This ludicrous excuse for a fic is getting ridiculous, but the end may just be hoving into sight! You know the drill, no readee if you haven't already done reviewee, or Dirty Miranda the purple pirate plot bunny will be sad...
Chapter Twenty-Six
Ronnie was dressed when Dean found her in her cabin. She took one look at him and raised an eyebrow.
"George says that my shirt is not dry yet," he said by way of explaining his state of shirtlessness, "And something about narrative causation that mitigates 'gainst my wearing of a shirt on account of a deficit of fanserviceability following a previous episode in which my tanned and manly physique was not mentioned once. Know you of what she speaks?"
"I am acquainted with the idiom, though I have no facility with such," Ronnie told him, "But 'tis a type of Secret Women's Business, upon which men ought not intrude. Be guided by George, for I am sure that she means it for the best, and in no way schemes to have you in a state of partial undress so that she may appreciate your lithe form as you stride about looking masculine and dangerous in a fashion that would appeal enormously to any ladies who were present to observe you. It's the, er, perky chest thing. They do seem to appreciate a good stiff breeze."
"That is well, then," nodded Dean, "Though I am grateful I at least have my trousers back, as no doubt any fickriter hereabouts would also be."
"But now, enough of pandering to readers with hints about your appearance and state of partial undress," Ronnie stated firmly. "What I must say to you is important. Shortly, we will close with the Perdition. Our hope lies in remaining obscured for as long as possible, but this man Lucifer will know that we are coming; if luck is with us, he may think that we are just another brigand seeking prey, but once he realises our design, he may take steps to accelerate his plan to..." she could not speak the words. "He will at the very least seek to blow us out of the water so that he may proceed undisturbed."
"I would not hang you for a witch, Captain, as you use your ability to noble ends," Dean said, "Is there any way in which you may use your Craft to thwart his evil intent?"
Ronnie's face became grim. "I am outmatched, Captain Winchester," she said bluntly, "Understand that – I am outmanned, outgunned, he is my superior in such matters. Should I attempt what you suggest, he would swat me like an insect."
"And yet, a small insect may sting," Dean pointed out, "And I have known a man to die from it."
"Aye, that may be," Ronnie snapped, "But it would be foolish to place trust in so unlikely an event. Nay, we must do this the traditional way, with steel, gunpowder and blood. Wherefore I say to you, let the crew of the She-Wolf do the fighting..."
"I will take them on bare-fisted if need be!" Dean spat angrily, his top lip quivering in a petticoat-rustling manner.
"Will you hush and listen!" she hissed angrily, "Your task is to stay alive, and find your brother! Find Sam, and get him back aboard as soon as you can!" She turned to a battered sea chest and opened the lid. "I bid you take this, and make good use of it," she said, proffering a scabbard.
It was plain leather, unadorned, and well-worn with use. Dean took hold of the battered guard, and withdrew the blade a few inches. It was a cutlass, but unusually for such a blade it was sharpened on both sides. Curious, he took it from the scabbard.
The weapon sprang free with a clean singing note, and he was able to get a good look at it. It was not as broad in the blade as might be expected, but it had the weight of a larger sword; it would take skill and some strength to wield effectively, but so deployed it would be a beautifully deadly thing.
"This is a... remarkable weapon," he breathed, feeling the density of the steel.
"I call it Fang," she gave him a small smile as he inspected it, "And I forged it myself, many years ago, under the coaching of a man who spent years in the Orient, studying their ways of smithing weaponry. I judge you capable of wielding it."
"But if I carry this, what of yourself? Will you send me out with your own weapon, and go bladeless?"
She actually chuckled. "Oh, I suspect that for this fight, I will be better served by... other weaponry." She raised her hands, and allowed her hands to transform into the wolf's paws, complete with wicked looking claws. "I fear I shall need to assume my bestial aspect before this fight is done." Her smile became dangerous. "Besides, you have drawn Fang, and now you have drawn it, you must blood it."
Dean's smile became equally dangerous (and a lot more bodice-busting besides). "I promise you, Captain, I shall do exactly that."
"Capital." She fixed him with a steely stare. "And there is one more thing you must do."
"Must do?" he echoed with some amusement.
"Yes," she snapped, completely devoid of humour. "For I am in command here, and I will be obeyed by all aboard. Once you get your brother back aboard, if I am not able to do so, you must recall the crew, and get the She-Wolf away from the Perdition intact enough to stay afloat."
The amused smirk fell from Dean's face. "What? But surely you are not expecting to..."
"I expect nothing, and everything," she growled, "And plan for any contingency! If we must disengage from close quarters, Lucifer will stop at nothing to keep Sam! And if he fears he will not keep him, he sounds the type to send us to the bottom rather than lose his prize! This ship and her complement must be kept safe, and under such circumstances it will take a skilled commander to do so, therefore I tell you if needs must you will do it!" Her voice had risen in anger; she took a deep breath, visibly reining in her temper. "I am in command here, Winchester," she went on in a level voice, "I am Alpha, and I will be obeyed by all aboard, by my crew, by my First Mate, by that irritatingly rational and sensible doctor, and by you, do I make myself clear?"
