Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The wooden planks creak under Dean’s feet. His heart pounds in his chest, a cold sweat slipping down his spine, and he grips Sam’s hand a little harder than necessary. It doesn’t matter how many years pass, he doesn’t think he’s ever going to be used to the heights of the village. If he gets too close to the edge of the platform, he gets dizzy and his stomach goes tight.

He’s been alive to see six winter seasons, and not once has he ever heard of someone falling through a bridge or walkway. Every day, Äity – his mother – tells him over and over that the village is safe. Dean doesn’t need to worry because everyone works hard to maintain the village so they can move around without the fear of falling. He finds it hard to believe, and he really doesn’t think their people belong in the trees.

Thick branches support the platforms of the village. Posts line the edges with nets of vines strung between each of them, made strong by the addition of rope. Dean has even helped his parents make the rope. He’s gone down to the forest floor with them, found the fibrous plants, gathered them, and carried them back up. They sat in their home tree, took sharpened flint, and spent days peeling and cutting them into strips before weaving them together.

Dean likes working with his hands. He could sit forever on his mattress and cut and weave all day every day. What he doesn’t like is being taken outside to add the netting to the posts, or to be shown how to remove one of the planks of the platforms to replace it when the wood gets old and rotted. He’d rather stay inside or on the ground, and, luckily, there isn’t much for him to do outside of his family tree.

If they’re not down on the ground to hunt and fish, or to gather fruits, or dig up vegetables, or find the plants they use for seasoning, healing, or whatever, then they stay inside their family tree. They’re always busy cooking, learning, tanning, making something. And, of course, Dean is always watching Sammy. He’s small and curious and Dean has to keep him safe. Someone’s gotta do it, and Otehkö – his father – said that it was Dean’s job as his older brother; his hëmdrë. Just like how Dean is going to have to look after everyone in the village one day when he becomes Taafër – the leader of the village.

Sam steps on the creaking board again, giggling in delight at the sound. He rocks back and forth on it, chubby hand flailing happily. Dean pulls a piece of charcoal from the pouch at his hip and crouches to draw a large X symbol in the center of the board. It’ll warn others that it’s getting old and to keep an eye on it. Eventually, it will be replaced.

A commotion rises across the way on another platform, and Sam starts pulling towards it. Dean is a whole four years older than him. Since Sam has only seen two winters, and Dean is much bigger than him, so it’s easy to hold him back and keep him back from the edge of the platform. He’s not scared of heights like Dean is. Sam has no problem with leaning against the netting and looking out at everything happening below.

“No, Sammy.” Dean tugs him back to stay closer to the trunk of the tree. “It’s not safe.”

“De-e-e-ean!” Sam’s bottom lip juts out in a pout and he pulls harder. “Wan’ see!”

He points towards the solid bridge connecting the branches of his home tree to the one next to it. From there, one of the sagging bridges - held up with ropes and vines - stretches to the platform across the small clearing below. That’s the up-down place where ladders of wood and rope can be unrolled down, down, down to the ground and everyone climbs up, up, up with packs or baskets or children strapped to their backs.

People of the tribe are gathering along bridges and platforms around the clearing, watching because hunters have returned. Dean just can’t wrap his head around how everyone else can just walk around without needing to stay close to the tree trunks, or having to keep a hand on the rope. People keep passing by, cutting around them to take one of the many different paths through the village that lead to the up-down place.

The hunters are coming back today, but Dean is too far back from the edge of the walkway to see the clearing. He can hear many voices, though. Shouting and organizing. One of those voices belongs to his otehkö, current Taafër of the tribe.

From where he stands, Dean can see the up-down place. A group of grown-ups are working to secure an old canoe. It’s too old to use on the river, but it’s still useful. They put holes in the edges and looped rope through them, and also underneath it into grooves they cut into the frame. The ropes go up and up into the branches overhead and hang down again. It takes more than one grown up to lower the canoe down to the ground, and even more needed to haul it back up with whatever supplies need to be brought up to the village.

Dean holds his breath and even Sam stops to watch as the grown-ups push the canoe off the edge of the platform. It swings out into the air and they slowly start to lower it out of sight. Right away, Sam starts pulling again. He wants to get closer and see, because he’s fearless. Not Dean, though. But, for Sammy, he can be a little braver.

“Not too close, Sammy.” Dean swallows thickly and takes a deep breath. “Just a little bit, okay?”

Sam graces him with a wide smile, showing all his tiny teeth. Slowly, because Dean drags his heels, they move closer to the edge. They’re close enough that Sam can reach out with his other hand and grab a fistful of the safety net. He leans over, peering down and letting Dean take all of his weight.

With a clatter loud enough to be heard across the clearing, the rolls of ladders are kicked over the edge of the up-down place. Sam gasps excitedly as they unroll down, down, down until they’re touching the ground. Dean still isn’t close enough to see, but it’s not long before hunters start climbing into view with their empty pack frames on their backs.

One of them is their otehkö.

“Oteh’!” Sam almost screams when he notices him. He lets go of the net to wave enthusiastically.

It’s loud enough for Otehkö to hear. He glances over his shoulder, grins, and swings around to wave back. Dean feels queasy and lightheaded because his otehkö is only holding on to the ladder with one hand and one foot. If the wood bar he’s standing on snaps, or if he loses his grip on the one in his hand, he could fall and it’s a long drop down.

Dean still waves, though. Even if he’s scared for everyone, and he’s uncomfortable being this far from the wide trunk of the tree, he’s still excited that they’re all home safe and sound. The hunters have been gone for many days now, searching for the great horned hiruut. Their horns and bones make excellent tools, their hides can be cured into useful leathers, and their meat is tender and delicious.

The hiruut are plant eaters and pretty shy, running away at the first snap of a twig, but Dean has definitely heard stories of how hunters have been injured by their horns. Sometimes a male will alert the herd and then charge a hunter down if they get too close. Dean isn’t fully convinced that there are animals in this forest that can’t or won’t try to kill them. Everything is dangerous, somehow, and it’s a lot for him to have to keep Sammy (and, eventually, the whole village) safe from.

But nothing that lives in the forest is as scary as the Vingkäitä. It’s almost their season; the time of the year when they’re seen most often in the skies over the forest. They’re very dangerous, and Dean has spent the last few days worrying that one (or all) of the hunters wouldn’t be coming back because of them. He’s never seen a Vingkäita himself, but the central tree of the village has many paintings of them drawn inside on the rough walls, and everyone has a carved figurine of one in their home.

They look like people, but aren’t people; huge monsters with wings, horns, clawed feet, and feathers where feathers don’t belong. Äity says that keeping a carving of them in their homes is to help keep them away. Dean doesn’t know how that helps. He thinks it’s so every child in the village knows what they look like, so they know what to run and hide from when the Vingkäitä season comes around.

Aside from the fear, Dean kind of likes this season. It usually lasts two cycles of the moon, and they spend almost all their time safe inside the trees. Every family tree has big clay pots filled with water stored on one of the levels. Dean helped fill them this year. They carry the water from the river in water-tight skin sacks, or pots they balance on their heads. The canoe-lift brings it all up and they fill everyone’s stores one by one.

And, throughout the year, they picked grains from the fields to the east to grind into a powder that could be mixed with water, fruit, and animal fat to make into heavy cakes. They have casks of dried fruits and vegetables that they’ve died out or crushed into jams. The meat gets smoked in one of the structures built up in the branches of the tree, or is dried out in the sun. Dean hasn’t been taken up to see how it’s done yet, but one day he will. He’s not looking forward to it.

The food is shared throughout the tribe. Everyone knows to be careful with it during the moons of the Vingkäitä season, but everyone will share to make sure no one goes hungry. Dean likes that about his village. They all take care of each other, and the Taafër takes care of everyone. When he grows up, it’ll be his job to leave his home during the Vingkäitä season and go from tree to tree, checking to make sure that everyone is okay and has enough food and water.

Until then, Dean has to stay inside their family tree during this time of the year. It’s kind of boring, because they have to keep themselves entertained all by themselves for ages, but he does learn a lot during this time. He learns about plants and animals, the weather, the water, and, most importantly, all about the people.

Otehkö will sit him down and teach him the history of their village. Dean knows all about how their tribe split from the other tribe on the edge of the great flatlands, and how that tribe had left the one at the base of the mountain on the far edges of the forest. There was even a group of people from Dean’s tribe that packed up and left a long, long time ago to go live by the big waters. Otehkö has been to see them, and their tribe is as big as this one, if not bigger.

Even though there’s a lot of interesting stuff to learn, there’s a lot of boring stuff too. Dean hates having to listen to stories about a lot of old people that he’s never met, but, apparently, it’s important for him to know it all. Sometimes he thinks taking over as Taafër is just going to be a big pain in the neck. But that’s what he’s gotta do, because he’s the son of the current Taafër, who was son of the last Taafër, and the daughter of the last, and so on.

Dean will have to suffer through two moons of that before he can go down to the ground again. And when he does, his parents will make him put to the test everything they taught him. He’ll be asked about the information they shared, and point out plants they described, and which are good and which are bad. It’s a lot for only six winters, but Dean works hard to remember it all.

Thankfully, he’s too young to be taken to the very top of the tree yet. Only Otehkö goes up there to confirm that the Vingkäitä season has begun. There is no ladder that leads up that high. Otehkö climbs the branches until he can see above the canopy, checking for the signs that the Vingkäitä are returning to this area. Dean hasn’t seen it himself, but Äity says a cloud of dark shadows is in the sky far away, and it slowly passes from horizon to horizon. While the cloud can be seen, the Vingkäitä are still around, and the tribe has to stay hidden.

