Chapter Three

Dean headed down to Engineering after he finished eating, just like he'd promised. He was actually a little bit early, but he didn't care. He was about to become a mechanic on a fucking starship, and fuck if he wasn't allowed to get excited about that.

When he got there, though, he hesitated. What if Captain Kirk hadn't told Scotty he wasn't dangerous? Should he wait for the captain before he went in?

Luckily, Kirk came around the corner just as he started to freak, putting Dean's worries to rest.

"Right on time, Dean," he said, clapping him on the shoulder and giving him a reassuring smile as he lead him into Engineering. Dean was slightly mortified to realize that meant the guy had known he was about to freak out. He was a manly man, damn it. He didn't need reassuring smiles or goddamned tingly shoulder-claps.

He could still feel where the captain's hand had made contact with his arm.

The Engineering bay looked just as it had the last time Dean was in here, all metal and pipes and a bustling sea of red – although Dean noticed that there were some gold and blue shirts floating around in there, too. "Why're there Command and Sciences in here, too? I thought it was mostly just Ops who worked in Engineering."

Jim glanced at him, looking a little surprised. "We're pushing Warp Eight right now, and things keep blowing. Scotty needs all the hands he can get."

"Warp Eight?" Dean asked incredulously, raising an eyebrow. Kirk shifted a little, looking mildly uncomfortable, but Dean let it go. "Dude, you've got to be kidding me. In TOS they did Warp Nine, no problem-o."

"TOS?"

"The Original Series," Dean answered. "It's, uh, the alternate universe where Old Spock comes from. It's a TV show where I come from and we call it Star Trek: The Original Series because it was the first one – there's a shit-ton of Star Trek canon out there... TNG, ENT, VOY, DS9..." Dean winced as he said it, as his mind called up an image of Bobby. "...but that's not important. Let's just get down and dirty here."

"Whoa there," Jim laughed. "I'm pretty sure you're spoken for."

Dean grinned, and the quick flash of pain that had crossed his face faded a little bit. At least their senses of humor were similar. "Nope, all free here. You offering?"

Surprise flitted across Jim's face, but then he shook his head, smiling softly. "Nah. Pretty sure my right hand's the jealous type."

Dean winced in sympathy. "I'm sorry."

"Just another part of being a captain," Jim shrugged. "The power echelon's great and all, but it isn't exactly conducive to interpersonal relations."

Before Dean could say anything, Jim caught sight of Scotty and called out to him. "Scotty! I brought you some more help."

"With all due respect, Captain, isn' this one of the dangerous intruders that was down here earlier?"

"It's a long story, but turns out the intruders are not hostile and Dean here–" Kirk put his hand on Dean's shoulder again, "–knows a little bit about mechanics."

He left his hand there, and Dean didn't shrug him off.

"Not hostile?" Scotty shot them a suspicious look. "What do you call what he was doin' down here earlier? A playful tustle?"

"Hey! We were just defending ourselves!"

Scotty frowned at him. "He hasnae had much experience on a starship, either, I'd reckon." he said, turning back to Jim. "I can see it in his eyes; this man's used t' the open air."

Jim shrugged. "Stick him in the Jeffries Tubes, if you like. I don't care, just put him to work."

Dean knew he had volunteered, but when he saw the manic gleam in Scotty's eye as the man was given free reign, he had to wonder if that had been a mistake.

Sam and Cas were directed to the guest quarters after they finished eating, and Sam was grudgingly impressed by how nice they were. They'd each been given their own room, and the beds were even comfier than the ones in the bunker. The walls were white (just like most of the other walls on the Enterprise) and the whole room was spotlessly clean.

Unsure of what to do with himself while Dean was in Engineering, Sam sat on the bed and looked around. He wished he had his laptop so he could download some episodes of Star Trek or something to do some research. Maybe get on that website Charlie had showed him – memorial-omega, was it? Remembrance-delta? Sam shook his head. It didn't matter now. His laptop was still in the bunker, along with all their other hunting equipment.

