A/N: My super, somnambulist readers! I have another installment for you, but first, some notes:

1) Harsh language. There is some explicit language in this chapter that is almost certainly M but I hate making a story M purely for bad words. I feel it's misleading. It implies a bunch of graphic naughty business that I'm not willing to commit to yet. If you're underage and these words shock you then I apologize, and I recommend you eat some chocolate as therapy and stop using the internet.

2) Experimentation with style. I'm trying some different stuff in this chapter, and I hope you'll let me know if it works. The first section is written as dialogue without tags, and I continued the rest in present tense. When I switched into the present tense for the lotus-eater stuff, I intended for it to be a temporary switch, but once I switched back to past tense it felt... more passive, somehow. I realized I like the present tense for giving it a sense of action and immediacy. Soooo I'm arbitrarily switching back. SCUMBAG AUTHOR LOLOLOLOLOL

3) Your reward this update for reviewing is that I will desperately try to get you the next update in a timely manner. I'm going to be very busy for the next few days and getting in the writing time will be hard, but if you review I will do my absolute damnedest to get it done.

Also, I'll knit you a sweater with Cas's face on it or something. I DON'T KNOW I'M RUNNING OUT OF IMAGINARY MERCHANDISE HERE.

Enjoy the chapter!

"Well. That was enjoyable. You performed better than I expected."

"Hnnh. You. Very good."

"I'll take that as a compliment. We should do it again."

"Christ, just… give me a few minutes, woman…"

"I don't mean right now. I mean in the near future. Perhaps tomorrow."

"Oh."

"Not that I'm averse to right now; I'm just realistic in my expectations."

"So you're just gonna pencil me in your date book, then? Is that how this works?"

"Naturally."

"One o'clock: lunch. Two thirty: water the hydrangeas. Three o'clock: light fucking with Dean!"

"Don't be crass."

"So saying 'fuck' is crass, but actual sexual intercourse isn't?"

"Of course not. Not the way I do it."

"…."

"Admit it. I'm right."

"Just because you're classy doesn't make you less of a whore."

"Calling me a whore doesn't make you more of a man."

"….."

"Don't project your inadequacy issues on me. I won't stand for it."

"I don't have inadequacy issues."

"Look me in the eyes and say that again."

"…."

"If it's any comfort, I find you very adequate."

"Oh, gee, thanks. I've always wanted to be adequate!"

"I'm a rather convincing liar, Dean. You should be flattered by my honesty."

"Is this honesty?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I find your bravado pathetically endearing. You're like a little puppydog barking at a mirror."

"Okay, you know what? Cancel our lunch date."

"Am I hitting a nerve?"

"No, you're just pissing me off."

"You shouldn't be offended. I'm only a whore, after all."

"… I'm sorry."

"That's convenient."

"I didn't mean it. I just… Wait, why am I apologizing? You turned my friends into animals. I don't owe you shit!"

"And yet you're here, tied to my bed."

"Jesus, Bela, you're just… you're like the devil, you know that? I don't even know what I'm doing here. Untie me."

"You were looking for someone else. You stumbled upon me."

"No, I was looking for our rooms. I wanted to…"

"You wanted to what?"

"Never mind. Untie me already."

"It's no accident that you found my suite, Dean."

"I had a feeling it wasn't. I would feel a lot more comfortable with this conversation if you untied my hands."

"Fine."

"…."

"….."

"Thank you."

"I find it interesting that you didn't ask earlier."

"Maybe I was hoping for round two."

"Perhaps you were hoping to cuddle."

"What? No."

"You're terrible at lying."

"I'm not lying."

"I don't mind cuddling, from time to time when the mood strikes me. Would you like to try it?"

"NO."

"Lie back down."

"Ugh. Bela."

"Lie. Down."

"Fine Jesus if you're gonna be so goddamn demanding about it I will goddamn woman…"

"…."

"…."

"I do like this, actually."

"Hmmm."

"You're perfectly built for it."

"You gonna keep talking?"

"As long as I like."

"Christ."

"….."

"So…. You've slept with a lot of guys, haven't you?"

"Yes. I don't see why I shouldn't."

"Have you ever… been with a, uh, a woman?"

"…. A few times."

"Really?"

"I'm adventurous. As you know."

"What was it like?"