Only the grown-ups are allowed to go outside during this season, and only for emergencies. It’s a big risk and Dean has stood at the covered entrance to his family tree, worried and waiting every time his otehkö or äity has gone out during the season. Vingkäitä steal people. No one knows what they do with them, but they’re taken and never seen again.

Charlie, one of the other children and one of Dean’s closest friends, told him that they eat the people they take. She’s kinda scary sometimes, so Dean isn’t really sure if he should believe her. The Vingkäitä have been around for generations. Äity says her parents, and their parents, and their parents, and their parents, have stories going back for longer than anyone can remember.

They’ve always been around, but still no one knows what they do with the people they take. No bodies, no bones. The tribes extend to the Plains, the Mountains, and the Seas. Traders come by every once in a while, and they all have the same information; the taken are never seen again.

Dean can’t wait for when his parents think he’s old enough to travel. He wants to go to the other tribes and see how they live. He wants to see the big water, and the mountains that look like a smudge on the horizon. Otehkö says they’re huge, and take many days of travel to get to. Dean wants to see it with his own eyes, though he probably won’t climb them if they’re too tall. But the great flatlands? How flat are they? Are they really flat and empty, and you can see in all directions?

There are maps in his family tree drawn on rolls of hide with charcoal. Dean wants to do enough exploring when he grows up to have to make a whole new map to include all the new land that he’ll find. He wants to go beyond the mountains. How exciting would that be? And it would be on the ground, not up in the trees with the long, long, long drop down to the roots.

It feels like it takes forever, but Otehkö finally finishes climbing the ladder. Dean breathes easy again when he’s standing and clapping the shoulders of the other grown-ups that greet him.

"Äity!” Dean turns and calls over his shoulder. “Otehkö is home.”

A moment later, Äity ducks out through the opening into their family tree. Her light hair is tied up with a strip of hide, and streaks of soot smudge her face and hands. Dean feels a little bad for not helping her like he was supposed to. They were going to clean out the hearth before Otehkö got back.

The hearth is on the main level of their family tree. Another section of the trunk had been cut out a long time ago and an oven of stove and mud was made there instead. It’s where they cook their meat, bake bread, or bake clay into all sorts of things Dean is still learning the names of. The fire in the hearth keeps them warm during the colder months too. The smoke gets out through a hole on the outside, and Dean has seen it leak out and curl up into the branches. Sometimes he wonders if it makes it through and if the other tribes can see it.

Äity leans out over the netting to look down. “Oh, good. It looks like the hunt went well. Come see how many hiruut they caught, Dean.”

He shakes his head and tugs Sam further from the edge. “Nah.”

She smiles at him with a little shake of her head, but she’s too nice to make him do it. That’s why Dean loves her best. “Will you come with me to go see your otehkö?”

“Ya’!” Sam waves his free arm at her until she scoops him up and sits him on her hip. “Hëmhëm too?”

“Your hëmdrë can come with us if he wants to.” Äity taps Sam on the nose and ruffles Dean’s hair as she walks by, heading for the bridge that crosses to the up-down place.

Dean shifts from one foot to the other and grips the fabric of his loin cloth, worrying it between his fingers. He hates being left alone out here. There’s no one to steady him, or catch him if he starts to fall. There’s always the option of going back into the family tree, but then he’ll be alone and who knows how long it’ll take for his family to come join him.

Time to be brave!

With a swallow and a deep breath, Dean reaches out to grab the rope and vine netting. He skims his hand across the top of it, skipping over the posts, and follows it to the bridge. This is the part he hates most. There’s a lump in his throat and his hand shakes as he edges out after Äity and Sam. If he keeps his eyes on his parents, he might be able to make it across without crying.

Hopefully he’ll outgrow his fear of heights one day.

The sun is warm on Dean’s skin and he spreads his arms so he can feel it everywhere. He should take off his loincloth and be warm everywhere. Sam is already naked beside him. After nearly three moons of being cooped up in the family tree during the Vingkäitä season, it’s impossible to get him to keep his clothes on now that they’re finally allowed outside.

Now that the season is over, the tribe is going to celebrate with a feast of fresh meat, fruit, and vegetables. It’s also the celebration that will mark Dean’s seventh year, and Sam’s fourth. Dean doesn’t know how old his parents are, or any of the other grown-up, but Charlie will be seven too. She’s down at the river with his Äity and hers, fishing and refilling waterskins upstream of where others are bathing. If Dean was a good hëmdrë, he would take Sam down to the bathing area, but he’s too excited to be out and about again for that just yet.

Others still are setting up racks in the clearing at the edge of the river, hanging hides and woven blankets to dry in the sun after being cleaned and beaten against the rocks. Dean is too small to help with that, but he can’t wait until he can do that. It looks like fun, and then he can do more than sing along with the songs they beat the clothing to.

Sam isn’t at all interested in anything happening at the riverside. He wanders naked through the grass and most of Dean’s focus is on keeping him from wandering towards the shallows. Dean even has trouble helping out like he wants to. When they first came down to the river, he tried helping with the racks, and carrying the blankets to the water, but Sam comes first. Äity told him it was more important that he keep an eye on Sam.

Luckily, there’s a lot that Dean can distract Sam with. There are a lot of berry bushes nearby. Dean has a basket and he holds one side while Sam holds the other. He leads the way and Sam follows along, the grass almost up to his shoulders. As soon as Sam spots the berries, he drops the basket and staggers forward. Dean is right behind him, and he starts picking. Sam helps, but for every fistful that goes into the basket, another goes into his mouth, blue smearing across his chubby little cheeks.

“Slow down, Sammy.” Dean taps him on the head. “Or you’re gonna get a tummy ache.”

Sam does slow down a bit, but he’s still focused on eating more than picking for the basket. Dean rolls his eyes at him, only to notice a big log crushing the grass just away from the bush. It’s been there a long time. Long enough for soft green moss growing over it, and it’s gone weak ‘coz half of it is falling inside. A bunch of mushrooms are sprouting under it, fat white heads on fat bodies.

Dean grins at the discovery and points it out to Sam. “Look!”

“Shroom?” Sam shuffles over to squat next to them. He pokes one. “Eat shroom?”

“They’re better cooked.” Dean brings the basket over and crouches next to him. “Do you remember what onions look like? They’re good with that.”

Sam’s face scrunches up while he thinks and glances around. “Mebbe...”

Dean has tried to be a good hëmdrë and teach Sam the things that he’s been taught. Sam sort of knows which plants to avoid touching, like the lobed three leaf plant that makes your skin red and really, really, really itchy if you touch it. He kinda knows the good plants too, like the white flower with a yellow middle that Dean has seen the grown-ups boil into a calming tea, or mash into a paste to put on swelling and make it better.

While Sam studies the grass around them for the green shoots of garlic or onions. Either would be good to add to the food they’re going to cook at the celebration. Dean finds a kinda flat rock nearby and he uses the edge to help him dig up the mushrooms. He tosses them into the basket, mouth already starting to water thinking about how good fresh food is going to taste tonight. If they roast these over a fire, they’ll taste amazing.

His shoulders are starting to get really warm in the direct sunlight. Dean realizes too late that he probably should have brought a tunic with him. He’s going to get more freckles by walking around with such bare skin in the sun. It’s not fair that he already has more freckles than both his parents combined, and Sam has none. Maybe he’ll catch up in four more years. There aren’t a lot of other kids in the tribes with freckles like him, so Dean would like it if Sam was just as freckly as him when he grows up.

Maybe Dean wouldn’t have so many freckles if he wore his tunic like most of the other kids do. He usually walks around in just his loincloth or his leggings. The grown-up men of the tribe almost always go around without their tunics, and Dean wants to be just like them. He’s not a child (like Sam) anymore, and he doesn’t like wearing the long tunics that most of the other children are always wearing – especially the girls.

But... He doesn’t want more freckles. They’re not that far from the village; Dean can see the walkways spanning between the massive trees from here. Maybe he should go back and get something? Ugh, but that would mean having to climb up the ladder, because no one will use the canoe-lift to bring up one child.

The trees of the forest surrounding the clearing are so tall. Dean has to close his eyes and hum to himself whenever the children are brought up and down in the canoe-lift. They’re so big that it takes a lot of grown-ups to hold hands and go all the way around the tree. The biggest trees can hold more than one generation of a family.

Dean’s family is only the four of them, biggest all of his parents’ parents died before he was born. Their tree still has a couple layers carved out from generations before them. There are handholds cut into the inside of the tree to climb up and down between the levels. But there’s only the main level that has a walkway built around it.

Sometimes, instead of carving out a new level, younger grown-ups will build a platform into the branches of the tree, stringing up hides and pelts sewn together into waterproof tents. They live there until they start families of their own and either start building their own family tree, or move back in with their parents.

They’re crazy. Dean can’t understand how they would want to live in something so unsafe. What if the branches break? What if the wind grows strong and blows the tent down? The grown-ups probably thought of all that and did something to make sure it wouldn’t happen, but it’s terrifying to him to think about living like that.

But he does envy them, a little bit. It would be exciting to have a place of his own, and not have Äity or Otehkö telling him what to do, or when he’s supposed to go to bed. Someday, Dean is going to be Taafër. He should probably have his own tree when he takes over. How early should he start carving out a tree of his own? They’ll need to build more walkways for it, and another bridge, and that makes his stomach turn to think about doing.

