..
Douen
..
It occurs to Castiel fleetingly as the douen drops onto Frank's back that it's smaller than he expected. And it is fast.
The thing lands in a flurry of limbs and animalistic shrieking, arms and legs much too long for its short potbellied torso. Frank hollers and flails, unable to fling the douen off him. Dean swears loudly and tries his best to get close, to get a clear chance to stab the creature with his knife, but both it and Frank are moving too quickly and Dean has an equal chance of accidentally stabbing Frank in the gut.
"Cas, Jesus, do something," Dean urges.
Castiel, who's been rooted to the ground since the douen appeared, at last finds his feet and spurs forward. He whips his knife from his belt and searches desperately for an opening.
"For God's sake—!" Frank screams, already bleeding from numerous scratches on his face and arms. He whirls and throws himself bodily into the nearest tree backwards. The douen releases a hiss as it's crushed against the trunk, spittle flying, and reaches around to claw at Frank's chest.
Dean lurches forward, sidestepping as one of the douen's arms swings perilously close to his neck, and shouts "Grab him!" to Castiel.
Somehow, Castiel understands what Dean's trying to do, and in unison they seize Frank from the front and slam him down onto the ground, crunching the douen underneath. There's a loud snap of a bone and the douen screams, releasing its hold on Frank at last.
Frank scrambles back, legs kicking, chest heaving. "What the Devil—"
The douen's voice is identical to that of a human woman.
Its scream finally tapers off and it rolls clumsily, clutching one arm to its small chest, and Castiel quickly backs away with disgust tugging at his throat.
Now that it's not moving too fast to be studied, Castiel can see the douen in full horrible detail. It's short-bodied and long-limbed and padded with fat like a well-fed child. Its skin is green and mottled, perfectly camouflaged with the surrounding woods. There is no face, its head featureless apart from a small mouth ringed in sawteeth.
And most jarring, its legs are backwards – the knees bend in reverse and the feet are turned toward its back, almost giving it the appearance of some kind of mutated bird.
This is not a true hunter. This is an ambush predator – like a spider – ill-suited to long-winded combat and much more adept at luring its prey or simply waiting for a meal to wander by. Now with a broken arm, the douen is less threatening, whining pathetically as it struggles to its feet.
Dean's knuckles are white around the hilt of his silver knife, jaw set in determination as he moves in for the kill strike.
"Dean," the douen says, and Dean freezes instantly. Color drains from his face. The douen's voice is abruptly human again, and eerily calm. At last it manages to stand, drawing itself upward as it speaks softly in a woman's voice. "Dean, don't hurt me. Please, my darling."
A full-body tremor courses over Dean's frame and he staggers back like he's been struck in the chest. His shoulders go rigid, and Castiel sees sweat drip from the nape of his neck and roll down to the collar of his shirt.
Castiel swallows, and pulls Dean behind him by the scruff of his waistcoat. Instead, Castiel takes his own knife and lunges for the douen before he has a moment to second-guess himself.
The douen shrieks indignantly at him, lashing at Castiel's chest with its good arm. It knocks him to the side before pivoting on its back-turned toes and disappears at a sprint into the undergrowth.
A breath shudders out of Dean's body like a ghost escaping him, and for a second Castel thinks he might collapse. Castiel stands back up from where the douen sent him into the dirt, brushing woody debris from his knees and elbows. Frank leans on a tree for support as he tries to catch his breath.
"Well, I am not eager to do that again," Frank says, spitting twice onto the ground like he's warding off a curse. He's bleeding from several cuts scattered over his face, neck, arms, and chest.
Castiel pays Frank little mind, and instead reaches to touch Dean's forearm. "Are you all right?"
In the chaos of the mermaid attack, Dean dove headfirst into the action with no hesitation and a willingness to shed blood. After the aspidochelone had left nothing but death and destruction in its wake, Dean was steadfast, a calming voice while Castiel reeled from the loss of everything he'd known.
Castiel sees none of that now. Somehow this small, solitary creature has rattled Dean to his core. His face is pale and his knife still clutched tight and quivering at his side like he expects the douen to leap again from the trees. His eyes are blank, unseeing, and he jolts at Castiel's touch.
"Dean," Castiel says gently. "You still with us?"
Dean swallows, clears his throat. Blinks and refocuses. Castiel can see him pulling himself together, restructuring himself from the inside out, and Dean nods. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm good."
"Listen, boy, if you're going to lose your head in the face of one monster—" Frank starts.
Dean cuts him off swiftly. "I'm fine, Frank," he snaps. "Let's go. We're losing daylight."
