Balthazar decided to see the smith himself, as Alfie was busy in the melee. He hurried across the fairgrounds and stepped into the smithy. Dean was finishing up with a customer and Balthazar stepped up to the counter.
"Dean, I'm Balthazar, I'm with-"
"You're with the Horde, right? The herald?" Dean interrupted while putting Bowie knife blanks away.
"Yes," Balthazar said. "Look, I don't mean to sound pushy, but there's been an accident during a joust and we were hoping you'd have pliers or cutters or shears of some kind, to get one of the fighters out of their hauberk."
"Yeah, sure," Dean said, reaching for various tools and placing them into a leather satchel. "Hey, Ash, I need to help the sword jocks for a few minutes, can you hold down the fort while I'm gone?"
Ash came to the front of the stall and nodded. "You got it, boss."
Dean and Balthazar left the smithy and headed to the Horde encampment.
"So what happened?" Dean asked.
"One of the fighters had to dive under the log divider on the list and caught their shoulder," Balthazar explained, without giving too much information. "It might be dislocated, we doubt there's a collarbone break, but it's good and bruised and the fighter can't get their arm up to pull the hauberk off."
"So they need to be cut out like Spam from a can," Dean inferred.
"Pretty much," Balthazar said.
The two men reached the Horde's camp and went directly to the infirmary tent. Balthazar ushered Dean in, who stopped in his tracks when he saw just who the fighter was.
"You should have told me it was Cas!" Dean snarled as he hurried to the injured fighter's side.
"It wouldn't do to have you racing hell-bent for leather across the fairgrounds and alarming guests while conjuring all sorts of worst-case scenarios, Dean," Balthazar rationalized.
Dean would have punched that calm tone and pretentious accent out of Balthazar if he wasn't so busy with Castiel. "I'll cut a dozen or so links on either side at the neck and you'll be able to step out of it, okay, Cas?"
Castiel just grunted and Dean set to work, cutting links on either side of the neck hole. He and Rafael helped Castiel to a seated position and then to standing, and the hauberk easily slid into a puddle of steel at Castiel's feet. He sighed in relief and sat heavily on the cot. Rafael then got to work, poking, prodding, and rotating Castiel's right shoulder, before setting an ice pack onto the large purple and maroon contusion.
"Good news is, nothing's broken or torn, and it's not even dislocated," Rafael diagnosed. "It's just really badly bruised. It's going to turn a rainbow of colors as it heals."
Castiel and Balthazar sighed in relief. Castiel experimentally rotated his shoulder, hissing in pain.
"The bad news is you're sidelined for the entire weekend, Castiel," Rafael stated. He held up a hand, forestalling an argument from Castiel. "You're really lucky it's just bruised, Castiel. Next weekend is the last of Bristol, and it's a day longer. You joust or join the melee today or tomorrow, you could really fuck something up and be out of commission for weeks or months."
"Plus, it will give Lucien time to get over whatever bug is up his ass," Balthazar said.
"Luc caused this?" Dean growled, standing from his crouched position next to Castiel. "Ég ætla að fokking drepa hann*."
Castiel put a hand on Dean's arm. "I don't know what you said, but I can guess the gist of it. I'll deal with my brother."
Dean frowned at Castiel, clearly not happy. Castiel looked over at Balthazar. "When the show is over, have my brothers and Alfie sent here, please. There's some rearranging that needs to be discussed."
Castiel looked at Dean. "You need to get back to your smithy, and I don't want to hear any argument. You've got a business to run and you won't do any good here."
Dean scowled, licked his teeth and sucked air between them. He leaned over and kissed Castiel on the top of his head. "I'll see you later." It wasn't a question, and Castiel just nodded. Dean packed up his tools and headed back to the smithy. Pounding the shit out on a piece of metal seemed just the perfect thing.
The show was over shortly after Dean left, and Michael, Lucien, Gabriel, and Balthazar made their way to the infirmary tent, already well into an argument. Alfie followed behind, worrying a hangnail off his thumb with his teeth. The men quieted as they entered the infirmary, Michael, Gabriel, and Balthazar looking concerned and Lucien looking bored.
"I don't want to hear any fucking excuses, or apologies we all know you don't mean, Lucien," Castiel growled, looking furious. "But if you ever change the script mid-show, I'll have you fired and off the company board so fast, your fucking head will spin!"
Considering how even-keeled Castiel usually was, the fact that he was shouting and dropping f-bombs was a clue to the others just how enraged Castiel was. Not that anyone blamed him. True to form, Lucien didn't appear to be particularly concerned or contrite. "I think for the remainder of the weekend, jousts will be Gabriel versus Alfie, and Michael against Lucien," Castiel continued, only a fraction calmer. "I'll be fine to ride in progress tomorrow morning. Alfie, ask Oren to get Falkor into his gear, you'll ride him for the joust and melee, and get into your own armor."