If he had the choice, Dean would like to be a Taafër who lives on the ground.

A small hand at his arm brings him out of his thoughts. Dean glances down at Sam to find him holding out a handful of small white flowers with yellow middles. They’re not onions, but Äity will be happy to have them.

“That’s great, Sammy!” Dean ruffles his hair and holds up the basket. “Add ‘em, kay?”

Sam beams as bright as the sunlight around them and throws the flowers down on top of the berries and mushrooms. He turns around to root around in the grass again, and Dean kneels again to finish gathering the mushrooms. They don’t get much done before the sound of a horn echoes through the clearing, coming from the village. It warbles once, twice, and then a shorter third time.

Vingkäitä.

Dean’s heart almost stops in his chest. He drops the basket and stands up sharply, already looking at the skies. The horn is only sounded when there’s danger, and the only danger Dean can think of right now would be the Vingkäitä. But, Otehkö gave the okay. He said the shadow was far away on the edge of the horizon. They aren't close enough to be a threat this late in their season. The village should be safe now.

They should be... running.

Grown-ups are already sprinting away from the river. They’ve dropped everything and have scooped up the nearest children, carrying them towards the treeline where they’ll be the safest. Dean and Sam are too far from the path from the village to the river, worn down by years of the tribe walking back and forth. They’re almost at a halfway point between the trees and the river, but still too far from everything to be considered safe.

Äity is standing in the middle of the path, turning back and forth in panicked, jerky movements. Dean knows she’s looking for them. She was too busy to pay attention to where they went, and now they’re too far from her. Dean can carry Sam, but he can’t run with him, and Sam’s legs are too short to keep up. He’s a terrible runner, too, all wobbly and falling down. Uncoordinated, Otehkö said.

Dean cups his hands around his mouth and shouts. “Run, Äity! Run!”

She spins around and looks at him, and there’s fear on her face. Her mouth opens, but Dean can’t hear her over a growing whine that fills the air. He’s never heard it before, but he’s been told about how the sound always comes when the Vingkäitä are nearby. Äity lurches towards them, but she’s so far away. Dean looks around for anything, any way to hide.

The empty log is half collapsed, but there’s space at one end. Space enough for Sammy. Dean grabs him by the shoulders and shoves him inside. The bark is rough and it scrapes Sam’s skin. He cries harder, tries fighting, but Dean hushes him and pushes him in further. Next is the basket. There’s not enough room for him, he’s too big, but Dean squishes the woven basket in after Sam to help hide him more.

Now he needs to hide too, but he can’t be near Sam. If Dean hides too close to him, they might be able to find him too, and that’s not allowed. Dean needs to protect him, by getting away from him. Äity too. She’s still coming towards them, and Dean wishes she would go for the trees. With her long legs, she could get to them long before he could. Long before the Vingkäitä get here.

His sound of his heart is pounding in his ears and the whine in the air is almost deafening now. Through it all, Dean catches the gurgle of the river, and it’s suddenly the best idea he’s ever had. He can swim. Heck, he’s a great swimmer. The river is slow and Dean has bathed and swam in it many times. As far as he knows, the Vingkäitä can’t swim. Probably. No one has ever seen them in the water. Have they ever even landed before? All the paintings and drawings Dean has seen of them have been in the air.

The sky.

Flying.

He glances up as a shadow passes over him, and then another. Two shapes soar over the clearing, both with four wings spread wide and hiding the sun and the cloud. Something else is flying underneath them; shiny, round, and making the air shimmer behind it. The thing has arms hanging from it, long and thin, and ending in two pinching claws.

Dean is rooted to the spot. Terrified. He can’t move. His body feels so far away and everything has gone quiet around him. All he can do is stare as the Vingkäitä and their weird flying thing turn and circle back around the clearing.

Sound comes crashing back all at once; Sammy crying, the river babbling, Äity screaming.

With a gasp, Dean turns on his heel and runs for the river, crashing through bush and grass. Thorns and branches sting at his skin, but he can’t stop. He’s almost there. The river is right there. Just a little bit further and he can dive into the shallows and swim out to where the Vingkäitä won’t be able to reach him. But Dean doesn’t really know if he’ll be safe there. All he has is hope.

They won’t get Sam. He’s sure of that. But Äity is still in danger. Dean prays that she’ll be safe. Her totem, the pädder, with its woolly body and curled horns, is just like her; determined and curious and smart. If she can’t get through this, no one can. She probably went for the trees, or maybe even made for the river like him now that Sam is hidden and safe.

Please let Sam be safe. Please let Äity be safe.

The whining hum gets loud and a wind whips up around him. Dean can taste his heart in his throat and he pushes himself harder. The river is there. It’s right there. So close. So close. So close.

A sharp pain stung him in the middle of his back, like the bite of an insect. Almost immediately, Dean feels tired. His run becomes a stagger and he sways on his feet towards the river. He’s so close. He just needs to get there. Then he’s safe. Sam is safe. Äity is safe. So safe.

No.

So sleepy.

Why is he so sleepy? He’s not supposed to be sleepy. He’s supposed to be… Be what?

Why is he running?

Dean stumbles and tilts forward. He’s going to fall first into a bush, but then he doesn’t. There’s a pressure around his shoulders and under his arms, and he feels so weightless. The ground is getting farther and farther away from him, and, for the first time in forever, Dean isn’t afraid of the height. He’s not afraid of falling, or of the loud whine right above his head.

Äity is calling for him, but Dean can’t answer.

He’s just too sleepy.

So… sleepy.

Chapter Text

A repetitive beeping draws Castiel’s attention away from his lesson on the skeletal and muscular anatomy of the Homosapien species. His talons flex in his perch and he glances away from the screen of his desk to look at the PADD resting on the counter in the kitchen on the other side of the living space. His mother left it there last night, though she really should have taken it to her private roost.

With his chin propped in his hand and an elbow on one of his knees, Castiel is quite comfortable. He includes this as a factor while he weighs the pros and cons of getting up to answer whatever notice Mother is receiving himself, or if he should notify her instead.

Once he comes to a decision, he taps the screen to pause his lesson. It takes little concentration to find his mother’s sha’ra and reach out to her. (Naomi, someone is attempting to contact you.)

Moments after touching her thoughts with his, Castiel hears the click of talons on the floor long before his mother comes through the doorway that leads to their personal roosts and the refresher they share. Mother is wearing only white linen wrapped between her legs and hanging over her hips in folds. Her breasts are bare and her dark hair is tied up in a loose bun, feathered strands falling free and hanging around her face. She must have woken up fairly recently.

(Are you already working on your lessons for the day?) Mother raises an eyebrow at him as she picks up her PADD. (You will complete them ahead of your age group if you continue at this rate.)

He nods and looks down at his own PADD, covered in the notes he had been taking during the lesson. (I wish to begin contributing to our society as soon as I am able.) Though it will still be at least a few more years of lessons and the approval of his thesis before that will be a possibility, no matter how efficient Castiel is with his learning.

It is not common for feelings to be shared between sha’ra with one’s thoughts, but Castiel is surprised to feel pride edging his mother’s next touch. (Am I correct to assume that you have already decided what it is that you wish to do?)

Heat begins to suffuse Castiel’s cheeks at the attention. He refuses to look up and instead draws the point of his nail over the screen that makes up the majority of his desk, tracing the femur of the skeleton of a female homo sapien. Castiel is continuously impressed by just how much of their genetics the Aetherians owe to this particular species.

(Yes, Naomi.) He finally looks up with a close-lipped smile, because to bare one’s teeth in their culture is an act of aggression. (I look forward to accompanying you to work one day. Not as your son, but as your colleague.)

She returns the smile with a nod. (As do I.)

Mother turns away and taps at the PADD, silencing the trill of the incoming message. Castiel knows it must be flagged as important, otherwise it would have only beeped a few times and then fallen silent. He is about to return to his lessons when his mother’s upper wings nearly double in size and her lower wings spread out in surprise. When he reaches out to touch her sha’ra, it’s to find her thoughts trembling with excitement.

Curious, Castiel sits up straighter, though still with his knees almost pressed to his chest. It must be related to her work. (Good news?)

(Very!) Mother drops her PADD on the counter again and rushes from the room. (We finally have a new addition! The last acquisition team for this sector was successful.) The whining hum of the sonics powering up in the refresher starts to echo down the hall. (Would you like to come with me and observe the intake process in person?)

This is quite the opportunity, and Castiel would be a fool to pass on it. (Of course. Thank you for the opportunity, Naomi.)

Her approval tickles briefly from sha’ra to sha’ra, and it makes Castiel’s halo tingle. He reaches up to touch it, the sharp points of his nails raking against the hard keratin without making a scratch. It will take more than that to damage it.

Smothering a yawn under his other hand, Castiel stands up on his perch and stretches. He spreads all four wings out as he angles his arms above his head, craning his neck from side to side. It will be a few years yet before he will be close to touching the ceiling. Their species can reach nearly two-hundred-and-forty-four centimeters in height. His mother stands just barely over two-hundred-and-thirty-one centimeters. Castiel will likely be taller, given how he was designed as such.

The shade has been closed on the window since they retired to their roosts last night. According to the chrono-meter at the top of the screen of his desk, it is early morning. The sun should have risen a few hours ago, but Castiel was too absorbed in his lessons to think of opening the window.