Frank makes a face at him, a gratuitous roll of the eyes, but snorts and wipes a drop of blood from his cheek as he stomps off in the same direction the douen had run.
"Dean—" Castiel starts.
Dean laughs, a sound that could only be charitably described as authentic. "Freaky little thing, ain't it?" he says, and follows Frank.
Castiel's jaw clacks shut, a surge of anger rearing up somewhere in his chest as he's slapped with yet another thing Dean is refusing to tell him. But Frank is already far ahead and Dean's shoulders are quickly disappearing into the vegetation, so Castiel stows his arguments and hurries to catch up.
The injured douen's path follows a more direct route now, cutting through the sparser areas of the woods and making it much easier for the three men to track. Frank's face grows redder and more puckered with each step, his complaints of the douen "stinking to high heaven" ever more frequent.
Dean is quiet, blade at the ready.
"I'm sure the little boy will be fine," Castiel ventures after another solid twenty minutes.
"First rule of hunting," Dean replies bitterly. "You can't save everyone. If that kid is still alive, it'll be a miracle, so I'll hold off on getting my hopes up."
Abruptly, Castiel is unwilling to let Dean brush him off any longer. He's not sure if this lack of straight answers is typical for Dean, or if whatever Dean had talked with Missouri about was weighing on him, or if it's only because Castiel isn't part of the Impala's crew. But he's traipsing through the damn forest to rescue a child from the third (third!) monster he's encountered in a week. If that hasn't earned him Dean's candor, he doesn't know what will.
So he grips Dean by the arm and forces him to a stop.
"What the—" Dean starts, glancing down in surprise at Castiel's hand on his bicep.
"What was that back there?" Castiel demands.
Dean huffs, shaking his head. "Douens just scare me is all. Everyone's got their thing."
While it may be true that Dean finds the douen more frightening than any other creature, Castiel doesn't believe it's the sole reason he froze when the douen spoke. "Dean," he presses.
"We should catch up with Frank."
"No. How do you suppose I can be helpful if you keep me in the dark?"
Dean's shoulders finally fall at that, and he glances up to the dense canopy like he's begging for assistance from on high. He swallows, skin pallid in what little sunlight has made it through the trees above. "Douens, they—" He starts, sniffs, and starts again. "They mimic the voice of the victim's mother."
Castiel feels the pit of his stomach go ice cold.
"That's how they lure the kids," Dean continues, not meeting Castiel's eye. "They cover themselves up in clothes so they look human at first glance, and the kid just… follows. By the time the kid realizes it's not their mother, it's too late."
For a moment, Castiel turns this over in his head, lets it sink in. "When it said your name. That was your mother's voice."
A muscle twitches in Dean's jaw. "I didn't know douens could do it to adults, too."
Before Castiel can think of something to say – some expression of sympathy, or maybe encouragement – Frank crunches back through the vegetation and fixes them both with an irritated scowl.
"If you two are quite finished," he snarls, "I found the den."
Whatever Castiel might have wanted to say can wait. They quickly follow after Frank.
The den is only a dozen or so yards further, and Castiel can't keep his jaw from dropping when he sees it. He'd expected a cave, perhaps, or some kind of burrow – something that matched the douen's short stature and would allow it to drag its prey to a safe, hidden place to be devoured.
Instead, the den is huge. A massive twisting horn of sticks and vines and branches woven tightly together like a bird's nest, stretching upward in a conical shape from the ground up toward the treetops. It's shaped almost like a cornucopia standing on its wide end, the tapered apex of the structure curling around a tree trunk to anchor against any possible wind or weather.
And suddenly, Castiel can smell it too. An awful stench of sickly sweet decay wafting out of the den and settling over the forest floor like mist.
"How do we get in?" asks Frank.
"There." Dean points to an opening low to the ground on the eastern side of the den, barely big enough for a small person to crawl through.
Frank flips his machete in hand. "Simpler to cut through."
"No!" Dean says, quickly putting out an arm to stop him. "If the kid's still alive in there, we can't risk collapsing the whole thing."
"Well, I'm not fitting in there," Frank says, gesturing pointedly to his more-than-ample figure and broad shoulders.
"Then you can keep watch," retorts Dean with a roll of his eyes. "It'll be cramped in there anyways."
"Dean, I can go in alone," Castiel offers, blurting it out before thinking it through.
"Like hell you will."
And that's that.
Castiel does insist, however, on going in ahead of Dean – through some strange protective instinct or a desire to prove himself, he's not sure. But with his knife clutched in his fist, he gets on his hands and knees in the dirt, then sinks even lower and begins a slow, squirming, wriggling crawl into the den. The entrance isn't so much a door as it is a narrow tunnel leading inward, where it grows dark and damp.
