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ratherastory) wrote2010-12-27 07:19 pm
ratherastory) wrote2010-12-27 07:19 pm
Entry tags:
In Roaring He Shall Rise: Part IV
[Master Post]
[Previous]
March 15th, Year of Our Lord, 1798
Dearest Amelia,
How quickly time flies aboard ship! It feels as though I only just came aboard, and yet it has been well over three months by my reckoning. I have settled into the routine of the Impala in much the same way I have done on all the other vessels on which I have served, although it took me some time to get my bearings. For all that Captain Winchester appears on the surface to adhere strictly to the rules, in reality it is much different. He runs a tight ship, but discipline is kept with minimal use of the lash. His men adore him. Indeed, most of them speak of him in hushed, awed tones, as though speaking of a great giant or other mythical figure. He is lucky, they tell me, almost unnaturally so, and so is his brother. They have, the crew assures me, each escaped certain death more than once, that when all appeared lost, they miraculously escaped. The words I hear are superlative: they are blessed, God-touched.
Although Dean, the doctor, is the one with the most obvious physical weakness in the form of his game leg –an injury acquired, I am told, by a terrible fall from a horse during which he was crushed beneath the fallen animal when he was naught but a young lad– he is, strangely enough, fiercely protective of his younger brother Sam. It's odd that I have come to think of them by their Christian names, but the crew refer to them that way when they are certain the officers are out of earshot. Sam and Dean, as though they come only as a pair. Indeed, when I inquired I learned that Sam will not take to the seas without his brother as his ship's surgeon, although whether it is because he has come to rely on his brother's medical expertise and protection or because he, in his own way, wishes to keep an eye on Dean, is anyone's guess. Perhaps it is a little of both. In turn Dean offers Sam everything that he has and is, and I do mean that quite literally.
There's a closeness between the two that I cannot quite fathom, Amelia. They are brothers, it is true, and they are obviously very fond of each other, but there is more to what lies between them ―if one pays close enough attention. I believe that they would die for one another. Indeed, I believe that they would suffer an eternity of punishment in the very fires of hell for one another, and sometimes I swear it is as though they already have. I cannot find a way to properly describe these strange, charismatic men to you. Every question of mine that is answered seems to raise a hundred new ones.
They are each brilliant in their own way. Each strong and independent of thought. They rarely see eye to eye, and often clash publicly before officers and unlisted alike, though Sam is quick to draw his brother away to his cabin in some small attempt to keep the proprieties. They strike me rather as an old married couple, so set and comfortable in their ways that they haven't a care about who hears them squabble and row, never mind that Sam is the commanding officer and that the doctor must ―or should!― in the end defer to him. It is as though they each consider only the other as their equal, and that it puts them at odds with one another as often as it results in a meeting of the minds. And, my darling, you should see them when they are of like mind: it is breathtaking to see.
Just two weeks ago, we were set upon by pirates. In all my years at sea, I can count upon the fingers of one hand the number of times I have encountered proper pirates (though privateers are something of a regular occurrence), but whatever course the Admiral has us on, it is taking us nearer and nearer the Coral Sea which, though it is not so deep as the Caribbean and cannot even hope to rival the Pacific Ocean beyond, is rife with its own dangers. I will tell you, my dearest, that the crew scarcely had time to be alarmed by the sight of the skull and crossbones fluttering against the bright blue sky. The enemy ship had only enough time to draw up alongside, its thick hull resisting the shot from our cannons easily enough, when with a cry that I scarce recognized as being human I saw Captain Winchester leading the charge to board the other ship, his brother hot on his heels, in spite of his game leg.
I have never seen the like, Amelia. For a ship’s surgeon to participate in a fight is unheard-of, even under the most eccentric of commanders. Nonetheless, the sight was awe-inspiring. They moved as one, and the crew followed behind, screaming like banshees, and I found myself swept along like a drop of water swirling in the tide. I cannot properly express the exhilaration I felt, hurling myself headlong at those who would threaten us: it was a heady feeling, almost as though I had drunk too much rum, though I was in full possession of my faculties, and soon I was, like the other seamen, fighting like a man possessed. A red haze seemed to descend upon all of us, and we surged forward like a pack of demons, cutting down anything in our path. The pirates, fully expecting to be the ones to board, were entirely taken off-guard by our screaming assault, and within minutes they were overrun. It seemed as though barely a moment had passed when a huge explosion rocked the pirate ship from beneath, and Captain Winchester was bellowing at us to regain the ship: he and his brother had somehow managed not only to fight their way through the milling throng of sailors and cutlasses, but to scuttle the enemy vessel without any of us seeing what they were about!