His face fell as he nodded.
"Good. Then let us go on deck, for I suspect we will see action sooner rather than later."
She ducked out of her cabin, and Dean, looking every inch a rakish and handsome squee-inducing shirtless pirate, followed.
...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo...
Sam came to his senses slowly, his thoughts fuzzy, his head sore and his arms stiff and heavy. Houndswort, he thought muzzily, what I need right now is some of Captain Shepherd's capital houndswort infusion...
He must've made some noise as he stirred. "Patience, lad," he heard Captain Godson's voice, "You have a hard head, and there will be no lasting damage done."
Sam blinked hard to clear his sight: he felt the itch of dried blood above one eye, but was unable to scratch it. As his senses cleared, he came to see that it was because both his wrists were expertly secured to the sides of the bunk. That realisation was like a bucket of ice water down the trousers for bringing him back to full clarity of thought.
Looking around, he could see that he was in the captain's cabin. He tested the ropes around his arms a couple of times, muscle cording and bunching in his magnificent biceps, but he was lashed fast as if the bindings had been secured by Mistress Amanda herself.
Oh, and his shirt was gone. Again.
He cleared his throat. "Captain, what is the meaning of this?" he asked as calmly as he could.
The captain turned from his desk, and gave Sam a small smile. "I am sorry about that," he said, indicating the shredded fabric on the floor, "But they seemed to be terribly keen on the sponging thing. There are three of them, and I'm afraid that in their eagerness to tend to your abrasions they tore the damned thing right off your back before I could stop them..."
"No, no, no!" Sam snapped, sighing inwardly at the relentlessness of the naughty ladies to tend to his health and well-being and at the same time being extremely grateful that he was at least still wearing his trousers, "What I mean is, why am I held prisoner like this?" He glanced worriedly at the door.
"Don't worry, it's locked," the captain assured him, "They will not get in here except upon your say-so, if you enjoy that sort of thing."
"Good grief, I am lashed to a bunk like a bale of wool in a hold, for what purpose I know not, and you think that right now my thoughts are concerned with... that?" yelped Sam.
"I make no judgement on the preferences of others, where there is informed consent," Lucifer shrugged, "And in truth, I do know some individuals who would much enjoy being in your position and entertaining the attentions of three such cheerfully and willingly attentive wenches. I could stipulate one at a time, if you prefer, and they could draw lots..." Sam let out a small noise of horror. "Don't knock it until you've tried it, is all I'm saying," he added.
Sam felt himself starting to growl. "Captain, what the fuck is going on?"
Lucifer looked thoughtful. "Events have... overtaken me," he eventually said, "My body is failing, your... inquisitiveness is most inconvenient, and so I must hurry forward with my plan."
"What plan?"
"To secure the command of the Perdition," Lucifer said, with a small roll of his eyes, "I have explained it to you."
"In most careful language, I have noticed, and am hardly likely to agree to anything under these circumstances," Sam snapped, testing the ropes once again to good effect upon his marvelously buff appearance but to no practical avail.
"That is true," sighed Lucifer, "Which will make the spell more difficult, and may compromise the result."
"Spell?" Sam queried, his blood suddenly running cold and the feeling of rising hackles crawling up his back, "Spell? Captain, are you intent upon some ungodly working? Dear God, man, am I to be some sort of, what, sacrifice to an unholy cause?"
"Not exactly," Lucifer grinned, "I shall need a small amount of your blood, but as little as possible, for your body will be no good to me if it bleeds out and drops dead."
"My..." Sam's mouth dropped open in bemused alarm. "What exactly is your design here?"
"I have told you," Lucifer sounded somewhat irritated, "This body is failing me. This vessel must have a younger man, of rude good health, to command her. A man like my own self, a man who is, in his own fashion, after my own heart..."
An awful insight washed over Sam.
I was what you are; what you are, I will be.
In a horrible moment of clarity, the pieces of the puzzle fell into place.
"I am nothing like you!" he shouted, "I would never seek to, to, to steal the life of another to prolong my own!"
"And yet, you are alike enough," Lucifer pointed out serenely, "And though your agreement would assure the success of this enterprise..."
'Never! NEVER!" Sam shouted, quivering with magnificently manly defiance and disdain, "I WILL NEVER AGREE! I WILL NEVER AID YOU, YOU GODLESS HERETIC!" He glared up at Lucifer. "You are cursed, Lucifer, cursed by your own selfishness and arrogance, and whatever rots your body is rooted in the depravity and sin you embrace!" Lucifer scowled, but Sam's temper had its head. "No wonder your father and brother drove you out," he added loudly and spitefully, "For you would be a disgusting disgrace and shame to any God-fearing family with a shred of decency to its name!"