The odor only grows thicker inside, trapped by humidity and a lack of ventilation. Castiel slides forward with his belly scraping the ground and the branches of the den walls scratching down his back, occasionally poking him in the sides.
"You good?" comes Dean's voice from behind him, and he feels Dean's hand tap the ankle of his boot.
"Yeah," he grunts, pulling himself through and into the heart of the den.
At last, he's able to sit up without hitting his head on something, though the space is still claustrophobic. He can hear Dean squeezing through the tunnel after him, and clumsily shuffles out of the way. There's a crunch and a clatter underneath him as he moves, a pile of objects shifting. It's a jagged surface he kneels on, like the packed dirt floor is halfway mixed with gravel.
As Dean manages to get through the tunnel after him, Castiel's eyes have adjusted to the dark enough for him to see that the interior structure of the den spirals upward, criss-crossed with handholds and pocketed with plenty of nooks and crannies for a creature to hide in.
"Ugh, God," Dean says, wincing.
Castiel follows his gaze back down, and his heart nearly stops.
He's kneeling on bones.
The entire floor of the den is scattered with human bones. Ribs, femurs, pelvises, a few skulls. All picked perfectly clean and all dreadfully small. Far too small to be adults.
Castiel flinches, but there's no way to avoid stepping on them.
A noise to his right draws his attention, and he grabs Dean's arm. In the corner lies the only body still somewhat intact – half-eaten and missing any distinguishing features – and next to it, bound in vines like flies in a web are two small children.
One is a brunette girl no older than five. The other is a boy – dark-skinned, wide-eyed, and about seven years old. And they're alive.
"Jean-Luc?" asks Dean, already crawling forward over the bones.
"Oui, c'est moi," the boy whispers.
Dean huffs out a breath of relief, pointedly avoiding the remains of the douen's most recent meal, and begins to cut Jean-Luc's bindings with his knife. Castiel braces his hands on his knees, dizzy with the odor clogging his nose, the horrific tableau of scattered children's skeletons, and the relief of finding two children still breathing.
The douen abruptly materializes out of the shadows, dropping from its hiding place above, and sinks its teeth into the back of Dean's neck. Dean shouts in pain and the douen's limbs cinch around his torso as it latches onto him like a tarantula.
The girl screams, thrashing against the vines.
Castiel scrambles forward, knocking bones out of the way as he goes, takes his knife and plunges it into the douen's spine between the shoulder blades. It howls, releasing Dean and arching back as blood spills over Castiel's hand.
"Boys! What's happening?!" comes Frank's voice from outside, muffled through the den walls.
Castiel wrenches his blade out of the douen's spine, seizes the creature by the neck and flings it to the ground, then brings the knife down again into the douen's chest. This time, it only gurgles, its mouth flecked in blood, and at last ceases to move.
Dean pants, rolling onto his back and clutching the nape of his neck. "Thanks, Cas," he says breathlessly.
Castiel stares down at the douen's corpse, barely able to believe that he's just killed it. He pulls his knife from its chest with a disgusting squelch , wiping the blood onto the leg of his breeches.
"Somebody say something, for God's sake!"
"We're all right, Frank," Dean calls.
The douen looks smaller than Castiel remembered it, but maybe it's just the perspective inside the cramped den, or the fact that it's dead and unmoving. It lies with its limbs akimbo, arms limp, a truly grotesque animal that makes Castiel's stomach turn.
He frowns, realization settling cold in his gut. "Dean?"
"What?" Dean speaks over his shoulder as he reaches for Jean-Luc's hand, coaxing him out of the corner. "Come on, kid, it's okay."
"Dean, its arm isn't broken."
Dean frowns disbelievingly back at him. "What are you talking about? 'Course it is."
Castiel shakes his head and holds up the douen's arms, neither one deformed. "This isn't the same one that attacked us in the woods. I thought you said they were solitary."
Dean blinks. "They are." His face goes pale then, his hand tightening on Jean-Luc's shoulder. "Except when they breed."
Castiel follows Dean's gaze up, up, up into the recesses of the den, and his blood turns to ice.
Above them, limbs are unfolding from every hidden crevice.
"Get the kid out! Go!" Dean shoves Jean-Luc across the floor and turns to saw away at the vines keeping the little girl prisoner.
Castiel seizes Jean-Luc by his narrow shoulders and pushes him into the tunnel. "Go, go, go!" he urges, watching Jean-Luc's bare feet scrabble for purchase as he crawls quickly outside. "Dean!"
The little girl is crying, panicking, writhing in her bonds as Dean frantically cuts through them. "I'll be right behind you! Tell Frank to burn the den!"