Alfie nodded, glanced between the brothers and then made himself scarce, heading to the paddock to give Oren his instructions. Castiel turned cold blue eyes on his brother, pressing the ice pack to his throbbing shoulder. "You're paying for repairs to my hauberk, Lucien."
"What? Your pretty fuck buddy won't do it for you for free?" Lucien sneered. Castiel was off the cot like a shot, ice pack dropping as he lunged for his brother. He was brought up short and made breathless by a glorious burst of pain as Gabriel and Rafael held him back. Michael stepped between Lucien and Castiel, hands on Lucien's chest, pushing him toward the exit.
"Just get the fuck out, Luc," Michael snapped. "Or I'll lay you out."
"You can try," Lucien said, backing out of the tent and then he was gone.
"FUCK!" Castiel yelled again and then took a deep breath. He reached down and picked up the hauberk in his left hand. "I'm going to take this to the smithy for repairs. Then, I think I'll head over to Dean's RV and smoke a joint to help deal with this fucking pain."
Michael, Gabriel, Balthazar, and Rafael watched in shocked silence as Castiel left, hitching the hauberk over his left shoulder.
"What the hell was that?" Balthazar asked to no one in particular.
"I think I like this version of Cassie," Gabriel said with a chuckle.
"It seems the Viking has been influencing our quiet knight," Michael observed.
"Now, who is telling Meg what's happened?" Rafael asked.
"Shit," the four men said in unison.
Once Castiel stalked out of the infirmary and exited the Horde's encampment, he slowed down and tried to rein in his temper and breathing, and tried to manage his pain. The hit to his shoulder had basically numbed his entire arm for a good 30 minutes, the adrenalin spike from the excruciating pain when Gabriel and Rafael had held him back from charging Lucien had previously dulled the pain to some degree but had worn off, and now he was finally starting to feel the true extent of his injury. And sweet baby Jesus, it hurt like a motherfucker. And of course tomorrow it would be worse.
He stepped into the smithy, nodding to Ash.
"Dean's out back at the forge, Castiel," Ash said, reaching for the hauberk. "I'll take that and make sure Dean sees to it."
Castiel relinquished the heavy chainmail tunic with a quiet thanks and headed through the stall to the forge set up outside behind the smithy. He watched Dean standing before the burning hot forge, maneuvering a piece of metal held in a pair of long tongs into the fire. Just seeing Dean was a balm on his temper and he felt his tension ease.
"I've brought my hauberk for repairs, if you don't mind," Castiel said, sounding as tired as he suddenly felt.
"I'm sorry, I should have taken that with me when I left," Dean said. "I'll make repairs today, even though you won't need it this weekend. And of course I won't charge you for it."
"No, you'll charge the company for the repairs," Castiel said with a shake of his head. "It'll be taken out of Lucien's paycheck next month."
"What exactly happened?" Dean glanced at Castiel, moving the knife blank around in the forge.
"Lucien decided to go off script without telling me," Castiel sighed and downplayed the event. "I got caught unawares and had to get out of the way in a hurry, and smashed my shoulder into the wooden divider as I… well, the rest doesn't matter."
"Am I gonna have to get the full story from Balthazar or Alfie?" Dean asked with a scowl, setting the glowing metal on the anvil. He grabbed the hammer, brought it down, and the metal rang out and jumped.
"It looked like he was going to ride me down on Navarre," Castiel admitted between the hammering blows.
"Gods above and below," Dean growled, "was the man dropped on his head as a baby? The fuck is his problem?"
Castiel bit off the impulse to say you are, knowing it wasn't fair to Dean that Lucien was having such an irrational response to the pissing contest they seemed to be having. He sighed, exhausted.
"I came over not just to drop off the hauberk. I was wondering if you have a joint I can buy off you. I just want something to dull the throbbing in my shoulder and I'd prefer it not be drugs," Castiel explained.
"I don't have a license to sell you any," Dean said, putting the knife blank back into the forge. "But I'll be happy to give you a joint. What specifically are you looking for aside from pain relief? You want to sleep or just relax?"
Castiel squinted and tilted his head. "It's what? Not even mid-afternoon, right? Just relax. Why do you need to know?"
Dean removed the glowing hot metal from the forge and plunged it into the quenching barrel. Once the oil stopped bubbling, he took it out, eyed it, and ran a file along the side. He set it on the anvil, shut the gas to the forge, and covered the quenching barrel.