And what were they going to do if they were confronted with a hostile? They'd already proved their hand-to-hand skills weren't sufficient to keep them out of trouble in this kind of environment. And while Sam had no doubt that he and Dean would have no problems learning to use a phaser, he knew they'd both feel better with guns in their hands and knives in their boots (and jackets, and belts, and sleeves...). Honestly, they were in about the worst position they could be in with regards to equipment.

He'd ask next time he saw the captain.

"I'm unsure what we're supposed to be doing while Dean is assisting the captain," Cas suddenly said behind him, surprising him so bad he almost fell off the bed.

"I think we're just supposed to stay here and rest," Sam answered with a shrug. "And, you know, not get into any trouble."

"I'm an angel. I don't need rest," Cas said.

Before Sam could respond, a chime sounded at the door, so he got up to answer it.

"Commander Spock," Sam said in surprise when the door slid open. "Nice to officially meet you. I'm Sam Winchester."

He extended his hand for a handshake, but when Spock only glared at it, he remembered how Vulcans felt about physical contact and awkwardly put his hand back down.

"Uh... sorry for gatecrashing," he offered. "We're really appreciative of your hospitality–"

"What is he?" Spock interrupted.

"What?"

"What is the creature that stands behind you, small as a man and vast as a starship?"

"Hey, listen here," Sam said harshly. "Cas isn't a 'creature', and you–"

"I am an Angel of The Lord," said Castiel, and his voice rang with power – for the second time in as many hours. It gave Sam an earache, hearing him like that. "You have been informed of this, seen proof of my celestial origin through your bioscanners and your mind. Tell me, Spock, son of Sarek and Amanda, could any being abiding by the laws of physics be as I am?"

"The laws of physics have been altered before," Spock pointed out, his voice still eerily blank. "And they will be again. They are merely guidelines meant to encapsulate our current understanding of the multiverse. No law is truly fundamental."

"That doesn't change the nature of my being. I am ancient and forever, older than the universe itself. In the beginning God created Angels and we watched as He made worlds without end, filling up the empty void of space with new life."

The room grew silent for a moment, before Sam let out a deep breath he hadn't even known he'd been holding. He'd always had a deep respect for how ancient and powerful Angels were, but hearing it described like that reminded him just how old Cas was – and how much he'd seen.

It didn't seem to phase Spock, though. "Whatever you profess to be, I must issue a warning," he said. "If you do anything to endanger this ship or its crew, I will personally ensure that you are terminated."

"I wish you luck, should you attempt to do so," Cas said, and fuck Sam three ways to Tuesday if the angel hadn't learned some sass.

"Luck is illogical," Spock said, and spun to leave.

"Wait, Spock," Sam called, but the Vulcan ignored him, and the door swished shut behind his slender frame.

When Dean finally returned to the guest quarters, Cas was surprised by how tired he looked. He wasn't the only one who noticed, though.

"Long day?" Sam asked.

"Yeah. Scotty had me doing all the grunt work, but it was still pretty awesome. I was working on the Enterprise, man. It's unreal."

"Well I was just thinking about going down to the cafeteria to get some food. Wanna come with?"

"Is that even a question? I'm starving."

"I will join you as well," Cas said, not wanting to be excluded.

They were just about to leave when the door chimed again. When Dean opened it, Captain Kirk was standing on the other side.

"I just came to see if you all wanted to join me for dinner," he said, but his gaze was fixed intently on Dean.

Dean's answering smile was stunning and Cas didn't think he liked the way he was looking at the captain.

"Sure," Dean said. "We were about to head down there anyway."

"Alright then," Kirk said with a lopsided smile. "Let's go."

Sam started to say something to the captain, but before he could, Kirk and Dean had already taken off, walking side by side down the corridor and talking animatedly about the cruelty of the Enterprise's chief engineer. Cas shuffled awkwardly behind.

Sam sent him a sideways glance when a frown began to spread across Cas' face. "You okay?"

"I am fine," Cas replied.

"You sure?" Sam asked. "Because–"

"I am fine," the angel repeated.