There's no time to argue. From above, more than a dozen douens are scuttling down, skittering, hissing, branches cracking as they head for the invaders of their nest.
Castiel throws himself onto his stomach and crawls on his elbows through the tunnel as fast as he possibly can. "Frank!" he shouts once Jean-Luc is clear of the entrance. "Frank! Burn the den! Burn it!"
Outside, Frank swears loudly.
At last, Castiel manages to squeeze out of the den and into the fresh air. Frank is on his knees desperately fiddling with the tinder box from his sheepskin bag, striking his firestarter against the sticks and branches at the den's outer base.
The little girl wriggles through next, skirt catching on twigs as she comes through the tunnel on her hands and knees. Castiel grabs her under the arms the moment he's able, hauling her the rest of the way and sending her after Jean-Luc.
Frank has a small fire going now at the edge of the den to Castiel's left. He rips a larger branch from the wall, one end of it burning, and uses it to spread the flames along the den's circumference. Smoke pours upward as the fire climbs toward the treetops.
Dean's head and shoulders appear as he scrapes forward on his belly. He's broader than Castiel and it's even harder for him to fit through the tunnel, so Castiel grabs him by the wrists and attempts to drag him out.
A second later, Dean is yanked backward. He nearly loses his grip on Castiel's hands.
Somewhere behind him, the juvenile douens are clawing at Dean's legs, dragging him, screaming an overlapping chorus of "Dean! Dean! Dean!"
Smoke billows around them, the flames licking up and up and eating through the den walls.
Castiel grits his teeth, swings his knees round to brace his feet against the den on either side of Dean, and pulls as hard as he can. Branches snap and break under his boots. Dean growls, grits his teeth, uses Castiel as an anchor and kicks back with as much force as he can muster.
Something gives, and Dean lurches forward, falling onto Castiel as he finally manages to pull Dean free. One douen still clings to Dean's leg, teeth digging into the meat of his calf through his breeches as it's dragged behind him. Castiel quickly untangles himself from Dean and stabs the douen through the top of its skull. Instantly, its limbs go limp, mouth hanging open, like a puppet that's just had its strings cut.
Dean doesn't stop to thank him and scrambles to his feet. He lunges for the children, lifts one under each arm, and moves them to a safe distance. "Stay here!" he orders as he places them at the base of a large tree several yards away, still within eyesight.
The den is burning in full glory now, a massive bonfire several times Castiel's height. Foul heat washes over him, smoke filling his nose, but he refuses to move from his place near the entrance, just in case any other creatures try to make a run for it.
Inside, he can hear a cacophony of shrieks and yelps as the douens burn.
Dean and Frank stand agape, watching the flames reach for the canopy.
"Cas," Dean says a few minutes later, as the screams begin to die down. "Cas, you can leave it."
Eyes watering, coughing smoke from his lungs, Castiel finally backs away from the den and stands beside Frank. Dean returns to where the children are huddled by the tree, checks them over for any injuries, gives Jean-Luc a comforting pat on the head.
Castiel turns just in time to see Jean-Luc dive forward and throw his arms around Dean's neck. Dean holds him for a moment, but when Jean-Luc doesn't seem to want to let go, he stands back up with the boy still clinging to him. He hefts the boy's weight to one arm and takes the little girl's hand with the other.
"Cas, Frank," he says, jerking his head away from what's left of the den. "We should go."
Frank nods, picking up his machete from the ground and strapping it back to his belt. The den is still burning, but not enough to spread to the rest of the forest given the level of humidity. The screams have petered away; if there's anything inside the den that's still alive, it won't be for long. And the longer they stay here, the longer it'll take to get the children home.
They leave the den smoking, the smell of burning meat heavy in the air.
The journey back is much slower. Though it's mostly downhill, the terrain is more difficult to navigate, especially with two small children. They leave the den in early evening and it's not long before the sun begins to set somewhere above the forest canopy. The light quickly fades to something thick and green, like they've sunk underwater.
After barely half an hour, they're forced to stop and rest, partly to give Dean's arms a break from carrying Jean-Luc and partly to give Frank time to make a torch with his firestarter.
While Frank works, Dean sits on the ground with the children, neither of whom seem at all willing to leave his side. So far, he's not succeeded in convincing the girl to say anything, but Jean-Luc is chattering at him in French and doesn't seem to realize that Dean doesn't speak his language.
"Où est ma maman?" Jean-Luc asks. "J'ai faim. Avez-vous de la nourriture?"
Dean shushes him, looking a little bewildered. Jean-Luc has planted himself solidly on Dean's lap and the girl has wrapped herself around Dean's free arm. The sight makes Castiel laugh, and Dean shoots him a glare.