"It was… different. When I look at women, they don't excite me the way men do. When I see a beautiful woman I tend more towards jealousy than attraction. But there have been a few rare women, who, for whatever reason… I'm drawn to them. And the sex with them is very good."

"Better than me?"

"One was."

"So why didn't you keep her around?"

"I did. But everyone leaves eventually."

"… You didn't stop her? Turn her into a hedgehog or something?"

"I couldn't."

"Why not?"

"She died."

"…."

"…."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. You have nothing to do with it."

"…."

"Would you like to try round two now?"

"Holy balls, Bela. You were just talking about your dead lover. I'm not in the mood."

"Then perhaps you should tell me your secrets."

"What?"

"I'm bored and I'm curious. I want to know what you're hiding."

"Oh, yeah, 'cause that'll never backfire on me."

"I'll find out one way or another."

"I'll take my chances."

"It's a man, isn't it?"

"What?"

"You didn't ask me that question out of the blue. You're attracted to a man."

"No I'm not. I just wanted an image to jack off to later!"

"Disgusting, and completely false. It's someone on your crew."

"That - that-that doesn't make any sense. You're just pulling shit out of thin air."

"It's not that little blonde cabin boy, is it?"

"She's a woman!"

"Oh. I missed that. Awfully butch, isn't she?"

"Look, the only problems weighing on my mind concern the fact that I am on a different plane of existence than the one I'm used to and magic is real and the gods are real, and Poseidon wants me dead and I have a mole in the crew that I haven't decided what to do about yet. That's it. And -"

"That was incredibly easy."

" - also what the fuck is up with your servants? They are weirding everyone the fuck out and – oh."

"Your brother really is the smart one, isn't he?"

"Shut up."

"My servants were once a flock of sheep. I successfully gave them opposable thumbs but they seem to have retained their original brain capacity. They follow instructions excellently, though."

"… That is beyond messed up."

"They seem happy enough."

"You know, this has been just a grand old time and all but I really need to get going before the others start looking for me."

"No one is stopping you."

"Oh really?"

"Unless you want me to stop you."

"Well, that depends. You gonna stop me with your mouth?"

"I might."

"Might or will? Let's cut the bullshit, Bela, because time is mmmMMmmm-"

"…. Mmm…"

"…."

…..

After the bath house, the pirates are directed to the dining hall, where a cold buffet has been prepared for supper. Dean is nowhere to be seen, and neither is Bela; Castiel suspects that wherever they are, they are together. Perhaps Dean has gone to discuss the journey to the edge of the world that she's requesting. Castiel has never met Bela, but he has heard of her and her wiles, and he hopes Dean was being suitably cautious. He eats his lunch in silence, largely ignored by the other pirates. He doesn't mind. He isn't a part of their culture, a part of their clan. He does not marvel at the existence of magic or desire to debate what exactly had blown them into this strange sea. Every so often Sam directs a friendly question his way, and he answers in kind.

Sam is trying to include him. Castiel appreciates the gesture, but it's not needed.

At the end of lunch, a woman enters the hall with a proud stride, and Castiel stops eating to stare. Light brown hair coiled on the side of her head and wearing a sheer white summer frock, a strand of pearls at her throat and one in each ear, she glows with self-satisfaction and power.

This has to be Bela.

She sits down in throne and snaps her fingers, and a servant brings her a plate of food. "I hope you're enjoying the spread, everyone," she says. "Think of it as my apology."

The pirates make grudging noises of assent.

"We'll crack open the rum shortly," she informs them.

The pirates cheer.

The door creaks open, and a man enters hesistantly. He's dressed informally but his clothes are fine, black knit pants and a loose white tunic, and his short brown hair is parted to the side. It takes Castiel a second glance at his face to realize that…

It's Dean.

The pirates fall quiet. Dean pulls up a chair and glances at the others, noticing the sudden silence.

"Dean," Sam says in a tone of awe, "you shaved."

Dean shrugs and tucks into his food. "I felt like a change."

"Dean," Jo says, staring bug-eyed. "I've never seen you without a beard. You look so – young."

"I am young!" Dean retorts. "I'm young and strong and virile and I'll fight anybody who says otherwise!"

Bela smirks to herself.

Ash is sitting at his right side, and he squints and peers at Dean. "You know, I never noticed what delicate features you have."

"I will fight you, Ash. And I know how attached you are to that nose, so watch it."