He steps off the spongy tube of his perch and spreads his talons on the floor, clicking them one at a time in a stretch. The dial next to the round window controls how open the iris shade is. With a flick of his wrist, he spins it fully and the iris draws away from the center of the window with a slow whirr, folding into the edges until the floor-to-ceiling circular is clear. The edge of the sun peeks around the side of the circular residential building opposite theirs, flooding the living space with light.

Castiel closes his eyes briefly against the sun, welcoming what little warmth it gives through the quartz glass. The sudden silence as the sonics in the refresher cuts off brings him back to reality. He shakes himself out and turns, bypassing the kitchen to head down the hall to his roost. The door opens in the same iris fashion of the window as he approaches, and slips shut behind him as the lights come on automatically.

Currently, he wears nothing but a split skirt over his underclothing. That would be inappropriate to wear to his mother’s place of work. They will be heading to the zoological research section of the collection facility, and possibly into the public section of the facility where individuals not involved in studying the specimens from the planet’s surface are still able to view them.

A simple touch to a panel on the wall opens his wardrobe, and it slides out into the center of the room from next to the panel. Bolts of cloth and the belts that hold them hang evenly from the spaced rungs along its length, along with his shirts and pants. Beneath them hang baskets that hold his underclothes, a few of his personal treasures, and various jewelry pieces that he has been gifted throughout the course of his lifetime.

He ignores those for today. Jewelry and baubles have no place in the research facility. Instead, he reaches for a rarely worn pair of pants. Mother has made it very clear that anyone entering the research facility should wear them. The usual draping fabrics of the robes and skirts that the majority of Aetherians wear leaves too much to be grabbed and pulled by the specimens they work with. Granted, Castiel is fairly certain that the researchers don’t interact with them on a daily basis. It is, however, still good practice.

The cuffs of the pants are wide and loose so as not to ruffle the feathers that start just above his ankles and cover the arch of his feet. His thin, pointed talons emerge from under the feathers, much like those of bubo scandiacus; three talons in the front and one in the back. Castiel differs from his mother in that aspect. From the ankle down, her skin is rough and yellowed, and her feet end in three toed raptorial talons, with one extra toe and talon at the end. She resembles buteo jamaicensis in that and the shape and colour with both sets of her wings.

Castiel curls his talons under his feet to keep them from snagging in the fabric. With more care than likely needed, he puts his feet through each leg and stretches his talons against the floor once done. The pants have loops through which he feeds a belt to cinch it in place around his waist. To that, he clips a pouch on either hip. One is specifically designed to hold his PADD. The other he uses to store a handful of data-chips, and a few extra styluses just in case he loses the one attached to his PADD or it breaks.

His roost is composed of the same spongy material as the perch at his desk. Though it looks much the same, the roost has a second bar, though flatter, of adjustable height offset from the one he crouches on throughout the night. It is adjustable so that he can move it as he grows, giving him a place to cross his arms and lean his chest while sleeping.

Taking two strips of cloth from his wardrobe, Castiel props first his foot against the bottom rung of his roost. One end of the cloth has a hook in it that attaches to a corresponding loop on the outside end of the cuff of his pants. He latches them together and starts the somewhat tedious process of wrapping around his calf and down to where the downy feathers start at his ankle. The other end of the cloth strip has a rough patch that adheres to other fabric. With a firm press, it holds to binding and won’t come loose until peeled apart.

After repeating the process with his other leg, Castiel does a few squats and stretches to ensure that they are loose enough to allow for movement. Satisfied, he fetches a shirt from his wardrobe. It is the last of the clothing he will need, and a gentle tap to the panel sends it back into the wall. His shirt is mostly made of a bolt of fabric to cover his chest and sides. It has ties that he will have to connect both under and above his lower set of wings. A metal band with a hinge at its center clasps around his neck and holds the collar in place.

Now fully dressed, Castiel tucks the hem into the waistband of his pants and checks his reflection in a mirror hanging next to the panel on the wall. His hair was combed and styled after he used the refresher when he woke. It has dried fully now, and it gets a little fluffy around the base of his halo where it grows up and back from the tops of his temples. The feathers of his ears are soft and downy, and he combs his fingers through them to fix a few that got out of place during his studying.

As for his wings, the iridescent feathers are still glossy from his monthly preening session with his mother from several days ago. They are still partially composed of down, but are thankfully strong enough for flight. In shadow, his feathers look almost black, but they shine with yellows, greens, purples, and subtle shades of colour in the light. Castiel is, perhaps, a little vain about his wings. The colour is most appealing to him, and he is grateful that his mother requested this particular colouring when she opted to have a child.

By the time Castiel steps from his roost room, his mother is already in the kitchen. Her clothing is very similar to his own, though her shirt is built with support for her breasts. Aside from a few feathered strands framing the bases of her halo, the rest of her hair is tied up in a neat, tight bun. She looks up at him, eyebrow raised. The core of an apple is in hand and she throws it into the freestanding recycler at the end of the counter.

(Are you ready, Castiel?) Mother twists at the waist and does a few squats of her own.

He nods and heads for the door. (I am.) His breakfast was a while ago, but he will not be hungry for several hours yet.

For all their size, Aetherians do not require as many calories as the creatures whose genetics they have borrowed. They have very efficient systems and complete control over their minds and bodies. With some concentration, Castiel is capable of slowing his metabolism even further. He also requires less sleep than homo sapiens, the dominant species of the planet below.

As such, Castiel should not require another meal until they return to their residence. If it is at all necessary for him to eat prior to that, there are cafeterias at the research lab where he could easily obtain something to satisfy him.

There is a panel next to the circular iris door that opens it with a single touch. The weather report that came to his PADD this morning indicates that it will be a warm, sunny day – which is quite normal for this time of the sol cycle. Already he can smell the sunshine and feel the wind that races through the floating city.

With his mother close behind, Castiel steps out onto the spongy surface of their landing pad. It is covered in the pockmarks left behind by their talons. It has to be a springy material to absorb their impact when they land. Castiel digs his talons in and tucks all four wings close to his back as he gets buffeted by the wind. Their residence is fairly high up in the tower, and the winds are stronger out here.

The door slides shut behind them and locks itself once the sensors have confirmed no one else remains inside. It will unlock upon their return, acknowledging the weight of someone on the landing pad and recognizing them by the identity chips implanted in their wrists at birth.

Mother nods at him and Castiel barely refrains from grinning. A smile should be close mouthed and remain primarily in the eyes. Most of the species on this planet bare their teeth only in aggression. There are some who do not, homo sapiens for example, but the Aetherians did not adopt aspects of their culture, merely aspects of their genetics.

Facing into the wind, Castiel closes his eyes and spreads all four of his wings at the same moment that he unclenches his talons. The gusts are strong enough to fill his wings and lift him from the platform, sending him tumbling backwards and into the open air. He opens his eyes again, blinking rapidly to avoid the tears the winds bring to them. It drags at his ears and he folds them closer to the sides of his head, protecting the delicate feathers even as they catch the sounds of the city for him.

This is one of his favourite things about flying. At his age, he should be past this childish delight, and yet this is not something he can help. Their floating cities are not what make Aetherians great. It is their wings that puts them above the creatures of this planet.

He plummets past the platforms that mark the homes of the other residents within the building. Some are stepping out to head off to work themselves, and others are dormant and silent, perhaps having worked overnight or do not start their jobs until later. He is rapidly nearing the base of the tower and the city floor, and warning tingles through his sha’ra from his mother.

With a sigh that is ripped from his lips, Castiel folds his wings in and flips over. He snaps them out again and glides out of his fall, tilting to one side to angle around the curved edge of the building. Mother soars well above him. Castiel does not know if she likes flying as much as him, and he will never ask her because his mother is above such things. Hopefully he will never lose his exuberance for flight.

The residential district of Ra’haya, the primary city of his people, contains a total of twenty-four cylindrical towers. There are two hundred units per building, and they house all five thousand citizens. The towers are clustered in a semi-circle around the edge of a massive domed terrarium containing various vegetation and creatures from their home world; Atun’eal. This terrarium and the ones that match it on the secondary and tertiary cities are all that remains of their original planet.

None of the Aetherians currently alive have actually seen their home world. It is long gone and, last they were there, rapidly becoming uninhabitable. That was several generations ago; hundreds upon hundreds of sol cycles. Their home world was ancient and diseased; dying. More than half their people died with it, and those who were immune to the ravaging built three cities, gathered what healthy plants and animals they could to preserve them, and left.

This was the first planet they found that had a habitable atmosphere. Since life was already thriving here, and Aetherians are a particularly scientific species, they chose to stay and study it. After naming it Har’adid, they have spent their time studying everything about it, gathering samples to analyze and add to their collections. This ranges from creatures, to plant life, to geology, and the weather.

Occasionally, during their studies, they found a particularly fascinating trait in the creatures that they found beneficial to survival, and adopted it into their own genetic code. As such, Aetherians look almost nothing like they did when they arrived. All that remains of their original forms are their halos. Without them, they would not be able to communicate telepathically, as is the way with their species.