"Hey," he says, squeezing the little girl's hand. "What's your name?"
The girl stares up at Dean blankly.
"You speak English? French?"
Still no response, or any indication if she's been frightened into silence or if she simply doesn't understand what Dean is saying.
"I'm Dean," he tries, pointing to his chest, then patting Jean-Luc's shoulder. "This is Jean-Luc. That's Cas." He gestures to Castiel, then lightly taps the girl's chest. "And you?"
The girl blinks and, after a moment, answers. "Feliciana."
Castiel can't help but smile. "You're good with them," he remarks.
Dean shrugs dismissively. "Kids get scared. Doesn't hurt to be nice."
Castiel is struck suddenly with the weight of what they've just done, the half-eaten child's body and the scattered bones in the den looming large in his head. However many children had been taken and not survived, they've managed to save two, which is no small thing. He shudders to think of the douen continuing to hunt and feed its offspring unchecked. He doesn't doubt that a great many more children would have been killed, had the Impala not docked in Tortuga.
"Meus pés doem," whines Feliciana.
At that, Dean sighs. "Great. I don't suppose you speak Portuguese?" he asks Castiel with a desperate look.
Castiel chuckles. "Sorry, no."
"Enough chit-chat," Frank cuts in, holding up the torch he's made. It casts a bright orange glow over them all, beating back the evening gloom and throwing the trees into shadow. "Let's go."
Dean heaves himself to his feet again, swaying under the weight of Jean-Luc. "Cas, you gotta take her," he says, holding up Feliciana's hand. "I need both my arms."
Castiel obeys, letting Dean shift the boy to an easier position.
"Meus pés doem!" Feliciana repeats tearfully, tugging on Castiel's fingers. He's far from experienced with children; her hands are tiny and she seems completely breakable, like one wrong move and he could snap her in half.
"What is it? What's wrong?" he asks, holding her hand as gently as he can.
She points down to her feet, which are bare against the forest floor. In the torchlight he can see they're dirty and cut up. Jean-Luc is barefoot as well, and Castiel wonders if the douen intentionally steals the shoes of its prey in order to keep them from running away. He does the only logical thing and hoists Feliciana onto his back, letting her wrap her arms around his shoulders while he holds her legs.
The woods grow darker and darker as they walk, until they're surrounded by such a heavy, dense blackness that nothing is visible beyond the light of Frank's torch. The flame only illuminates a few feet ahead, and their speed drags.
For a good long while, the only sounds are the crunching of their boots and Frank's occasional grumbles. Castiel feels Feliciana's head sag on his shoulder, exhaustion setting in.
Then, unprompted, Dean begins to hum.
Castiel glances over to where Dean is walking beside him, Jean-Luc's arms still folded around his neck. Dean hums quietly, a repetitive but soothing tune. The melody is unfamiliar to Castiel, but he'd not received many lullabies as a child and doesn't recall any now.
"That's pretty," he comments, Feliciana heavy on his back.
Dean pauses for just a moment to shrug with one shoulder. "Just something my mother used to sing," he replies softly, then returns to the song.
Ahead, Frank marches on just slow enough for them to keep up, following back along the douen's original trail. The torchlight throws Dean into rosy orange, his profile cast in sharp chiaroscuro like a painting in a church.
Here in the woods, with the danger behind them, Castiel finally asks.
"Dean, what happened at Missouri's?"
Dean stops humming, meeting Castiel's eye for only a moment.
Castiel hefts Feliciana up from where she's beginning to slip, readjusting his hold on her legs. "You don't have to tell me," he amends, "but if you want to, you can."
It's another long minute before Dean says a word, and just as Castiel thinks he's not going to answer, he speaks.
"My brother ran off, couple years ago," he starts, clearing his throat. "He wanted to join the seminary. I didn't really understand it, but I think he was willing to do anything to get out of what we do."
"Hunting?"
Dean nods. "Yeah, I don't think the hunter's life was meant for Sammy. But, y'know, he was born into it, so when he left my father was— Well. He wasn't happy. Any case, Sam and I keep in touch through Missouri. Every time one of us is in Tortuga, the first thing we do is stop in and see her."
Castiel swallows. "Was it bad news?"
"I don't know. Could be. Sam's not in the seminary any more." Dean shakes his head, sighs. "He enlisted in the Army. Last time Missouri saw him was two months ago; he could've been stationed anywhere by now."
Castiel doesn't quite know what to say to that, but maybe Dean isn't looking for anything in return.
A hollow cough of a laugh comes up from Dean's chest, bitterness seeping into his words. "You know, for a guy who hates my father as much as he does, Sam sure is following in his footsteps."
