Chapter Text
Dean and Cas stood on the cliff, watching as the fleet sailed towards the harbor. It must have been at least ten, maybe fifteen large ships, big enough that they could probably hold an entire army between all of them. Though they must have been several miles down the coast, Dean could see the dark smudges against the sides of the ships- their guns were drawn.
Cas ran a hand through his hair, before he whirled around and headed towards the horses. He grabbed Inias’s and Baby’s reins, passing Dean’s horse to him. “Come on, Dean. We have to tell others about this.” He hoisted himself up onto his horse.
Before his friend could gallop off by himself, Dean pulled himself onto Baby’s back and followed Cas.
“Cas! Cas, wait up. Hold up, man.” Dean urged Baby alongside Inias. “What do you want to do about this? What can we do about this?”
His friend shook his head. “We at least have to let them know. If we wake up tomorrow and there’s an army knocking on our doors we at least deserve a heads-up a day in advance. And besides, you saw those guns. You know what’s going on in some of the colonies. England might finally be coming down harder on us.”
They rode in silence the rest of the way back to the Novak house. When they rode into the yard, Cas slid of his horse’s back, and led the way to their stables.
Dean had been to the Novak home so often that Baby had a stall that they usually kept empty for those times when he spent the night at Cas’s after a long day of riding, adventuring, or perhaps sneaking back to the house late at night after spending the evening at Singer’s Tavern.
When the horses were stabled, Cas headed towards the house, grabbing Dean by the hand and tugging him along.
“Dad!” was the first word out of Castiel’s mouth when they got inside. “Dad, you’ve got to know what Dean and I saw!”
Castiel’s father, Charles “Chuck” Novak, (Dean’s favorite fact about Cas’s dad was the fact that he’d written a few books under a pseudonym, Charles Shurley, but was too shy to tell anyone outside the family about it) came down the stairs, concern written on his face. “Castiel? What’s wrong, son? Oh, hello, Dean.”
“Hi, Mr. Novak.” Dean gave a little half-wave. Cas resolutely ploughed forward. “Dad, Dean and I were riding by the ocean, and we stopped for a little, and there was a British fleet! We could see their cannons, and those ships were big enough for hundreds of soldiers! Is the King invading?”
Chuck held up his hands. “Whoah, son. Calm down. I don’t think the King’s sending anyone to invade us just yet. I’m sure there’s a completely reasonable explanation for all of this.”
“Yes, Dad, the completely reasonable explanation is that England is going to invade us.” Cas muttered under his breath. Chuck raised an eyebrow. “What was that, son?”
“Nothing, Dad.”
The elder Novak turned to Dean. “Would you like to go get your brother, and eat dinner with us tonight, Dean?”
…
Dean sat next to Cas and Sam at the Novak’s dinner table. Sam was chatting happily with Samandriel and Gabriel, while Cas’s mother, Naomi, and the younger of the two sisters, Anna, tried to draw him into a conversation.
He heavily suspected that Naomi had been trying to set him and Anna up for ages. And if he wasn’t so in love with Cas, he might have been inclined to flirt with Anna. But he was very in love with Cas, so…
Not like he’d be able to act on it, and if Castiel ever found out, he’d probably hate Dean.
Speaking of Cas, he was staring gloomily down at his food, not eating.
After dinner was over, Cas and Gabriel walked Dean and Sam to the door. Surprisingly, Gabe accompanied them out to the stables. Cas usually walked Dean back to his horse, just to “make sure he made it to the stables alright” but no one else usually tagged along.
Cas stroked Baby’s nose, before patting Dean on the knee and wishing him and Sam a good night and a safe ride home.
“Seeya, Sammy, Dean-o.” Gabriel called as the two brothers rode off.
There were no other homes between theirs and the Novaks, so the ride home was completely shadowed in darkness. Overhead, the sky was filled with stars, and the moon was full. If you listened closely, you could almost hear the ocean.