We left the scoundrels to founder with their ship, and not for the first time I marvelled at the almost unnatural likeness of mind that characterizes both brothers. I have seen them move as one. I have seen them together do what I would swear fifty men could not do –this from a captain so young that I'm shocked it doesn't embarrass the Royal Navy to have him wear the vestments of command, and a simple surgeon. What it is that exists between them, I cannot say: I only know that where one leads, the other will follow –and I cannot say with any surety which of them is leading the other. All I know is that between the two of them, they could lead this crew into the very jaws of hell, and that we would all follow and be glad to do so.
Admiral Castiel, of course, is entirely another matter. He holds himself aloof from the crew –indeed, the Impala is not a ship of the line, and at first I was at a loss to explain his presence on board. It was Bobby Singer, the ship’s carpenter, who illuminated me when I remarked upon this singularity.
He’s a singular one, all right,” he agreed, leaning upon the rail and staring out to see through his good eye. Our watch was over since the last bell, and we were taking a well-deserved moment to ourselves to observe the setting sun, glowing crimson and gold upon the saffron-speckled waves. “Mad, most like, though I’d be grateful if that word never left your lips in his presence. He was a brilliant commander, in his prime, and that wasn’t so long ago, by my reckoning, until his flagship disappeared one day not too far from here, as the crow flies.”
“Disappeared?”
“Without a trace,” came the answer. “He was found months later, stranded and raving upon a tiny island just of Kiribati, dressed in naught but the tattered rags that were all that remained of his uniform. He recovered, after a fashion, but he’s never been truly right since. No one knows what became of his ship, saving perhaps a few higher-ups in the Admiralty. Of course, none of them stuffed shirts up in Whitehall knows anything about what life out here is really like, but we’re stuck with the lot of them.”
“How is it that they gave him a command, then?”
Bobby shrugged. “It ain’t really a command. The Admiral may technically outrank the Captain, but it’s Winchester who runs this ship, sure enough. It’s a special assignment, like, because he’s young, for a captain. Whitehall don’t know what to do with him –his presence is a burr under the saddles of all them older men what want a command but ain’t got the wherewithal to get one– so they saddled him with a half-mad Admiral and told him to hare off on this wild goose chase of ours. Most men would have taken it as a defeat,” he grinned unexpectedly, revealing a gap-toothed smile, “but not Captain Winchester. Oh no. He sees it as a challenge, an opportunity to prove himself. You see if he doesn’t manage to come out on top of this. I’ve never laid eyes on a man like him before, mark my words. He’d tweak the very nose of Lucifer himself and come out the victor,” Bobby’s eyes gleamed with ill-concealed glee.
“What is it that we’re after, then? I thought this was a scouting ship,” I found myself asking.
The older man cackled, and a chill ran down my spine at the sound. “We’re hunting a monster, Mr. Novak!”
It’s true, Amelia. A few more days and a few discreet questions later, and I found Bobby’s words confirmed. Castiel is convinced that his ship’s loss was due to a huge monster from the depths, a creature known as the Kraken. I have heard the name only once before, from sailors from the North. I remember speaking with them, they in their broken English and I in my even more limited Dutch, and they spoke of the great beast in hushed, reverent tones. At the time I put it down to mere superstition, bred by years of ignorance, but how could a man of blue blood be so convinced of something that was a mere fiction of underdeveloped minds? It seems impossible, and yet… I can only conclude that Bobby is right, and that Castiel is half-mad, or perhaps completely so. Certainly the crew avoid him as though he is tainted with ill-luck, and I suppose he is. No commander should ever survive the loss of both ship and crew. I have never been of the opinion that a captain should go down with his ship, but to be the sole survivor? It is a black day indeed in a man’s life. The eyes of the crew follow him when he stalks about the deck, and he sometimes mutters to himself under his breath, wringing his hands and casting wildly about with his eyes, as though searching for some invisible foe just beyond the edges of his vision.