At that moment, a woman's voice calls out from the dark.
"Feliciana!"
Instantly, their entire party stops. Dean's arms tighten protectively around Jean-Luc, and Frank twists on his heel, holding the torch aloft. At his back, Castiel feels Feliciana go absolutely still, her grip rigid.
Frank sweeps the torch to and fro, seeing nothing.
"I thought we killed them all," Castiel hisses.
Dean's eyes dart back and forth, searching for anything amiss. "I guess not."
Castiel's blood runs cold, realizing for the first time that they hadn't seen the douen with the broken arm anywhere in the den.
"Feliciana, venha comigo…"
The disembodied voice seemingly comes from all directions, bouncing off the surrounding trees.
"Essa não é minha mãe," Feliciana whispers, shaking, her fingers digging into Castiel's shoulders.
"See anything?" Castiel murmurs, eyes wide in the dark.
Dean shakes his head. Frank turns in place, his knife glinting in the torchlight.
A hand darts out from the shadows and rips Feliciana from Castiel's back.
Castiel hits the ground with a shout as he's yanked off his feet. Feliciana vanishes, instantly swallowed up by the dark. Her screams fill the air.
Dean shoves Jean-Luc at Frank with a quick "Take him!" then, with no time for discussion, runs into the blackness after her.
Castiel is back on his feet the moment Dean disappears, chest heaving. "Should we go after him?"
"Are you insane?" Frank snaps, eyes beady in the firelight. "That girl's as good as dead."
Feliciana is still screaming, the sound drawing farther away. Castiel can barely hear her over the pounding of his heart.
Abruptly, the scream is choked off. Castiel flinches.
It's immediately followed by a pained unearthly howl, which in turn stops just as suddenly.
Silence.
Time slows to a crawl, Castiel's pulse thumping in his chest. There's a sound of twigs snapping underfoot, branches creaking, and something big shuffles through the woods back toward their group.
Castiel tenses, grips the hilt of his knife and steps in front of Jean-Luc.
At last, Dean trudges back into the light, blood streaked up his arms and spattered across his chest. Feliciana is cradled in his arms, tear-streaked and trembling.
A breath of relief rushes from Castiel's lungs. "Is she hurt?"
"She's all right," Dean says as Castiel takes the girl from him.
"And the douen?"
Dean grimly wipes blood from his hands onto his waistcoat. "Dead."
Feliciana clings to Castiel like a monkey, crying into his shirt. "Por favor não me deixe," she sobs. "Eu quero minha mamãe." Not understanding, it's all Castiel can do to hold her and hope he can keep her safe for the rest of the journey back to town.
"Let's go," Frank urges. "I don't want to be stuck out here 'til sunrise. Douens or not, there's plenty dangerous creatures out here, and I'm not wanting to meet them."
Dean lifts Jean-Luc back up off the ground and, together, he and Castiel fall in step behind Frank.
It seems like ages since they've left the den, and ages more they have to walk. In the pitch black of night it's impossible to tell the time, Frank's torch their only light and the forest above obscuring the stars. They don't talk now, hushed to silence by the prospect of danger lurking just beyond the torch's light. Dean doesn't sing. The children don't cry or whine. Even Frank has stopped grumbling under his breath.
Castiel's arms burn with the effort of carrying Feliciana – as small as she is, the longer he carries her the more she seems to weigh. If Dean is experiencing a similar ache, he doesn't let on.
Just as Castiel is beginning to wonder if they might be lost, a pinprick of orange light shines through the branches far up ahead.
"Dean!" shouts a man's voice, and Castiel's never heard anything so welcome.
Frank holds his torch as high as he can, waving it back and forth. "Over here!" he bellows.
Another torch appears through the trees, then a second, and a third. Half a dozen men materialize from the woods, armed with torches and blades. Patience had followed through on her word and sent the cavalry.
"Sure is good to see you, kid," Bobby says to Dean, his red face redder in the torchlight.
"How far are we from town?" asks Dean. Castiel can hear the exhaustion weighing in his voice, and wonders at how Dean's even managing to stand upright.
"Not too far," Garth says, peering at the children. "It was a douen?"
Castiel nods. "It was a nest of them."
At that Bobby pales, noticeable even in the firelight, but anything he might be about to say is interrupted.
"What the hell were you thinking?" demands the captain, looming even larger against the dark, face etched in fury. The question is aimed directly at Dean. "You should know better than to go traipsing off into the jungle after a monster with no one to back you up!"
Dean swallows, shifting Jean-Luc onto his hip, his mouth in a firm line. "There wasn't time to get help. And it wasn't just me." He glances pointedly at Frank and Castiel.