Sam looked happy. He loved going to dinner at the Novaks. Dean loved staying at Cas’s house too, because the family was fun, and chaotic, and loud. Unlike their home, where it was silent and empty most of the time. With Dad at work, the brothers spent most of their time outside.
Riot, their father’s stallion, wasn’t in his stall when they got home. Neither was his tack, so it was probably safe to assume their father was at Singer’s Tavern, talking to Bobby or one of his other friends.
As soon as the horses were settled in for the night, the brothers headed inside and up to bed.
“G’night, Sammy.”
“Goodnight, Dean.”
…
Dean woke up the next morning to a loud banging on the door in favor of the usual sunrise. He rolled over and groaned, shoving his head under the pillow in hopes of blocking out the sound. It didn’t work.
He plodded down the stairs, rubbing his eyes. Pulling open the door, he yawned. “Whaddya want?”
“Are you Mr. John Winchester?”
Shit. In front of him stood a young man, maybe a year or two older than Dean, dressed in a soldier’s red coat. He was looking at Dean with disdain and possibly a little bit of annoyance. Dean blinked, dragging a hand across his face to try and wake himself up further.
“Ah, no. No, that’s my dad.” Yep, the soldier was definitely annoyed now. Dean stood there for a few long moments until the soldier cleared his throat. “Can you go get him? Is he home?” He peered into the house.
“He’s asleep.” Dean responded, shifting to try and block the guy’s view inside. Seriously, what was his deal?
“Well, wake him up.”
Dean went back inside, and headed up the stairs. He met Sam on the way down, and pointed back up the stairs, gesturing to the door and drawing a hand across his throat. No. Go back upstairs. His brother’s eyes widened, and he mouthed, British? Dean nodded.
Sam stayed on the steps as Dean went up to wake their dad. John Winchester did not like to be woken early, especially after he’d been drinking. Dean winced at the thought of having to deal with a hungover father, and with the soldier who’d most likely be pissed about that.
Sure enough, John was passed out on the bed, his arms and legs splayed like he’d just collapsed onto the bed and stayed like that. Dean crept into the room, and shook his father’s shoulder gently. “Dad. Dad, wake up. There’s a British soldier here, and he’s asking for you.”
John let out a groan, flung an arm over his face, and promptly told Dean to get out, except in far ruder language. To summarize, the soldier could stick something very unpleasant in a very unpleasant place.
“That’s great Dad, and I’m sure he’ll love that advice, but I think it’s probably really important and you should go downstairs and here it.” Dean persisted in shaking John’s shoulder.
Several minutes, vulgar words, and a few sloppily flung fists later, Dean trailed behind his father as he made his way down the steps. The soldier was still standing in the doorway, his arms crossed across his chest as he glared into the house like everything around him was mortally offending.
Plodding down the final few stairs and coming face to face with their early- morning visitor, John Winchester leaned against the doorframe. “Whaddya want?”
The redcoat drew himself to his full height, and pulled a letter out of his pocket. “You are a blacksmith, aren’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“You are a subject of the British Crown, and the Crown is calling for you to serve your country. We want you to start helping the army to create ammunition, horseshoes, repairing artillery, and other such things. You will be compensated, of course.” The soldier passed the letter over, then wiped his hands down the front of his coat. “Have a good day, Mr. Winchester. We’ll send someone around to check on you every week or so.”
He turned and left, walking down the lane and mounting a horse that had been tied to a fence post in front of the house. There was a faint cry of “hya!” and the soldier trotted off in the direction of town.
Dean watched the guy ride off. Sam finally ventured down the stairs, and joined Dean. “What happened?”
“Dad’s been told he has to make bullets and fix weapons and things.” Dean replied, closing the door.
“I might be a blacksmith, but that doesn’t mean I know how to do all this stuff.” John snorted. “Fixing cannons? Don’t they have someone else to do that?”
Sam shrugged. “Maybe their blacksmiths are too overworked.”