While Aetherians are capable of vocal speech, and they do have a spoken language, it is actually frowned upon to use one’s mouth to speak. Many find it disgusting to use their mouth for anything other than eating, and even that is done in relative privacy or with eyes averted when in company. Children are taught this at a young age, thus why homo sapiens, with their verbal language, their laughter and their smiles, are…

Now this is something Castiel takes issue with. His lessons are succinct and to the point. They contain only facts uncovered through the extensive studies his people have done on other species, but the forums on which he can discuss his lessons with others of his age group are cluttered with opinions. And none of them are good. Homo sapiens live in the mud and they speak with dirty mouths. Aetherians are, at their core, a rather haughty race. Even with homo sapiens displaying all the marks of a burgeoning civilization, the vast majority of Castiel’s people seem to think that they are nothing more than another animal to observe.

He is already starting to disagree with those opinions, but he cannot mention his own feelings. Castiel remains silent on those discussions, and only speaks of fact when prompted. There is a very small collective of their people who sympathize with the homo sapiens, but they are looked down upon and mocked relentlessly for their views. His mother is one such person who speaks of them with disdain, and he does not wish to bring that upon himself.

(Pay attention, Castiel.) Mother admonishes him as he drifts in thought around the edge of the building next to theirs. It lengthens the trip to the biology division of the research sector, but it is hard to resist the urge to weave between the towers. (The specimen will arrive shortly. We must make haste.)

Castiel chastises himself and quickly corrects course, beating his lower wings to add speed and catch up to where his mother is circling tightly above the terrarium. Once he is beneath her, she breaks out of her pattern and begins the short flight across the city. Since he fell so far, Castiel actually has to skim along the side of the terrarium as he beats his wings to help him climb higher.

Ra’haya is a circular city, with a diameter of twenty kilometers. At least a quarter of the city proper is taken up by the residential district and the terrarium. The building housing their government and the offices that keep the city functioning are separated from the towers by the terrarium. They intersect, somewhat, with the dome of the government building pressing into the terrarium. Inside, that wall is entirely glass, giving the workers a full view of the terrarium. Castiel has seen it once, and it is fairly nice.

Below and between the buildings is water. The entire city rises out of a lake, though it is only a meter deep. Mother says it is purely for aesthetic purposes. The water runs through filters at the edges of the city that keep it from stagnating and growing algae, and it is not at all connected to the tanks in the underbelly of the city from which their drinking water comes from.

All processing plants are kept beneath the surface of the city, and Castiel is excited for the lessons that will require a guided tour through them. He should be coming up to those shortly, and then mother will arrange for him to shadow an employee for that division for a day. It will be very interesting to learn further about the function of their city, though he knows it will not be enough to draw him from his goal to work with his mother in the zoology division of the science sector.

Beyond the government building, a waterfall rises up from the lake. It is not very large, and again purely aesthetic, but the science district of the city lies above it and spreads to the far edge. The majority of their city is devoted to this district. It is composed of domed buildings grouped by their branches of science and connected with covered walkways.

One building has been devoted to the arts, both visual and musical. His people do not sing, but they have many instruments that produce quite lovely sounds. They make paintings, and pottery, carve statues from stone, and reliefs in wood. Those that feel an artistic calling, or need to give their minds a break, flock there to try their hand at creation.

Castiel made a bowl there once, and it sits on their kitchen counter where his mother puts the fruit they have delivered or replicated. It was quite fun and he would be interested in doing it again, or perhaps to learn how to whittle like the homo sapiens do.

Biology, thus far, is the biggest building of them all. It has six domes connected to it, but today they head for just one; the zoology division. That is where the zoo is housed. Internally, it is divided into similar sectors as they have divided this world, and the creatures they gather from the planet’s surface are organized as such.

The zoo is open to visitors, but the rest of the building is closed off to the public. Though he is technically still public until his dissertation is complete and he has been assigned a position without the zoological department, Castiel is granted access to the restricted areas when he accompanies his mother. He wonders if any other children will be present for this event. It is not every day that a new homo sapien specimen is brought in.

They soar over the massive dome of the biology building and bank towards the zoology division. Though its diameter is large, the building itself is short. Like the terrarium, it is composed primarily of quartz glass so as to give the inhabitants the illusion of being outdoors while in their specially designed enclosures. The very top of the dome is partially concave, dipping into a well that continues straight through to the bottom of the building.

With his mother in the lead, Castiel tilts his wings and begins to circle after her, descending into the well. As they spiral down through the opening, they can see the different enclosures that span out from the center. Glass walkways extend above them all.

The landing pad at the bottom is made of the same spongy material as the platform outside their home. It absorbs the impact of their landing. One of Mother’s coworkers, also dressed in the same crisp white pants and shirt, is waiting. He hands her a data chip the moment she approaches, and she plugs that into her PADD.

Castiel already has his stylus and PADD in hand, ready to take notes. His halo tingles at the other conversations around them and he concentrates to listen only to the one between his mother and her co-worker. Generally, eavesdropping is frowned upon, but exceptions are made for students like him. Especially students who are already interested in working in this field. It is very important that he collect all that can whenever he is allowed to be here.

At the moment, they are in the process of discussing the proposed age and overall visual health of the newest addition to the collection. Castiel scribbles it down quickly on his PADD; young male, approximately six to nine sol cycles of age. An exact age will be determined once they can look at his teeth. Appears to be in good health.

Emotions should be kept from the sha’ra, but both of the adults currently present are practically trembling with excitement. The search teams have been patrolling this sector for the last eighty-six days in an attempt to find a specific specimen. The zoological department wishes to facilitate breeding between specimen F-3 with a male of approximately the same age. Eventually, of course. Homo sapiens do not reach sexual maturity for many cycles.

After many studies, it has been determined that homo sapiens prefer mating amongst the same age groups. All the male specimens they have for this sector are fully grown adults, and they are many sol cycles older than F-3, who was born six sol cycles ago in their facility. It was the first time they had collected a pregnant female, though not the first birth they have handled here.

Though they have observed four different tribes in this sector, the specimens they have collected and put together in the zoo have come together to form a unique tribe with traits from all four. The same can be said for the tribes from other sectors. It has been most fascinating to see them interact. Only once were there tensions between specimens and had to be separated occasionally, but they quickly overcame them in the face of captivity together.

And there is a distinct difference in the traits between the specimens they collect from the planet’s surface and those that are born here. F-3 and F-4 are not afraid of differences in their surroundings. They do not fight when it is time for the annual check-up, and they show no fear in the face of the Aetherians. Collected specimens are hesitant around them, they show degrees of wariness and normally need to be tranquilized for check-ups.

Of course the tribe has assigned actual names to F-3 and F-4, but Castiel has made it a point not to learn any of the recorded names for the specimens in their care. He needs to keep himself separated. If he refers to them by their designations, then he does not feel… bad… that homo sapiens have a civilization. They have a language, and use tools. They make clothing and have trade between their tribes. They are a people. Despite wanting to study them, Castiel is worried that he may not be able to treat them like any other animal in their collection.

Castiel shakes himself out and refocuses on the information that his mother is reading from her PADD. She shares it with him through their sha’ra. The new specimen will be designated 1-M-7; the seventh male specimen from Alpha Sector (or, colloquially, Sector One). Age to be determined by analysis of his teeth. As of yet, 1-M-7 has not had a negative reaction to the tranquilizer, thankfully. He is from Tribe Site C in the jungle trees.

That bit of information is truly exciting and even Castiel cannot contain himself, his feathers spreading to fluff his wings. This is the first specimen from Site C that they have ever had. They have had information transmitted to them from their sister cities, Ta’thani and Ba’thali, regarding their specimens from Alpha Sector Site C. But second-hand information is not the same as learning it themselves, let alone that this is a child specimen.

It will be very interesting to see how a child will integrate into the community that has formed within the Alpha Sector enclosure. They currently have a mix of members from Tribe A (located in the mountainous region of this sector), Tribe B (located on the edge of the sea), and Tribe D (located on the plains). As they have been observed to have connections between the same tribes within a sector, it was long since decided not to mix specimens from different sectors.

This appeals greatly to Castiel’s scientific mind. He has already learned quite a bit about the major differences in the way of life for tribes of the different sectors. Since they wish to avoid conflict and the unnecessary loss of life that would undoubtedly come from mixing tries of different sectors, it made the most sense to keep them separate. Though Castiel would be interested to see what would happen if they did mix them.

It is best that they do not do that, though. Homo sapiens seem to have a tendency towards violence when faced with the unknown. Castiel’s lessons have already gone over the observed aggressions between some tribes. As interesting as the psychology behind it all, the facility prefers to avoid bloodshed and will simply continue to observe the interactions between the planet-side tribes from afar for the time being.

Everything that Castiel scribbles on his PADD is automatically translated into a typed document. It is much more legible than his quick scrawl. His mother starts walking alongside her co-worker, and Castiel follows blindly as he focuses on taking his notes. One day, he will have to be doing this while making observations of his own and he must be fast. Yes, everything that happens is recorded, but it still is best to get first impressions down.

Mother comes to a stop so suddenly that Castiel nearly walks into her wing. He looks up to find that they are in a nondescript hall now, standing in front of a section of the wall with a square etched into it. There is a panel next to it and he watches as her co-worker taps it lightly. The etched section shimmers briefly before turning transparent.

(Come forward, Castiel.) Naomi turns and gestures for him to move closer to the window. (You will have a better view from here.)

(Thank you, Naomi.) He nods at her and takes his place in front of her.

More of her co-workers are crowding in around them, and a half-dozen adults are now pressing in to watch the initial review of their latest specimen. Castiel is barely tall enough to see in and he stretches up as tall as he can to watch.