For a while the crew treated me with the same suspicious circumspection, due to my truly uncanny resemblance to the man whose sanity they all doubt. Once several days had gone by, though, their diffidence and hostility thawed somewhat, when it became apparent that, in temperament at least, I am nothing like their mad Admiral. Because I was weakened after my long ordeal, and because I am able to both read and write, Sam has asked me to serve temporarily as the ship’s purser. The man whose shoes I am filling died in a skirmish mere weeks before I came aboard, and as I understand it his honesty left quite a bit to be desired. Sam indicated to me that the man’s death was timely, as he would not have been permitted to serve on board ship past the next time it made dock. He was a greedy man, and sought to line his pockets with the meagre earnings of the sailors, who quite rightly despised it for him. I have taken up his functions as best I can, and although the work is challenging, thus far I believe I have proved myself to be up to the task. The crew are somewhat wary still, but since I have up until now given them no reason to doubt my honesty, they are slowly coming to accept me as one of their own.
Strangely enough, the Admiral has also shown an interest in me, although I have gone out of my way not to let him cultivate my acquaintance too closely. Last night, however, he explicitly invited me to dine with the rest of the officers aboard. Given the relatively small size of the crew, that meant Sam, his brother, Castiel himself, and the one lieutenant not on watch. As it turned out, Lieutenant Gibbons was taken ill as a result of spoiled meat, and thus it was that we were only four seated at the captain’s table that evening. Though I was uncomfortable at first, Sam quickly put me at my ease. His brother proved no mean conversationalist either, though he is by nature more taciturn, and soon I found myself enjoying the most captivating discussion in which I had had the privilege of participating in many a long month, mostly concerning the various countries we had all visited. The captain was surprisingly knowledgeable in matters of law, history and philosophy, and his brother astonished me with grasp of a broad range of topics, from Indonesian coleoptera to the curious religious beliefs of some South American tribes to the variable quality of silks to be found in China.
Indeed, I might have sat and listened to him all night, fascinated as I was both by the topics themselves and by the animation upon his features, which I was seeing for the very first time, were it not for the fact that Castiel began questioning me, politely at first and then more insistently, about myself. He seemed particularly interested in my place of birth –the reason for my impressment– and he seemed surprised when I revealed the exact location, though only the quirking of an eyebrow betrayed this emotion. I spared him the details which only you and my parents know, that my mother travelled to America not because my father had passed away, as she claimed, but rather because he was a nobleman who refused to acknowledge me as his own, because, my dearest, I firmly believed it to be none of his concern. The tragedy is my mother’s, and mine by extension, though the man who later married my mother and gave me his name has spared us both the shame of illegitimacy, and I have always seen him as my true father. Castiel pressed me for details, so insistent that even Sam’s best and most polite attempts to steer the conversation into safer waters met with failure. Eventually I was forced to excuse myself in a way that bordered upon the impolite, although Sam was gracious as ever, and gave me a look that was intensely apologetic as he showed me out.
I sought refuge in the damp night air on deck, only to find myself joined shortly thereafter by the very man whose presence I had wished to avoid. “You are uncomfortable,” he said, fixing me with his disconcerting blue eyes. “It was not my intention to make you so.”
I fidgeted, uncertain as to how to respond. He had addressed me informally, inviting me to respond, but he was nonetheless the senior officer on board, and any reply I might make could very well be interpreted as insubordination. I am not such a fool as to presume that my situation on board the Impala to be anything other than precarious, and any misstep might every well be my last. Castiel did not appear disconcerted by my lack of response, however. Instead, he stepped up to the rail and leaned so far over that for one heart-stopping moment I feared he might simply topple headfirst into the water. He didn’t, of course, merely balanced where he was, staring into the murky depths of the ocean.
“Are you a man of faith, Jimmy?”
The question startled me more than any other he had posed thus far. “I beg your pardon?”
“Do you believe in God?”
I blinked. “Of course.”
He nodded, seemingly confirming something to himself. “Of course,” he murmured to the ocean. “It takes a man of great faith, to perform this act. We are coming to the end, you see, and I cannot believe that you are not here for a reason. What can have brought you here, now, if not an act of divine will?”