With a roar of anger, Lucifer drew back a hand; the blow snapped Sam's head back, leaving his ears ringing and his nose bleeding, but he just continued to sneer at Lucifer. "You are a coward, Lucifer," he rasped, "A thief, and a coward, and you have surely damned yourself."
Lucifer chuckled. "My, Sam Winchester, what a big voice you have," he noted. "Must I gag you also just to keep the noise down?" He considered the matter, then retrieved a scrap of shredded shirt from the floor. "Yes, I do believe that those three wenches would enjoy this package quite a lot..."
Reduced by the gag to glaring angrily, Sam treated Lucifer to a scowl so intense that it was a wonder the other man's clothing did not burst into flame.
"At the very least, a compromised working will buy me some time." Lucifer straigtened up. "But I need time, and concentration, to complete this," he indicated the clutter on the small desk with a careless gesture, "And a threat approaches. Whatever it is, the Perdition will deal with it. So, sit tight, Lieutenant," he offered the malevolent grin once more. "I promise you, I shall secure the door. Although," he looked thoughtful, "Perhaps later, after the ritual, I shall unlock it, and find out just exactly what those naughty ladies would like to do with that body..."
Leaving Sam spluttering in impotent yet strangely attractive outrage, he left the cabin.
...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo...
The deck of the She-Wolf was eerily quiet as the crew waited; they powered along on the strange current, the wind filling the sails, shrouded in the fog bank. The fluttering of the She-Wolf's colours, the wolf's head flag, snapping in the breeze was the loudest sound aboard.
Dean saw Gabriel sitting on the fo'c'sle, back to the foremast, a resigned look on his face. "Should you not be hiding in the brig?" he asked, only half joking.
"If I thought it would render me any advantage, I would be there now," the smaller man sighed, "But I am starting to think that there are some fights one just cannot run from. See how I have been running from this fight for a very long time, and yet... here I am."
Dean leaned against the mast. "Gabriel, what fear you the captain has done? You said 'something godless', earlier."
"It matters not now," Gabriel snapped, his expression somewhat miserable, "What is done is done, and we must make or mar with it."
"I ask, because I have had a most unexpected conversation, nay, unexpected instruction from your mistress and commander." Dean went on to relay his exchange with the captain, and was taken aback to see the other's eyes fill with tears.
"She has done it, then," he sniffled quietly. "What know you of the Craft, Captain Winchester?"
"Only that it is deemed illegal and godless by Parliament and the Church, though many practise harmlessly and only to the benefit of their fellow human beings," Dean replied, "I know nothing of the workings."
"Well, I do," Gabriel went on, "And I choose not to use what I know, for I fear the consequences. The ignorant, or perhaps just the greedy, may suppose it a way to acquire something for nothing – riches, love, luck, health – but that is false. There is no such thing as something for nothing, or if there is, that is an illusion. In towns, markets or souks, goods or services desired must be paid for, in coin or barter, to the satisfaction of the seller. The Craft is no different: the price may be large or small, trifling or ruinous, material or otherwise; the terms of payment may be thirty seconds, thirty days, or thirty years. A foolish practitioner may not even realise what the price is; a wise one will make a clear contract, and never undertake to acquire what they are not willing to pay for."
"I do not think your need fear that your captain has done something imprudent," Dean said reassuringly, "If she is as careful in her practise as she is in the care she takes of her vessel and crew, she will have settled on a sensible price for whatever she has worked."
"That's just it, you see," Gabriel wiped his face with his sleeve, "It's what she thinks a fair price that worries me. For we sail at this speed with assistance so gained, to rescue your brother, to pluck him from the clutches of Lucifer and thus save his life." He turned hard eyes to Dean. "What is a life worth, Captain Winchester? What deem you your brother's life is worth?"
Dean looked non-plussed. "A life? That is... I cannot put a price on that!" he protested, "A human life is a miraculous thing, beyond price in coin or jewels. My own brother's life I do value above my own..."
His voice trailed off and he let out a startled gasp as his train of thought led him to the same conclusion as Gabriel. "But... do you truly think that she would..."
There was a sudden high-pitched shrieking sound, like the screeching of gale winds in the rigging in the lower latitudes, and the fog bank in which the She-Wolf was cloaked thinned and dispersed like frost thrown upon a smith's forge. Dead ahead was another vessel, dark and threatening in aspect, the crew gathered on deck, and the gun ports open with cannon run out.
Dean heard Ronnie bellow the command to come hard to port, then the Perdition's starboard broadside erupted, and all Hell broke loose.
Zoiks! And so we get to it. Pay no attention to that thumping sound, it's either Dirty Miranda heading for the finish line, or the three naughty ladies trying to break down the cabin door to get to Sam. Dreadful beldames they are.