"Different varieties of marijuana will interact differently with brain chemicals like dopamine, endorphins, and serotonin," Dean explained. He put the tools away and headed into the stall. "If you wanted an easier time of falling asleep and not just a relaxed mellow, I'd give you a joint that's a strain of indica. If you just want to relax, I've got a couple different hybrid strains that would work."
Dean put a hand on Ash's shoulder as he came up behind him. "I'm heading out for the day. If you don't feel that you can handle the store on your own, shut 'er down and lock up. I'm taking Cas to my RV for some medicating." He raised a hand to his lips and made a very telltale sign, and Ash grinned.
"Sure thing, boss," Ash said. "I got you covered."
The two men made their way to Dean's RV. Dean removed what looked like a tacklebox from a cupboard and set it on the table, took a seat, and Castiel sat opposite him. Dean popped the box open and began removing various items - rolling paper, grinder, a labeled baggie from a specifically marked section, and a lighter. Several minutes later, he'd deftly rolled a joint that he handed to Castiel. Castiel placed it between his lips, leaned forward, and Dean lit the joint. While Castiel took a couple tokes, Dean cleaned up carefully and put the tacklebox back into the cupboard.
"Okay, time to get you comfortable, Cas," Dean said. "Foot up, lemme take your boots off you."
Castiel kicked a leg up that Dean straddled. He twisted and pulled, and the boot slid off. Dean dropped the leg and tapped the other leg. "C'mon, up."
When Castiel failed to comply, Dean turned slightly and looked over his shoulder. Castiel was staring at Dean's backside, almost like he was counting the pleats in the utilikilt. Dean snorted and shook his head. "Fucking lightweight."
Dean turned back, lifted Castiel's other foot, twisted and pulled the second boot off. He stood and turned, took the joint from Castiel and had a long drag before handing it back to Castiel who took another toke. "Okay, let's get you comfortable, elskan."
He helped Castiel up and guided him into the bedroom. Dean rummaged through a drawer and pulled out sweatpants he tossed onto the bed. "Can you manage to change from breeches to sweats by yourself, or do you need my help?"
Castiel pulled up the bottom of his billowing shirt to look at the waistband of his breeches. "Probably don't need help, but I want help."
Dean closed his eyes and shook his head with a grin. He was half tempted to take out his phone and video stoned Cas, and then send it to Gabriel, but thought better of it. Instead he stepped closer to the other man and tugged the breeches down. Castiel became distracted and started playing with a couple of Dean's braids. With the breeches down at Castiel's knees, Dean gently pushed the other man to sit on the bed. He wrangled the breeches off and somehow managed to get the sweats onto Castiel as far as the knees. He then coaxed Castiel to stand once more and hiked the sweats up to Castiel's hips.
"Up and down, up and down," Castiel groused. "Make up your mind!"
Odin, All Father, give me strength.
"Okay, get on the bed, Castiel," Dean said with an odd sense of déjà vu, and he took the joint from Castiel.
"You tryin' to top a top?" Castiel muttered, but he made his way to sit on the bed, back against the headboard.
Dean took a hit off the joint before handing it back to Castiel. He then pulled a pair of shorts out of his drawer and stripped down to his underwear before pulling the shorts on.
"You're not s'posed to wear anything under a kilt, Dean," Castiel admonished, sounding disappointed.
"One, utilikilts are an American bastardization of a real kilt, so I don't have to uphold Scottish traditions if I don't want to," Dean explained, getting into bed next to Castiel. "And B, this is a family place, and I don't think the folks running the place would appreciate me going commando."
"I appreciate it," Castiel said with a sigh, leaning his head against the wall and closing his eyes. Dean carefully took the joint from Castiel and took a toke before stubbing it out in an ashtray on the nightstand.
"Why don't you see if you can go home today, elskan?" Dean asked, leaning against Castiel's left side. "Wouldn't you be more comfortable in your own bed?"
"Don't have a bed," Castiel said.
"What happened to your bed?"
"Two words, Dean… room makeover."
"Is makeover one word or two?"
"Z'what I said!" Castiel replied, toying with one of Dean's braids.
"What made you do a room makeover?"
"Might'a had'a bit'a panic attack," Castiel said, sighing again. "I'm feeling sleepy."
As much as Dean wanted to continue this conversation, he knew Castiel was in no condition for coherent thinking. He knelt on the bed and kissed Castiel's forehead. "Then you go to sleep, engill. I'm going to put some things into the crock pot for dinner and get some work done on my laptop."
Castiel scooted down on the bed a bit and was asleep in a few minutes. Dean turned off the light and went into the galley to get dinner cooking and some administrative work done.
* Ég ætla að fokking drepa hann: I'm going to fucking kill him.
Elskan - babe
Engill - angel