"Castiel is not a part of our crew, and you should have been smart enough to not subject him to this," the captain retorts, seething. "And as for Frank, he is well past his prime. To consider him an appropriate substitute is irresponsible at best."
"No offense taken," Frank sneers.
Castiel can't hold his tongue, and cuts in sharply. "Are you ignoring the fact that we managed to rescue these kids and kill all the monsters without losing anyone?" he spits.
The captain's piercing gaze swivels around to Castiel, like a lighthouse beam in the night. "You'd do well to speak softly, boy."
"I am not part of your crew, and we are not on your ship," Castiel replies evenly, surprising himself as he draws on some previously undiscovered well of courage. "I can speak to you how I please."
Dean's eyes widen, and he glances anxiously between his father and Castiel.
Bobby clears his throat, stepping in before the captain can speak further. "John, I think it'd be best to get the kids home. It's been a long day."
The captain's jaw twitches, still glaring at Castiel, but he sheathes his knife and nods in agreement. "Back to town, then," he orders. "Quickly, now."
It's not long before the forest gives way at last and the lights of the town reach them, and Castiel finds himself marching through the orchard between Dean and Bobby, Feliciana still clutched in his arms. Jean-Luc, who had been dozing off on Dean's shoulder for the majority of the trek, is now alert and squirming.
"Où est ma maman?" he asks again.
At the orchard's perimeter, Dean, Castiel, and Frank break off once again from the group, allowing the captain and crewmembers to make their way back to the Impala for the night. They douse the torches in a horse trough and leave them behind, unneeded.
Garth offers to take the children back to their homes instead so that Dean and Castiel can rest, but Dean brushes him off, and Castiel is glad for it. As tired as he is, he's not quite willing to let go yet; he wants to see Feliciana back in the arms of her parents himself.
Marie Helene's home squats where they left it, firelight from inside glowing through the windows and the holes in the roof. From a distance Castiel can see the shadow of a woman pacing.
"Maman!" Jean-Luc shouts the moment he sees the house.
Dean sets him down on the dirt road, bare feet and all, and Jean-Luc runs for the house. Marie Helene bursts forth from the doorway, crying, "Jean-Luc! Mon fils! Mon bébé!"
They meet in the middle, Marie Helene sinking to her knees on the ground with Jean-Luc clutched in her arms, rocking him and weeping prayers and thanks. Behind them, Missouri and Patience step out from the house.
"Still alive," says Frank with a shrug, and Missouri shakes her head fondly at him.
Patience crosses her arms with a smile that might be described as smug. "How did it go?"
"Fire and bones, Patience," Dean replies wearily. "Fire and bones."
"Told you."
With some help from Missouri to translate, Feliciana directs them to her home next – they have to walk for another half an hour, but the route through the labyrinth of town brings them closer to the harbor. The streets are cobblestone in parts, quiet and empty now in the night and lit by the occasional oil lamp in a window. Only the taverns are still lively and bright at this hour; the rest of the town has gone to sleep.
Feliciana's home is a small, cramped apartment above a butcher shop, the window still illuminated by candlelight. Outside the shop, she shouts, "Mamãe! Papai!" until a head appears in the window, and disappears just as quickly.
Her parents rush outside a moment later, mother tearful, father scooping her easily from Castiel's sore arms.
"Where you find her?" her mother asks, accent thick and lilting. Castiel has to suppress a shudder; the douen had mimicked the woman's voice perfectly, and now it was eerie hearing it come from a person.
He opens his mouth to answer, but quickly realizes he's got no idea what to say or how to explain the events of the day. Dean saves him, however, and says, "I'm sure she'll tell you all about it."
"Espere!" Feliciana cries before she can be carried inside.
Her father, confused, lets her back down on the ground, and Feliciana turns and runs back to Castiel, wrapping her arms around his legs.
"Oh. Uh." Castiel gives Feliciana an awkward pat on the back, unsure of what else to do.
Feliciana looks up at him and smiles. She's missing one of her front teeth and the expression appears endearingly lopsided. "Obrigada," she says, then releases him and hugs Dean in turn.
Dean clears his throat, and inelegantly stammers, "Be good, kid."
Just as quickly as she'd returned to them, Feliciana dashes back to her parents, who take her back to the safety of her home with a last grateful look over their shoulders.
Dean and Castiel exchange a look, then burst into laughter. "I swear, I never know what to say to kids," Dean chuckles as they turn toward the harbor.
The town of Tortuga is more pleasant late at night, without the heavy aroma of sweat and shit and fish, or the unbearable heat of the sun making the smell worse. The wind has died down and the island has cooled, stars winking above and the moon swinging near the mountains on the far side of the harbor.