“Everything is as God ordains it,” I stammered weakly, unable to believe myself, but again he nodded as though I had spoken his own thoughts aloud.
“I was cast away, you know,” he said, still looking out to sea. “The seas boiled up under us, and to this day I don't know why I was spared. Have you any idea what it's like, to be adrift upon the waves as your ship founders before your eyes? The... thing that wrecked my ship... it's still out there.
“The Kraken, you mean?” I dropped my voice, as though the name itself was too terrible to speak aloud, and his silence spoke volumes.
“It has infinite patience,” he said finally. “I know this now, though I thought I was safe enough when I washed ashore. It has been waiting all this time. I feel it calling, have felt it, all this time… I hear it singing even in the darkest recesses of my dreams. It is as it's meant to be.” He turned to face me, and I shivered in spite of myself as I saw the expression upon his face
“I have seen the face of God, Jimmy,” Castiel said, his countenance as impassive as if he were simply commenting upon the fairness of the weather, but his blue eyes glittered into the moonlight like sapphires before a flame. “And I have seen His will enacted upon the seas. I have seen the face of God, and it is awesome and terrible to behold.”
I did not know what to do, Amelia, and so I murmured an excuse and fled in a manner that was entirely unbecoming and more than a little undignified, leaving him to gaze out to sea as though the horizon held the answers to all the riddles of the universe. I have been unable to sleep so much as a wink since then, and have used these past waking hours to write you instead. I am at a loss as to what this strange man might want of me, but I believe it bodes ill, no matter what it is. I can only hope that his mad quest will prove to be nothing more than that, and that I will be allowed to disembark before too long and return home to you at long last.
I love you, my darling. I hope you know this, and when we are reunited I plan to prove it to you in all the ways I can think of. I am hopeful that you will have some ideas of your own upon that subject as well.
All my love,
Jimmy
[Next]
[Previous]
March 15th, Year of Our Lord, 1798
Dearest Amelia,
How quickly time flies aboard ship! It feels as though I only just came aboard, and yet it has been well over three months by my reckoning. I have settled into the routine of the Impala in much the same way I have done on all the other vessels on which I have served, although it took me some time to get my bearings. For all that Captain Winchester appears on the surface to adhere strictly to the rules, in reality it is much different. He runs a tight ship, but discipline is kept with minimal use of the lash. His men adore him. Indeed, most of them speak of him in hushed, awed tones, as though speaking of a great giant or other mythical figure. He is lucky, they tell me, almost unnaturally so, and so is his brother. They have, the crew assures me, each escaped certain death more than once, that when all appeared lost, they miraculously escaped. The words I hear are superlative: they are blessed, God-touched.
Although Dean, the doctor, is the one with the most obvious physical weakness in the form of his game leg –an injury acquired, I am told, by a terrible fall from a horse during which he was crushed beneath the fallen animal when he was naught but a young lad– he is, strangely enough, fiercely protective of his younger brother Sam. It's odd that I have come to think of them by their Christian names, but the crew refer to them that way when they are certain the officers are out of earshot. Sam and Dean, as though they come only as a pair. Indeed, when I inquired I learned that Sam will not take to the seas without his brother as his ship's surgeon, although whether it is because he has come to rely on his brother's medical expertise and protection or because he, in his own way, wishes to keep an eye on Dean, is anyone's guess. Perhaps it is a little of both. In turn Dean offers Sam everything that he has and is, and I do mean that quite literally.
There's a closeness between the two that I cannot quite fathom, Amelia. They are brothers, it is true, and they are obviously very fond of each other, but there is more to what lies between them ―if one pays close enough attention. I believe that they would die for one another. Indeed, I believe that they would suffer an eternity of punishment in the very fires of hell for one another, and sometimes I swear it is as though they already have. I cannot find a way to properly describe these strange, charismatic men to you. Every question of mine that is answered seems to raise a hundred new ones.