The only object in the room is a raised table at its center. Their newest specimen lies on it, and Castiel’s breath catches in his throat. He leans forward with wide eyes, almost pressing his nose to the glass as he tries to take it all in. With the many times that he has come to the zoo, and through his lessons too, Castiel has seen every specimen they have. But this is still the first that he has had the opportunity to see a new one in person.

1-M-7 is smaller than him, though not by much. Castiel has been alive for ten sol cycles and he will be taller than his mother when he is fully grown. Aetherians are roughly the same size as homo sapiens until puberty, in which Aetherians begin to outpace them as they grow to their adult size. The tallest homo sapien they have ever collected was just barely over two-hundred-and-thirteen centimeters.

Mother’s PADD enters his field of vision and Castiel turns his head to review the data flickering across it. He memorizes it quickly before adding height and weight to his own notes. 1-M-7 is one-hundred-twenty-three point three centimeters, and a healthy weight for his age and height at twenty-three kilograms. Most impressive.

In full view of Castiel, Mother taps at something on her PADD and the window in front of them suddenly shifts. A rectangle forms around the table and specimen 1-M-7, and the image quickly fills the whole window to give them a much closer look. He is lying on his back; dark eyelashes fan against tanned checks speckled with freckles. Castiel is envious, for he has often wished that his mother had requested he have freckles when he was being designed.

There is a curious lack of upper body clothing, and Castiel wonders if it is due to the warmer weather of the area. Tribe Site C is located in a jungle. Maybe it is more common for males of this tribe, not matter the age, no to wear upper body clothing. 1-M-7 must have been very warm, because he only wears a loincloth on his lower half; a strip of animal hide running between his legs and hooked over a strip of leather around his waist before hanging down in front and behind him.

His feet are bare and fairly dirty. He will be given a good washing before he can be allowed into the enclosed environment of his new home. Castiel has yet to have the opportunity to view a full cleansing and he looks forward to being able to take notes of his own accord.

Aside from a slight bowing of the legs, the skeletal scan already taken before they arrived has identified no physical deformities. In all aspects, 1-M-7 is an excellent specimen. He is quite healthy and will make for an excellent mate for F-3, if they can facilitate a relationship between them.

(We are prepared to continue with a more thorough evaluation.) Mother’s coworker taps his own PADD and the window returns to normal. (Shall we?)

Mother nods. (Let us proceed.) She removes her PADD from Castiel’s view, but her free hand pats his head lightly. (Pay attention, Castiel.)

(Yes, Naomi.) He nods, PADD and stylus at the ready.

A door opens in the side of the room, iris unfurling to allow someone to step through. It closes just as quickly behind them. Castiel’s wings shiver and shift against his back. He has seen pictures and read about the protective gear that is worn around a specimen before it is cleansed, but it is an entirely different matter to see it in person.

The suit covers them entirely, wings and halo included. Castiel cannot begin to imagine how uncomfortable it must be to have one’s wings encased in a layer of rubber. The hood of the suit covers their halo, and even though Castiel knows the silhouette of an Aetherian, he still thinks it looks deformed in some way. A sheet of plastic covers the face, and a filter over the mouth allows the wearer to breathe.

Castiel vaguely recognizes the woman, though he cannot quite place her name just yet. He is more interested in paying attention to how she approaches the home sapien child. A part of the wall next to the door folds into the floor and a table filled with machines slides forwards. From the table, she picks up a needle and vial. Castiel tries not to squirm in place as she moves to draw a sample of blood from 1-M-7’s arm.

Once the vial is full, she places it in one of the machines where it will be analyzed down to the last platelet to ensure that 1-M-7 has no diseases. As the machine whirs to life, lights flickering here and there, the Aetherian returns to 1-M-7’s side, standing on the far side of the table so as not to obscure the view for everyone at the window.

It zooms in once again, as she uses her fingers to check the specimen’s teeth. Another camera view from above opens in a side-by-side picture. They look alright to Castiel, but the Aetherian shakes her head and makes a gesture with her hand. A portion of the ceiling slides out of the way and more machines descend from above.

One such device has a long hose, and Castiel recognizes it for what it is. He hates going to the dentist to have his teeth cleaned, and that is exactly what is about to happen. His stomach goes tight and uncomfortable as she starts to clean 1-M-7’s teeth, running the device over each and every tooth and along his gums. Once she is satisfied, she hangs the tool back where it belongs.

She pulls down a different one with a mold generally resembling the shape of the inside of the homo sapien mouth. They do not have the same pointed four canines that Aetherians do, so it is slightly different to accommodate their flatter teeth. The device is placed inside 1-M-7’s mouth and begins the scan and analysis of his teeth.

While the machine works, the Aetherian moves onto his clothing. The simple cured hide is functional, but not visually or aesthetically pleasing. The fabric synthesized for the specimens in the enclosure are far fancier. Since they have no need to hunt for food, they spend much of their time using the fabric, beads, and stones provided to them to make decorated clothing and tents. It is fascinating the differences between what they have created themselves compared to what they were brought in with.

The Aetherian in the room removes 1-M-7’s clothing and dumps them into a recycler attached to the table of machines against the wall. Its matter will be broken down into the core recycler in the underbelly of the ship and re-used through the replicators to make whatever is inputted. As long as the sequence has been programmed in, a replicator can make any food or material requested of it. Castiel has not gotten to the point of his lessons that will dissect the reclamation technology and science, but he looks forward to it.

A scanner extends from the mess of machines from the ceiling and Castiel watches, enraptured, as a wide beam scans 1-M-& from the crown of his head to the tip of his toes. Several areas on his arms and chest, and even on his face, are left highlighted. The magnified image on the window shows them to be a number of dermal abrasions. They appear fresh and must have been received during his collection.

Castiel watches as the Aetherian uses a dermal regenerator to erase the abrasions, leaving behind smooth, freckled skin. By that point, the scan of his teeth has been completed and she removes the device, letting it recoil back into the ceiling. The results display on the window and Castiel is pleased to find that their estimations were more or less correct. 1-M-7 is aged seven sol cycles, and his teeth are in excellent condition. His tribe must have some kind of care routine for them.

Castiel is not much older than the homo sapien child on the other side of the glass. That pricks uncomfortably at his insides and he focuses briefly on suppressing the feeling until it can no longer be felt. It should not matter to him that he is only a few sol cycles older than 1-M-7. The difference cannot be compared, as Castiel will mature much quicker. He will be considered an adult in Aetherian society by the time 1-M-7 reaches puberty, and will be nearly his full height by then.

But that is how silly homo sapien evolution is. Their children stay so small for so long. It is a wonder that they have managed to survive for this long, or to have spread and evolved as much as they have. It is no less than amazing, actually, and it is no surprise that Castiel is utterly fascinated by the species.

Now it is time to bathe the specimen to ensure that no mites (such as pediculus humanus capitis or anything from the order siphonaptera) are introduced to the enclosure. Castiel arches up on the balls of his feet as high as he can to get a better view. The angle is not very good, but it is better than not being here at all.

1-M-7 gets scrubbed from head to toe with clinical precision using a disinfecting soap and a cloth. His hair is washed with an anti-bacterial solution. In the midst of being washed off, Castiel notes a change in the room and promptly locates his mother’s sha-ra.

(Naomi.) He spreads one of his wings back to bump against her front. (I believe 1-M-7 is waking up. His fingers are twitching.)

After a moment of observation for herself, approval tingles across his halo. (Good catch, Castiel.)

The muted tap of her fingers against the PADD follow her thoughts, and a message appears on an opaque screen on the wall above the machines. A notification noise must sound in the room, though Castiel cannot hear it, because the Aetherian lifts her head to read it. She immediately abandons washing the solution out of 1-M-7’s hair to grab a tranquilizer from a rack of them on the counter.

With one quick injection, the twitching stops again.

Once the washing is done, the Aetherian uses a blow dryer and a towel. That two ends up in the recycler when finished. Castiel has documented the whole process down to the last detail, and has made notes to ask which machines were used, and what all the others in the room are for. Which ones are used should the specimen be in poor health? Or disabled? Or worse… dying?

New clothing is folded neatly on the table, and Castiel wonders when they replicated. The Aetherian dresses 1-M-7 in a loincloth, leggings, and tunic made of a soft fabric replicated to be like the wool fibers used by a tribe from Gamma Sector with a thriving agriculture. It will be much better to move in, and easier to wash.

The Aetherian carefully turns 1-M-7 onto his stomach and removes a pointed tool from the collection hanging from the ceiling. She tugs the collar of the tunic down away from his neck and presses the tip of the device to his skin. It moves back and forth, but her hand and the tool itself block the view to see what is truly happening. He has a feeling he knows what she is doing, but he would like a confirmation rather than to simply assume.

(Naomi?) Castiel glances back at her over his shoulder. (What is she doing?)

(Marking the specimen with his designation.)

Mother waits until the process is done before manipulating the window’s controls to show the lines and swirling loops of their written language tattooed neatly onto the back of his neck. Castiel feels foolish for having asked. He knew this, and yet it had not occurred to him that was what was happening. This was the first he has ever seen someone tattooed. The practice is not wide spread amongst Aetherians, and he has only seen a handful of adults with images and wording scrawled across their skin.

With the tattooing done, the Aetherian in the room picks 1-M-7 up and carries him through a different door than the one they first came through. Mother and her co-workers immediately start down the hall, heading in the same direction. Castiel shuffles after them, lifting his talons and nearly jogging on the balls of his feet to keep up with the adults and their long strides.