Castiel can't tear his eyes away. Every facet of his face is new, suddenly readable, suddenly bare, and Castiel wonders if Dean has always been this engrossing or if he simply never noticed.

Dean sees him staring. "What are you lookin' at?"

"You," Castiel answers.

This answer seems to disturb Dean, and he mutters something to Sam, who laughs.

"Jo," Bela says, "I apologize for the… incident with the bath earlier. I was not aware there was a woman among your crew." She smiles, a smile that is meant to be conciliatory and endearing. "I'll send a few dresses down, and I can have my hairdresser stop by your room after lunch, if you like."

Jo smiles sarcastically. "No thanks," she says. "I already have a cunt. I don't need to look like one."

Dean chokes.

Sam laughs in shock.

Bela's eyes and nostrils flare wide.

Jo shrugs and takes a swig of ice water. "She turned me into a pig."

"Well." Bela picks up her glass with tight fingers and a careful voice. "I can see you truly are a sailor. You have the mouth for it."

Jo bats her eyelashes sweetly. "Wow, thanks! Would you like me to tell you which career your mouth is suited for?"

"Alright, that's enough," Dean cuts her off. "Bitch she may be, but she is our hostess. Let's be civil."

"By the way, Dean," Sam says innocently. "Where were you just now?"

Dean chews. "What do you mean?"

"Just now." Sam gazes at him with blank inquiry. "After you left the bath house and before you came here. Where were you?"

Dean reddens and reaches over to snatch a roll. "None of your business."

Jo and Sam exchange a knowing glance. Castiel feels some confusion, but he does not speak up. He hates to betray his foreignness to social innuendo.

Then Dean's eyes dart sideways to Bela, and he understands.

What he does not understand is the strange feeling that surges through him, a hot flush of resentment towards Bela and the desire to wrench her arm behind her back until she cries out for mercy. It has no foundation in anything logical and yet it persists. He watches her eat beautifully, prettily, and he dislikes her for it. He has no reason to but he does. He dislikes her stupid face immensely.

Being human is difficult.

Soon a wall-eyed servant rolls in a few casks of rum, and a great chorus of joy goes up among the sailors, and they fill their glasses and tip them together and sing songs of the sea and a faraway home, and they drink and are merry.

The party lasts well into the night.

…..

Bela stands along the wall of the ballroom, surveying her handiwork with satisfaction.

Sam ambles up next to her and leans against the wall, his arms crossed, his mug of rum pressed to his bicep. "You look happy."

She smiles, that Cheshire grin of hers. "Everyone is enjoying themselves. Why shouldn't I be happy?"

Sam rolls his eyes. "I don't know, because you're a sorceress who turns people into animals for sport?"

"Such a pessimist." She eyes him up and down. "The bath did you good."

"And Dean, too, I'm assuming?" he retorts. "I notice it only took one meeting for him to get up to his usual act."

Her green eyes sparkle. "Dean is excellent at what he does, and I'm hoping to see more of his work soon, but I'd love to see what you have to offer. Any chance I could entice you into a ménage a trois?"

Sam stares at her, barely able to believe his ears. "Are you – are seriously inviting me to a threesome with my own brother? No! Hell no! That's disgusting! I don't even want to be in the same building as my brother while he's having sex, much less participating!"

"I knew it was a long shot," she sighs. "But I'd never live with myself if I didn't at least try." She glances at him sideways. "A solo session is still on the table."

"No thanks. Don't get me wrong, I'd love to get my hands on you, but I don't take sloppy seconds." Sam blinks, surprised at his own blunt words, and looks down into his mug. "What did you put in this rum, anyways?"

"Oh, nothing," Bela says nonchalantly. "Just a lot of alcohol and a small but potent truth serum."

Sam's jaw drops. "What?"

She smiles and saunters away, looking back at him all the while. "Think of it as a favor to Dean," she calls.

"He asked for this?" Sam shouts.

She smiles even wider. "Of course not."

…..

Castiel retires to his room with a spinning head and a thousand melodies running through his mind. He hasn't drunk this much since – ever.

Hahaha. He's never even been drunk.

Hahahaha. Hahahahahaha.

Pull it together, Castiel.

Then slowly, steadily, he hears the door creak shut behind him.

The room is dark.

"Hello, Dean," he says.

He feels the cold pressure of a knife on his throat and Dean's thumb digging into the back of his neck. "Alright, Castiel," Dean growls in his ear, "it's time for some answers."