"–ridiculous amounts of grease!" Kirk's voice was becoming obnoxiously loud. "We don't even run the kind of engine that needs grease! I don't know how he gets the Jeffries Tubes so dirty–"

"I know!" Dean replied, looking just slightly down at the captain, not breaking eye contact as they turned into the mess hall. "Guy's gotta be running some fucking inefficient machinery down there. I'd never let Baby's insides get that dirty. Well, there was that one time, but I'd been dead a year so I wasn't getting regular maintenance in–"

"Dead?!" Kirk exclaimed in surprise, but then his confusion cleared. "Oh, yeah, you mentioned that earlier."

"Yeah, well," Dean said. "Hell ain't exactly a five-star hotel."

"Wait, Hell? You were serious about that?" This time he sounded tentatively awed.

"Yeah," Dean replied, and his voice was insultingly matter-of-fact. "Cas here pulled me out."

'Cas here' gritted his teeth and stayed silent, with considerable effort.

"He and Dean share a 'more profound bond'," Sam cut in when Cas could not bear to look up from his feet.

"Oh, is that so?" Kirk asked with just the slightest bit of amusement. "So, like, is it a telepathy thing, or–"

"I pieced his shattered soul together and remade him anew," Cas said when he could no longer help himself. He glared straight up into Kirk's eyes. "I built him and left my mark upon his being, and he is mine." He spread his wings behind him. Although the human could not see it, Castiel knew he would be able to feel their intimidating presence.

Kirk did not show it, though. He merely raised an eyebrow at Dean, who gave a little half shrug in response.

As they all sat down with their food, Dean and Kirk maneuvered so they could sit side by side and continue their animated conversation, which resumed quickly after the awkward lull Cas had caused. Sam and Cas sat opposite them, perched in awkward silence on the edges of their seats. It wasn't long before Spock approached their table, pausing only when he saw how engaged the captain was with their visitor.

"Captain," he said in greeting, biting the word off a little harshly. "Protocol dictates that you must record any unusual events on the ship within six hours of their occurrence. I would like to ascertain that you have completed–"

"I already did my supplemental log, Spock," Kirk interrupted, waving a distracted hand in his First Officer's general direction. "Yeah, but why does the number of cylinders affect the engine's power?" he said to Dean. "The acceleration shouldn't be–"

"Have you completed the forms required of the captain when new passengers are taken aboard, Sir?" Spock asked.

Kirk finally sighed and turned away from Dean, looking up at Spock. "What do you want, Spock? I know you didn't come over here to bug me about paperwork."

"I was going to invite you to play a game of chess with me," Spock said, and his voice was quiet, but hard as steel. "But it appears that you are otherwise occupied tonight."

"Oh, yeah, thanks, Spock," the captain said, and turned back to Dean.

"Wait, no," Dean said, surprising Cas – and Kirk, apparently. The man's brows furrowed as he gave Dean a confused look. "You should have your chess match. Go spend some time together." Then he turned to Sam, and stage-whispered, "Charlie would never forgive me if I messed with her OTP."

"OTP?" Kirk asked warily.

"You don't wanna know," Dean promised. "Go ahead and have fun with Spock. We'll still be around when you're done."

"Vulcans do not–" Spock started.

"Alright," Kirk interrupted. "See you guys later, then."

It was ridiculous how much paperwork med officers ended up with. Even when he was Chief of Surgery back in that goddamned hell-hole in Georgia, he'd never had to fill out these many ridiculous records. He was a scientist, damn it, and he knew how to write down relevant information, but the level of specificity Starfleet required was fucking ridiculous. "Time of first preliminary examination (four digits)" – why the hell did it make a difference? He'd determined the Ensign wasn't dying, gotten her out of the direct line of fire, defended his position from the group of bright orange natives who were mortally offended by the color of Jim's eyes, and gotten both himself and the crewwoman beamed up in time to stop the bleeding. He hadn't had time to check his fucking chronometer.

And sure, it wasn't the smoothest of First Contacts, but the course of events wasn't exactly anomalous, either. To be honest, he'd been guesstimating the "time of first preliminary examination" from the day they'd set off in this godforsaken tin can.

