. Some of the people who had rallied to the cause were ex-slaves used as mercenaries, as well as some former raiders, even some former slavers. They were trained, and they could fight. They'd all chipped in to help the others prepare for the upcoming battle. It had taken even longer for Jet to get them all organized as a coherent unit.
Dean admired Jet for his leadership abilities, the slaves and people gathered here listened to him and respected him. But even though Jet had been leading them through these tough times before didn't mean that they all got along. Dean had noticed the divisions pretty early on, there were the hardened professionals who were simply too frustrated with the amateurish abilities of the slaves, and there were those who were in it for the fight and not the cause –they were the worst, with no respect for the former slaves, treating them like they were sub-human. They were careful about being to open with their opinion, they knew Jet wouldn't stand for too much of it.
Dean entered Jet's planning room, covered in maps and schematics of all sorts that he only half understood himself. "Hey, Jet?" Dean hedged the intrusion as a question, with the latest tension in the camp the last thing Dean wanted to do was accidentally scare Jet by sneaking up on his –Dean was sure he'd find a bullet in his chest. "How long until we attack? I'm getting kind of restless, just waiting around like this."
Jet looked up, a stressed expression dissolving ever so slightly. "Hey Dean…" he looked back down at the maps and scrunched up his face a little. He knew what Dean wanted, he knew why the two raiders were here and he knew that if they didn't get going soon then Dean would try on his own and ruin everything. Or at least that's what he guessed. "Patience, my friend." Jet muttered, standing up straight and looking over at Dean. "Just give it a little more time, I'm waiting on something." His grin widened at that. "But that aside, how are you doing here? I mean it can't be easy fitting in with everyone, especially with Cas around."
Dean sighed heavily, frustrated with waiting. Part of him figured that between himself and Cas the slavers could all be dead by now. How many of them could there possibly be? The Deathclaws must've been ten times worse than a small camp of slavers. Given the size of the small army Jet had amassed, Dean figured that the Union leader felt otherwise.
"I'm not a patient person," Dean replied, his frustration not at all lessened by Jet's reassurances. "What are you waiting for anyway?"
"I said patience, man. You'll see it soon enough, now answer the damn question." Jet wasn't quite in a mood to try and humour Dean either; tension hadn't exactly avoided Jet in all of this.
"Cas and I are fitting in well enough. This place is a small town already, but it seems the longer someone's enslaved, the worse their arithmetic skills. The shop keeps probably get swindled daily." Dean wasn't about to admit that most of the swindling had been done by himself and Castiel –they were good negotiators, especially Cas. And how could they be blamed for the short-sightedness of a small business owner?
Jet raised an eyebrow though he didn't intend to question the issue, "Well I guess they'll have to handle that one their own, I'm not exactly here to babysit them." Jet meant what he said, he was their leader and he'd protect them but if someone was losing money because they terrible with money. Jet grinned, knowing full well that Dean and Castiel wouldn't be able to resist ripping people off if it were that easy. They hadn't been caught yet, meaning they were good at what they did. Jet figured it was a fair trade for a couple of experts.
"And a few of the freed slaves here are from Little Lamplight, though most of them don't remember me, or if they do, they don't want to talk about it." Dean's brow furrowed slightly, it bothered him that the former lamplighters didn't acknowledge their past –he didn't understand it in the least, "But there's nothing I can do about that. It's not so much the fitting in that's the problem anyway –we're bored. The only reason we're here is to take out the slavers, because I want to take out the slavers. Cas really couldn't care less. We're not here to fit in, we're here to fight."
Jet's eyebrow remained elevated though his grin had faded to unimpressed. Apparently trying to make conversation with raiders was about as useful as trying to get a mutated dog to act like a normal pet. "Let me put it this way," He leaned forward and clapped the younger man on the back a few times, possibly rougher than he needed to. "You're here, you're with us and you're fighting the same enemy whether you get along with us or not. I know you're bored and I know Cas isn't exactly the 'let's sit around and do nothing' type of guy, but when it comes down to facing off against slavers –on their home turf, I might add- you can't just rush in. You need a plan and as much as you don't want to admit it, you know you'd need back up."
Jet walked back to the planning table and looked down at it solemnly. "You're impatient but more importantly, you're angry. Invincible might be how you'd feel running in there but believe me, once that collar's around your neck that feeling vanishes pretty damn quick. You're still here for a reason, Dean." Jet glanced back at the raider with stern eyes, though they weren't as friendly as before they were far from confrontational. "I think you know that."
Just then one of the Union members walked in, "It's here Jet, ready to go."
"Excellent," Jet laughed, trotting out the door. He strolled down to the center of their little organization and smiled at the rather large cannon-esque machine that was molded to a set of some badass looking wheels. Jet glanced over at Dean with a smirk, "Gotta love techies, they made this out of a few supermutant weapons."
It never ceased to amaze Dean just how bi-polar Jet was –seriously, the guy was damaged. One minute he could be laughing and joking around with you like the two of you were the best of friends, the next thing you know he's in your face, screaming about something –and there's something suspiciously gun-like pressed to your temple. He was no hero, but he'd be remembered as one after he died. No one would remember much of the bad, or better yet: they'd make the bad sound good. Dean supposed that was just the way of history though.
"It's impressive, but spermutants don't have technology," Dean walked down the steps, admiring the cannon. "They carry the larger guns left behind from pre-war because they're big enough to. They're too stupid to make it, but as long as this cannon of yours works, I don't care where you got it from."
Jet rolled his eyes, "Dude, I didn't say the supermutants made it; I said techies made it out of weapons supermutants were carrying." He looked back at the cannon with a smirk, "And you'll be impressed soon enough." Jet motioned some kind of signal to a few people and turned a glance in Paradise Falls' direction as they ran off to get others, "Now we can move out."