They are each brilliant in their own way. Each strong and independent of thought. They rarely see eye to eye, and often clash publicly before officers and unlisted alike, though Sam is quick to draw his brother away to his cabin in some small attempt to keep the proprieties. They strike me rather as an old married couple, so set and comfortable in their ways that they haven't a care about who hears them squabble and row, never mind that Sam is the commanding officer and that the doctor must ―or should!― in the end defer to him. It is as though they each consider only the other as their equal, and that it puts them at odds with one another as often as it results in a meeting of the minds. And, my darling, you should see them when they are of like mind: it is breathtaking to see.
Just two weeks ago, we were set upon by pirates. In all my years at sea, I can count upon the fingers of one hand the number of times I have encountered proper pirates (though privateers are something of a regular occurrence), but whatever course the Admiral has us on, it is taking us nearer and nearer the Coral Sea which, though it is not so deep as the Caribbean and cannot even hope to rival the Pacific Ocean beyond, is rife with its own dangers. I will tell you, my dearest, that the crew scarcely had time to be alarmed by the sight of the skull and crossbones fluttering against the bright blue sky. The enemy ship had only enough time to draw up alongside, its thick hull resisting the shot from our cannons easily enough, when with a cry that I scarce recognized as being human I saw Captain Winchester leading the charge to board the other ship, his brother hot on his heels, in spite of his game leg.
I have never seen the like, Amelia. For a ship’s surgeon to participate in a fight is unheard-of, even under the most eccentric of commanders. Nonetheless, the sight was awe-inspiring. They moved as one, and the crew followed behind, screaming like banshees, and I found myself swept along like a drop of water swirling in the tide. I cannot properly express the exhilaration I felt, hurling myself headlong at those who would threaten us: it was a heady feeling, almost as though I had drunk too much rum, though I was in full possession of my faculties, and soon I was, like the other seamen, fighting like a man possessed. A red haze seemed to descend upon all of us, and we surged forward like a pack of demons, cutting down anything in our path. The pirates, fully expecting to be the ones to board, were entirely taken off-guard by our screaming assault, and within minutes they were overrun. It seemed as though barely a moment had passed when a huge explosion rocked the pirate ship from beneath, and Captain Winchester was bellowing at us to regain the ship: he and his brother had somehow managed not only to fight their way through the milling throng of sailors and cutlasses, but to scuttle the enemy vessel without any of us seeing what they were about!
We left the scoundrels to founder with their ship, and not for the first time I marvelled at the almost unnatural likeness of mind that characterizes both brothers. I have seen them move as one. I have seen them together do what I would swear fifty men could not do –this from a captain so young that I'm shocked it doesn't embarrass the Royal Navy to have him wear the vestments of command, and a simple surgeon. What it is that exists between them, I cannot say: I only know that where one leads, the other will follow –and I cannot say with any surety which of them is leading the other. All I know is that between the two of them, they could lead this crew into the very jaws of hell, and that we would all follow and be glad to do so.
Admiral Castiel, of course, is entirely another matter. He holds himself aloof from the crew –indeed, the Impala is not a ship of the line, and at first I was at a loss to explain his presence on board. It was Bobby Singer, the ship’s carpenter, who illuminated me when I remarked upon this singularity.
He’s a singular one, all right,” he agreed, leaning upon the rail and staring out to see through his good eye. Our watch was over since the last bell, and we were taking a well-deserved moment to ourselves to observe the setting sun, glowing crimson and gold upon the saffron-speckled waves. “Mad, most like, though I’d be grateful if that word never left your lips in his presence. He was a brilliant commander, in his prime, and that wasn’t so long ago, by my reckoning, until his flagship disappeared one day not too far from here, as the crow flies.”
“Disappeared?”
“Without a trace,” came the answer. “He was found months later, stranded and raving upon a tiny island just of Kiribati, dressed in naught but the tattered rags that were all that remained of his uniform. He recovered, after a fashion, but he’s never been truly right since. No one knows what became of his ship, saving perhaps a few higher-ups in the Admiralty. Of course, none of them stuffed shirts up in Whitehall knows anything about what life out here is really like, but we’re stuck with the lot of them.”
“How is it that they gave him a command, then?”