Leonard looked up when he heard his door swish open. "Hey, Bones," Jim greeted him, letting himself into his office. "You busy?"

"My answer won't make a damn bit of difference to you," he grumbled. "You're going to say whatever you have to say anyway, so go ahead and sit down."

Jim sat down across from the doctor and paused for a second before speaking. "It's about our new guests."

Bones sighed and put his PADD down on the desk. When Jim sounded the way he did now, the conversation usually didn't end until they'd each put a few glasses of Johnny Drum down the hatch. "What about 'em?" He reached under his desk and pulled out the bourbon and two glasses that had been his grandmother's, but surprisingly, Jim shook his head. Oh, so it was one of those talks. He put one of the glasses back, but kept the alcohol out and poured himself a glass.

"So you know they say they're from the twenty-first century, right?" Jim asked.

"Yeah," Bones replied as he took a sip. "Fucking ridiculous, if you ask me. Time travel just ain't viable – or natural."

"Well, they did," Jim continued, ignoring him. "And apparently in the twenty-first century it was considered to be shameful if you weren't straight." His voice was hard, and his lips pressed into a tight line.

"All right," Bones replied, carefully neutral. Jim would make his point eventually.

"So you know Dean's really fucking hot, right?" Jim stated more than asked, and Bones started at the apparent change of subject.

"The one with the freckles, right?" he asked. Jim nodded. "Sure," Bones said. "Doesn't mean I'd fuck him. Especially since he called me 'Dr. Sexy'. What's that even supposed to mean?"

"It means he thinks you're hot," Jim said, waving a dismissive hand. "Can't blame him, really. But that's not relevant right now." He took a deep breath. "Dean's hot, and funny, and smart, and he knows his way around an engine – even a warp core engine, which is ridiculous because he's never even seen one before. And–"

Bones groaned. "You'd better not be going and falling in love on me, kid."

"No, no!" Jim replied, and he looked genuine, at least. "What I'm saying is he's really attractive, in more ways than one. But–" Here he grimaced. "He thinks he's straight."

"So?" Leonard asked, shrugging. "He might be."

"Well, yeah," Jim replied. "But I see him eye-fucking that angel all the time, and I talked to his brother about it, too. Sam says Dean's been repressing for – well, forever. And Sam's around Dean basically all the time. Even now they say they're more comfortable sleeping in the same room, and they moved a cot into Dean's quarters. They're so fucking codependent," he grumbled. "But anyway, Sam says Dean's been attracted to guys as well as girls since high school, but he'd never admit it because his 'heterosexuality' is so ingrained in his psyche Dean doesn't even question it."

"Okay," Bones said. "So are you planning to do anything about it? I'm not sure it's any of your business."

"I didn't think so either, at first," Jim said. "But Dean's a really attractive guy, and even more than that, he likes sex. And he's missing out on a whole world of it. It's my moral obligation–"

"You sure it's not just that you want to fuck him?" Leonard interrupted.

Jim blushed slightly. "Well, there's that too."

Leonard groaned and let his head fall into his hands. "Someday you'll learn to leave well enough alone, Jimmy."

"Not today," the captain replied, and gave him a cheeky grin.

"What do you want from me?" Len grumbled. "Why are you here?"

Jim shrugged. "You know how to read people. Better than I do, even. And you took a shit-ton of psych courses at the Academy. So I was wondering if you knew how I can help guide Dean on the course to self-realization."

The doctor shook his head firmly, almost frantically. "You're on your own on this one, kid. I ain't messing around with y'all's sex life." His drawl was beginning to make an appearance, and Jim smirked.

Len scowled.

Jim gave him his very best puppy-dog eyes.

Leonard just shook his head again. He's grown immune after nigh on half a decade of that shit, thank you very much. "It's none of my business," he said. "I don't think it's any of yours, either, but there ain't nothing I can do to stop you." Jim just looked at him. "Get out of my office if you don't want me to bend you over my knee, kid!" the doctor barked.

Jim stood and made his way to the door. "How do you know I don't, Doctor?" he asked, and winked before disappearing out of the doorway.

Bones groaned and took the rest of his glass of bourbon like a shot.