A lift takes them up to the observation level, and they step out as a group onto one of the glass bridges that spread through the entire facility about the enclosures. Avian specimens fly freely through the building, their bird song filling the air. It was found that by allowing the smaller creatures free access to the building and the various enclosures, the mental health of the homo sapiens in the care of the facility improved. A touch of home, perhaps?

There is a room below where they stand on the bridge. Four simple walls with a pile of furs against one wall. The Aetherian from the preparation room enters through a door and places 1-M-7 in the pile of furs. She takes a moment to arrange him comfortably before leaving the room. It isn’t very big and Castiel is certain he would not be able to spread his wings fully in the space.

(What is that room for?) He crouches, trying to get a better look through the glass floor of the bridge.

(It is a transition room.) His mother squats next to him, her PADD held so he can continue to watch the information that spreads across it – observations and notes shared by her colleagues. (This is where he will learn about our facility and what his life will be like. Once he has adjusted, we will release him into the rest of the enclosure with the Alpha sector tribe.)

Castiel glances away from her PADD to look at the enclosure proper. It is separated by a wall from the room where 1-M-7 is resting. Since the enclosure is a wedge within the dome, it is wider at one end and narrows towards the center of the facility. The wide end has several rows of trees to obscure the stark white walls. Flowers are scattered throughout the grass field, long stalks waving in the simulated breeze. Vines and creeping ivy crawl up the other two walls, and the fourth at the center of the facility is covered in rocks. A waterfall spills over them and into a large pool, filling that end of the enclosure.

Several tents built with woven fabrics and wood are clustered around a stone fire pit off to one side, close to the water’s edge. It is so primitive and Castiel loves coming here to see it. What these people have managed to accomplish with what limited technology they have available – tools they put together and built with their own hands, no less – is nothing short of amazing.

The current specimens within the enclosure are milling about, finding things to keep themselves entertained. A few are swimming in the pool, though Castiel can’t be sure from here if it is to bathe or not. Others are washing their clothing against the rocks lining the pool. Some are weaving on massive looms, using fiber from wool and dyed with materials given to them.

There is no hunting here, since the mammals that make it worthwhile are kept in a separate part of the facility, but fishing is still a possibility. It is absurdly easy to breed different subclasses of osteichthyes and release them into the pools for their entertainment and as an opportunity to prepare food for themselves. This tribe also seems to enjoy using the bones to decorate the simple fabrics they weave.

The two children in this enclosure, F-3 and F-4, are chasing each other across the field. Their wild laughter snorts of disgust from the other adults around him, but Castiel finds himself quietly envious of the freedom they have. Displays of such emotion are frowned upon, and his eidetic memory finds no time in his past when he has actually laughed. A smile, perhaps, but never anything like the children below. What must it be like?

To Castiel’s disappointment, the specimens within the enclosure grow hushed and stop to look up at them. His feathers fluff at the sudden attention and he is somewhat tempted to wave at them, though he knows it would be inappropriate. Mother would scold him in front of her co-workers, and that would negatively impact their views on him. Especially since he one day hopes to work with them too.

As such, as difficult as it is, he pretends not to notice them. He is still very much aware two of the three adult females rush from the camp and into the field to gather their children. They bring them back to the tents and disappear from sight. It takes a long time before the rest of the adults return to what they were doing, though the ones who were swimming climb out of the water and walk naked to their tents.

Most of them have been here for quite some time. Castiel is sure that 1-M-6 was the last specimen to be collected and added to the enclosure, and that was at least one sol cycle previous. It would have had to be the last time Ra’haya was over this sector. Which should mean that they have all had a significant amount of time to get used to the Aetherians that come to watch them.

Zoologists like his mother come and go constantly, and the bridges are open to the public to come and view the specimens at their leisure. Really, the only thing that sets the researchers apart from the public are their outfits. His mother and her co-workers wear primarily white clothing, and they always wear pants in case they need to go into the enclosures for one reason or another. The majority of the public wear robed bottoms of some sort, and shirts are entirely optional.

(Now what do we do?) Castiel turns to his mother, his PADD balanced on his knees.

(We wait.) Mother’s gaze is firmly focused on her PADD, her mind processing the information in ways Castiel cannot yet begin to imagine. (He was only administered a half dose of tranquilizer and should wake shortly. Then we can begin his integration into the tribe.)

Her PADD is still angled for him to see and Castiel leans in, studying the differences between the notes from her colleagues. He is ready to learn anything she is willing to share before they can introduce 1-M-7 to the enclosure. It will be interesting to see how he will find his place in the existing hierarchy.

A small part of Castiel cannot help but wonder what 1-M-7’s name was before he was collected.

Chapter Text

Clouds. The clouds have come down out of the sky and settled between his ears. Dean has never felt so light and floaty in his life. The rest of him feels so far away, but his eyelids are so heavy. There’s an ache in the back of his neck that wasn’t there the last time he was awake and...

Wait.

When was the last time he was awake? Wasn’t he doing something important?

Memories come back slowly. Dean remembers mushrooms, and the river. He remembers Sammy and his äity. The clouds start to clear and he curls his fingers into his palm, toes flexing. There was screaming and crying. Fear. Why were they... The Vingkäitä.

It takes forever to open his eyes, fighting against the weight of them. His heart is pounding in his ears and Dean expects to be on a plate in front of a Vingkäitä, about to be eaten. But there’s nothing. Dean is alone, lying on his side on some of the softest furs he’s ever touched. That’s the only thing normal that he sees, because beyond the furs is white, white, white.

Slowly, because he can’t really move right and everything is stiff, he sits up. The back of his neck twinges as he looks around. It’s white everywhere; the floor, and the walls. There’s no trees, no dirt, no grass. Everything is just white, except for... There’s no ceiling. Dean looks up, and up, and up – and the back of his neck stings slightly as he does – and there’s nothing above him. The blue sky, wisps of clouds, but no breeze and he can’t see the sun.

What he does see – what makes his heart stutter hard in his chest – are a cluster of Vingkäitä standing in mid-air above him. No, wait. They’re standing on something, but it’s clear and hard to see. The edges gleam like sparkling stone, but he’s never seen something like that before. But those are definitely Vingkäitä. Hard not to recognize them, what with their wings and their clawed feet and eerie circle horns.

There are five big ones, and one small one. Dean has never seen them so close. The small one is squatting, head tilted and looking down through the see-through floor. All the big ones look like they’re leaning over some kind of railing? That’s terrifying. Dean would probably pass out if the floor was invisible and he couldn’t see where his next step was going to be.

The weight of their eyes is heavy and he cringes away from it. Dean grabs the edge of the fur on the top of the pile, directly under him, and draws it around himself. He rolls to try and hide under it, but still leaves himself enough space to be able to look around again. The memory of fear makes so much sense now, but relief eases through him when Dean finally confirms that Äity and Sammy aren’t here with him. But that quickly goes away, because maybe they got taken too. Maybe they’re just not here with him, but they’re somewhere else?

Dean worries at his bottom lip, his grip on the fur going white-knuckled. He hopes they’re not here, wherever here is. Obviously the Vingkäitä took him… but where? Where is here? And why? He closes his eyes tightly and tries not to imagine everything they might do to him. Are they going to kill him? Or eat him? Or… All he hears is Charlie’s voice in his ear, low and spooky as she tells him horror stories about what the Vingkäitä do with the people they take.

He shudders and the fur brushes against the back of his neck. It stings sharply and, automatically, he jerks it away so it doesn’t happen again. Dean’s other hand comes up, sliding his fingers across the side of his neck until he can feel over the area that hurts. It doesn’t feel like he’s been wounded, but it’s definitely sore. Is it just his imagination, or are there raised lines where there shouldn’t be?

With a whimper, Dean lowers his hand and wipes stinging tears from his eyes. What did the Vingkäitä do to him? He burrows into the fur and wraps his arms around himself, only to stop and sit up sharply again. The fur falls from his shoulders and he plucks at the tunic he’s wearing. This isn’t his. Dean was only wearing a loincloth, wasn’t he? Now he’s wearing leggings and a tunic, and they’re definitely not his. The fabric is flexible and loose, and nothing like the hide he had before.

It’s similar, though. The cut and the style are like his other clothes. They’re stitched together the same, but it’s not the same. This is a fabric made of fibers like the blankets that Otehkö brings back from his trips to the other tribes. 

That’s when it hits him. He’s wearing these because the Vingkäitä must have dressed him. But why?

Dean runs a hand through his hair, frustrated, and pauses mid-sniffle. Even his hair feels different. It’s soft and bouncy, like he freshly bathed in the river with soap root. And what about the dirt on his hands from digging in the dirt for the mushrooms? He looks at them and frowns. There’s not a speck of dirt on them, and no spots of berry juice that always stains his fingers when he plucks and eats them.

Did… did the vingkäitä… did they bathe him? Dean’s bottom lip wobbles and he hugs himself tightly, whimpering quietly to himself as he starts rocking in place. He feels so violated, and not just for being stolen from his home. Why would these – these creatures take him just to give him a bath and change his clothes? What else were they planning? Why is he here? Where is here?

He looks up at them, and the gathered five have barely moved. Another group has showed up, just three more big ones standing off to the side. They’re all looking at him, or glancing at some weird flat things in their hands. None of them say a word – not that Dean can hear, or see. Is this all they’re going to do? Are they just going to stand there and watch him while he’s in a strange room with nothing but flat white walls and a pile of fur?