"Thanks," Dean says as they reach the waterfront. "For sticking up for me, I mean. It was unnecessary. But thanks."
Castiel regards Dean in the dim light of the moon. "You helped rescue two children. That deserves praise, not punishment."
Dean shakes his head, but only slightly, and makes a noncommittal noise in his throat. "He just wants to make sure nothing happens to me is all. He wasn't wrong; running off into the woods without getting help was stupid."
"And yet, we're fine," Castiel insists. "If we'd waited, we might have been too late."
Dean laughs lightly, almost exasperatedly, rubbing at the back of his neck where the douen bit him. "You could have just said 'you're welcome', you know."
"You're welcome."
As they reach the dock, Dean pauses. "I don't think there'll be any inns taking guests at this time of night. You might as well stay the night with us," he says, then quickly offers Castiel an out. "Unless, of course, you don't want to. I know we've given you enough excitement over the last few days."
"More than enough," Castiel agrees. "But I'll stay."
Dean snorts, stepping from the stone edge of the wharf onto the wooden dock. They follow the dock back over the water to where the Impala is tied, and scale the gangplank up onto the deck.
At the sensation of the boat rocking gently under his feet, Castiel breathes a sigh of relief, already feeling more at home than on solid land. There's no one else on deck – with the ship moored, there's no need for anyone at the helm – and the windows to the captain's cabin are dark. A few oil lanterns hang from the Impala's masts, lighting the deck just enough to see where they're going without tripping over anything.
Dean goes to a water barrel at the base of the mainmast, taking a rag that's been drying over the edge of it and soaking it for a moment before scraping at the back of his neck. He hisses slightly at the sting.
"Here, let me help," Castiel says, and takes the cloth from him.
Dean doesn't argue, though Castiel gets the distinct feeling that he's simply too tired to protest. But he angles his head down to expose his neck in the lamplight, allowing Castiel to wipe away the dried blood from the wound.
"It doesn't look too bad," he remarks. The douen's teeth left an almost perfectly circular bite in the flesh over Dean's vertebrae, but it's not terribly deep and hasn't bled very heavily. "How's the bite on your leg?"
"I'll live," Dean says, elbows propped on the edge of the barrel.
Castiel pushes down the collar of Dean's shirt, swiping at a couple drops of blood that trickled almost to his shoulder blade before drying, and stops short. Close to where his fingertips are pressing the cloth to Dean's skin, there's scarring.
He frowns, tilting his head to see it better in the limited light. The scars are thick, a few years old at least, and criss-crossing over each other in long tendrils. Castiel can only see an inch or so of them and can't tell what they might be from, but he can see that the scars stretch downward beneath Dean's shirt, further than what's visible at the moment.
Something tugs at his gut, and he opens his mouth to ask Dean about them, but Dean speaks first, seemingly unaware of Castiel's observation.
"How's your bite wound, by the way?"
Castiel's shoulder prickles where the mermaid bit him. In truth, he had completely forgotten the injury was even there; he'd been far too focused on hunting the douen and getting Jean-Luc and Feliciana to safety. It doesn't hurt any more, not really, though the scabs are just starting to itch now that he's aware of them again. "It's fine," he answers, returning to cleaning the blood from Dean's skin. "I've always been a quick healer."
"Tomorrow we'll find you a ship to Havana," Dean says. "I promise. Sorry it got delayed."
"Nothing to apologize for," Castiel says, rinsing the cloth in the barrel. "I'm glad I could help."
"Still." Dean straightens, adjusting his shirt back into place. "This isn't what you signed up for, and I know that."
"I think you're forgetting that I volunteered," Castiel retorts, raising an eyebrow at him.
Dean sits on a nearby crate and removes his boot, then rolls up his trouser leg to expose the bite on his calf. He squints at the wound as he takes the damp cloth from Castiel's hand and begins to clean it.
Castiel leans against the mainmast, arms crossed against the coolness of the night. "What if I were to stay?"
Dean's head jerks up, his hand stilling. "Come again?"
Castiel exhales slowly, looking up toward the Impala's rigging, her furled sails. "I've spent my life at sea," he says. "My crew, my family, they're gone. And what you do is… it's grand and important. Maybe I want to help."
Dean gapes at him, ankle braced atop his opposite knee and the damp cloth still pressed to his calf. "Are you sure?" is all he says.
"Well, your father may not want me on the crew after the way I spoke to him tonight," Castiel acquiesces, making Dean laugh. "But yes. I'm sure."
Dean grins, a smile that's bright even in the dead of night. "Well, all right then."