Bobby shrugged. “It ain’t really a command. The Admiral may technically outrank the Captain, but it’s Winchester who runs this ship, sure enough. It’s a special assignment, like, because he’s young, for a captain. Whitehall don’t know what to do with him –his presence is a burr under the saddles of all them older men what want a command but ain’t got the wherewithal to get one– so they saddled him with a half-mad Admiral and told him to hare off on this wild goose chase of ours. Most men would have taken it as a defeat,” he grinned unexpectedly, revealing a gap-toothed smile, “but not Captain Winchester. Oh no. He sees it as a challenge, an opportunity to prove himself. You see if he doesn’t manage to come out on top of this. I’ve never laid eyes on a man like him before, mark my words. He’d tweak the very nose of Lucifer himself and come out the victor,” Bobby’s eyes gleamed with ill-concealed glee.
“What is it that we’re after, then? I thought this was a scouting ship,” I found myself asking.
The older man cackled, and a chill ran down my spine at the sound. “We’re hunting a monster, Mr. Novak!”
It’s true, Amelia. A few more days and a few discreet questions later, and I found Bobby’s words confirmed. Castiel is convinced that his ship’s loss was due to a huge monster from the depths, a creature known as the Kraken. I have heard the name only once before, from sailors from the North. I remember speaking with them, they in their broken English and I in my even more limited Dutch, and they spoke of the great beast in hushed, reverent tones. At the time I put it down to mere superstition, bred by years of ignorance, but how could a man of blue blood be so convinced of something that was a mere fiction of underdeveloped minds? It seems impossible, and yet… I can only conclude that Bobby is right, and that Castiel is half-mad, or perhaps completely so. Certainly the crew avoid him as though he is tainted with ill-luck, and I suppose he is. No commander should ever survive the loss of both ship and crew. I have never been of the opinion that a captain should go down with his ship, but to be the sole survivor? It is a black day indeed in a man’s life. The eyes of the crew follow him when he stalks about the deck, and he sometimes mutters to himself under his breath, wringing his hands and casting wildly about with his eyes, as though searching for some invisible foe just beyond the edges of his vision.
For a while the crew treated me with the same suspicious circumspection, due to my truly uncanny resemblance to the man whose sanity they all doubt. Once several days had gone by, though, their diffidence and hostility thawed somewhat, when it became apparent that, in temperament at least, I am nothing like their mad Admiral. Because I was weakened after my long ordeal, and because I am able to both read and write, Sam has asked me to serve temporarily as the ship’s purser. The man whose shoes I am filling died in a skirmish mere weeks before I came aboard, and as I understand it his honesty left quite a bit to be desired. Sam indicated to me that the man’s death was timely, as he would not have been permitted to serve on board ship past the next time it made dock. He was a greedy man, and sought to line his pockets with the meagre earnings of the sailors, who quite rightly despised it for him. I have taken up his functions as best I can, and although the work is challenging, thus far I believe I have proved myself to be up to the task. The crew are somewhat wary still, but since I have up until now given them no reason to doubt my honesty, they are slowly coming to accept me as one of their own.
Strangely enough, the Admiral has also shown an interest in me, although I have gone out of my way not to let him cultivate my acquaintance too closely. Last night, however, he explicitly invited me to dine with the rest of the officers aboard. Given the relatively small size of the crew, that meant Sam, his brother, Castiel himself, and the one lieutenant not on watch. As it turned out, Lieutenant Gibbons was taken ill as a result of spoiled meat, and thus it was that we were only four seated at the captain’s table that evening. Though I was uncomfortable at first, Sam quickly put me at my ease. His brother proved no mean conversationalist either, though he is by nature more taciturn, and soon I found myself enjoying the most captivating discussion in which I had had the privilege of participating in many a long month, mostly concerning the various countries we had all visited. The captain was surprisingly knowledgeable in matters of law, history and philosophy, and his brother astonished me with grasp of a broad range of topics, from Indonesian coleoptera to the curious religious beliefs of some South American tribes to the variable quality of silks to be found in China.
Indeed, I might have sat and listened to him all night, fascinated as I was both by the topics themselves and by the animation upon his features, which I was seeing for the very first time, were it not for the fact that Castiel began questioning me, politely at first and then more insistently, about myself. He seemed particularly interested in my place of birth –the reason for my impressment– and he seemed surprised when I revealed the exact location, though only the quirking of an eyebrow betrayed this emotion. I spared him the details which only you and my parents know, that my mother travelled to America not because my father had passed away, as she claimed, but rather because he was a nobleman who refused to acknowledge me as his own, because, my dearest, I firmly believed it to be none of his concern. The tragedy is my mother’s, and mine by extension, though the man who later married my mother and gave me his name has spared us both the shame of illegitimacy, and I have always seen him as my true father. Castiel pressed me for details, so insistent that even Sam’s best and most polite attempts to steer the conversation into safer waters met with failure. Eventually I was forced to excuse myself in a way that bordered upon the impolite, although Sam was gracious as ever, and gave me a look that was intensely apologetic as he showed me out.
I sought refuge in the damp night air on deck, only to find myself joined shortly thereafter by the very man whose presence I had wished to avoid. “You are uncomfortable,” he said, fixing me with his disconcerting blue eyes. “It was not my intention to make you so.”
I fidgeted, uncertain as to how to respond. He had addressed me informally, inviting me to respond, but he was nonetheless the senior officer on board, and any reply I might make could very well be interpreted as insubordination. I am not such a fool as to presume that my situation on board the Impala to be anything other than precarious, and any misstep might every well be my last. Castiel did not appear disconcerted by my lack of response, however. Instead, he stepped up to the rail and leaned so far over that for one heart-stopping moment I feared he might simply topple headfirst into the water. He didn’t, of course, merely balanced where he was, staring into the murky depths of the ocean.
“Are you a man of faith, Jimmy?”
The question startled me more than any other he had posed thus far. “I beg your pardon?”
“Do you believe in God?”
I blinked. “Of course.”
He nodded, seemingly confirming something to himself. “Of course,” he murmured to the ocean. “It takes a man of great faith, to perform this act. We are coming to the end, you see, and I cannot believe that you are not here for a reason. What can have brought you here, now, if not an act of divine will?”
“Everything is as God ordains it,” I stammered weakly, unable to believe myself, but again he nodded as though I had spoken his own thoughts aloud.
“I was cast away, you know,” he said, still looking out to sea. “The seas boiled up under us, and to this day I don't know why I was spared. Have you any idea what it's like, to be adrift upon the waves as your ship founders before your eyes? The... thing that wrecked my ship... it's still out there.
“The Kraken, you mean?” I dropped my voice, as though the name itself was too terrible to speak aloud, and his silence spoke volumes.
“It has infinite patience,” he said finally. “I know this now, though I thought I was safe enough when I washed ashore. It has been waiting all this time. I feel it calling, have felt it, all this time… I hear it singing even in the darkest recesses of my dreams. It is as it's meant to be.” He turned to face me, and I shivered in spite of myself as I saw the expression upon his face
“I have seen the face of God, Jimmy,” Castiel said, his countenance as impassive as if he were simply commenting upon the fairness of the weather, but his blue eyes glittered into the moonlight like sapphires before a flame. “And I have seen His will enacted upon the seas. I have seen the face of God, and it is awesome and terrible to behold.”
I did not know what to do, Amelia, and so I murmured an excuse and fled in a manner that was entirely unbecoming and more than a little undignified, leaving him to gaze out to sea as though the horizon held the answers to all the riddles of the universe. I have been unable to sleep so much as a wink since then, and have used these past waking hours to write you instead. I am at a loss as to what this strange man might want of me, but I believe it bodes ill, no matter what it is. I can only hope that his mad quest will prove to be nothing more than that, and that I will be allowed to disembark before too long and return home to you at long last.
I love you, my darling. I hope you know this, and when we are reunited I plan to prove it to you in all the ways I can think of. I am hopeful that you will have some ideas of your own upon that subject as well.
All my love,
Jimmy
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What else would they be doing, indeed? ;)
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I love how you describe Sam and Dean here. Especially their skirmish with the pirate ship.
And the Kraken. Of course, they are hunting a Kraken.
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Naturally.
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It is as though they each consider only the other as their equal, and that it puts them at odds with one another as often as it results in a meeting of the minds. And, my darling, you should see them when they are of like mind: it is breathtaking to see.
Yes, so true. Then they fought together and proved it.
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It was tricky, keeping the relationships and personalities similar to the show, yet altering them enough to make them plausible for the AU. I'm very pleased it worked for you!
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