Since the Vingkäitä don’t move, Dean’s curiosity starts getting the better of him. He can’t stand sitting still, half-hidden by the furs, and not do something. Carefully and slowly, just in case they move when he moves, Dean slides off the fur. Some of the Vingkäitä lean further over the – is it a railing? Whatever it is, they just seem to look at him more now that he’s moving.

Dean glances up every so often to keep an eye on them and make sure they don’t try and get any closer to him. He explores the room slowly, running his hands along the walls and occasionally sniffling to himself. The walls are smooth to the touch, and they’re nothing like he’s ever felt before. It’s difficult to tell, but he’s almost positive that they’re not made of stone, and definitely not made of wood.

After a lap around the square room – a square room! – Dean has found three different indentations in the walls. There are two big half-circles on the walls on either side of the fur pile, and one smaller circle up in the wall opposite the pile. He even checked under the furs and found nothing. They’re wrong too, but not completely. Sure, they’re really soft, but they’re scentless. Even if they were freshly made, where’s the smell of the oils and pastes used to cure them?

It’s just a small, empty room with Vingkäitä watching every move he makes.

The tears spill over and Dean sinks back down on the furs. He draws one up around his shoulders, but keeps it loose around his neck so it won’t rub against the spot that hurts. With a loud sniffle, and his vision going blurry as he cries, Dean draws his knees up to his chest and hugs them. He uses the sleeve of the tunic to rub at his eyes and nose.

What are they waiting for? The Vingkäitä haven’t moved by the time he looks back up at them. Is he just going to be stuck here forever? Is it really just him? As much as he wishes his äity or otehkö were here too, heck even Sammy would make him feel better, Dean really hopes that they’re not. He hopes that they’re back home in their family tree, safe and sound.

Something whirrs quietly on the other side of the room, and he immediately drops his head to see what it is. The small-ish circle is moving. Dean’s jaw drops and he stares as it slides down and into the wall all on its own. There’s still more wall there, but now it looks different. A little shiny, in a way, but still flat and still a wall. He’s at a loss for words to describe what he’s looking at.

Even the wall changing doesn’t make the Vingkäitä move. They don’t react as Dean gets up, though he keeps the one around his shoulders, and takes slow steps over to inspect the difference. He’s terrified, but curious. Even though the fur is wrong, it’s a comforting weight around him, and he kind of needs that right now. Otherwise, he would leave it in the pile.

Before Dean even reaches the opposite wall, the circle space flickers. A light fills it, like a miniature sun on the wall but not nearly as bright. Dean reaches for it, wanting to see if it’s hot like direct sunlight feels when he stands in it for too long. But then the circle space flickers again, and suddenly there’s a grown-up standing in it. He gasps and jumps back a step.

The grown-up is a woman he’s never seen before. Her hair is a dirty yellow, darker than Äity’s but lighter than Otehkö’s. She is also very small. The smallest grown-up that Dean has ever seen. Her head is as big as his hand, if not a little bigger. It’s like she’s a painting on the wall of his home, but she’s moving. A moving painting? Impossible! Dean wouldn’t believe it if he wasn’t seeing it for himself.

She smiles and waves at him, even though her eyes aren’t really looking at him. Her smile is a little stressed and Dean recognizes that kind of smile. It’s the same kind of smile Äity has when she’s afraid that Otehkö has been out hunting for too long. The moving painting lady is worried – afraid, but putting on a brave face. And that scares him.

He backs away, and then dives for the pile of fur when she starts talking. Dean hides behind it, because this has to be some kind of magic. The Vingkäitä take people, make them small, and put them in walls. That must be what’s going to happen to him!

“I know you must be scared right now, but please do not worry.” The woman’s smile turns a little softer. She has a bit of an accent that Dean has never heard before; speaking his language but with different inflections.

“My name is Ellen, and I am on the other side of that door.” She points to the wall on Dean’s right, where he found one of the half-circle ridges that dipped into the wall. “You are here because you were collected by the Vingkäs.”

Dean frowns. Does she mean the Vingkäitä? Why did she say it weirdly? And why is she talking so formally? It’s kinda stilted and weird. Like she’s not saying it all at the same time. He doesn’t like it and he wishes it would stop.

“You will be starting a new life here with a collection of other tribe members from the same area.” Ellen puts a hand to her chest. “I am from the mountains. Members of your new tribe here are from the plains, the seas, and even the jungle. You will see many new faces, but you do not have to be afraid. We are going to be your new family now.”

What? No! Dean starts shaking his head slowly, horrified with what the magic painting is telling him.

“I know this will be difficult for you to understand at first. It was difficult for all of us, but once you get used to it, you will understand that life is better here.” Ellen’s smile goes a little strained again, and Dean knows, without a doubt, that she’s lying again. “There are no predators here, and we always have good food to eat. Anything we could ask for is given to us. The Vingkäs watch us, and they learn from us, but we do not need to fear them. They simply want to learn.”

Learn? About what? What could they possibly learn from him that they haven’t learned from all the others they’ve taken? Is… Is this why no one is ever seen again? Are they just… kept here? That’s – It’s – This is a nightmare. It has to be. There’s no other explanation for it. Dean fell and hit his head while he was running from the Vingkäitä and he just hasn’t woken up yet.

Fear gives way to anger and Dean throws the fur off. He stomps over to the door that Ellen pointed at and he bangs at it, shouting at the painting-Ellen and up to the Vingkäitä. “Let me out! I want to go home!” He kicks at the door and winces at the pain that shoots up his foot. “You can’t keep me here!”

Ellen doesn’t even blink or acknowledge him. “I can tell you more about your new life here when I see you in person. This is just a… a recording of me. The Vingkäs are a very advanced people, with tools we have never dreamed of. They will use these tools to take very good care of you.”

“No!” Dean stomps his foot. “I don’t want them to take care of me!” He drums at the wall with both of his fists until they’re sore. “I want to go home!” Tears are streaming down his face again, and he doesn’t even know when they started. But Dean blinks them away and glares up at the Vingkäitä still standing above him. “Take me back home right now!”

A few of them tilt their heads, and Dean even notices that the small one’s wings flick out a bit, but none of them say anything. They don’t do anything except bow their heads and poke at the flat things in their hands. It’s like they’re ignoring him, and Dean hates it. No, he hates them!

Since they’re obviously not going to answer him, Dean marches over to the moving-painting and reaches out to touch Ellen. She’s flat and cold, like the wall, and doesn’t react. All she does is blink and give that same tense smile before she disappears altogether. The light in the wall vanishes, and the bit of it that had slid away comes back up until the wall is almost perfectly smooth again.

“Come back!” Dean slaps at the moving piece of the wall. “Come back and take me home!”

His shouting cuts off in the middle of a demand when a noise behind him catches his attention. Dean turns around just in time to see the door Ellen had pointed at slide away. Pieces of it fold in on themselves, sliding away neatly into the wall and leaving most of a circle cut out in the wall. Various vines of different types of ivy hang in the way, blocking the view of whatever might be waiting for him on the other side. He can hear voices and Dean seizes up for a moment, but just a moment, before he sprints for the furs again.

Burying under them, Dean flattens himself out as best he can and ignores any aches in the back of his neck. He lifts them back just a little bit, just enough for him to keep an eye on the door and whatever might be coming through it. Painting-Ellen did say that she would be waiting, but what if she’s as flat and unresponsive in person? And who else is here? Will there be anyone from his tribe?

No one has been taken in his lifetime, but Otehkö said someone had been taken the season before he was born. Every time he comes back from the annual taväiling – the great meeting between the chieftains – he has news about those who were taken from the other tribes. Äity always thanked the forest and its massive trees for keeping them safe. The other tribes are out in the open, but theirs is safely within their trees with lots of cover.

A lot of good that did Dean, though, didn’t it? Now he’s here, and he doesn’t even know where here is. His family is… is who-knows-where, and now a bunch of strangers are supposed to be his new tribe? He’s just supposed to accept that? No! The Vingkäitä aren’t going to tell him what to do. They’re children stealers – monsters. Maybe they still plan to eat him after they’re done ‘studying’ him. What’s that even supposed to mean? Don’t they have enough people for that?

Why can’t he just go home?

The vines shift, parting right down the middle, and Dean holds his breath to make sure that he doesn’t move. Ellen – real Ellen, not moving-painting Ellen – leans through them. She glances around the room, frowning slightly.

“Hello?” Her voice sounds clear and much nicer than it did as a moving-painting, but it still has that slightly different accent to it than Dean is used to. “Is anyone in here?”

Dean stays frozen in place. Maybe, if he doesn’t reveal himself, she’ll just leave and the Vingkäitä will leave, and then he can escape. He might have no idea where he is, but if he can find the river, then he can find his way back home. Somehow.

Ellen eventually settles on looking at the furs. One of her eyebrows raises slightly before she pulls back, the ivy falling back into place. She’s speaking loud enough just on the other side of it that Dean can still hear her. “It doesn’t look like anyone is here.”

A man’s voice answers her, with the same kind of weird accent. “Are you sure? It’s not like them to make a mistake…”

“Oh, I don’t think they did.” Ellen laughs, and it’s a nice sound, but it’s not as nice as Äity’s laugh. “But it sure doesn’t look like anyone is inside.”

There’s a moment of silence before the vines part again. This time a man leans in. He has a blond beard and blond hair, tied back and kept out of his face by a braid that hangs over his shoulder. Dean isn’t used to seeing men with long hair. Even the women of his tribe tend to keep it shorter, or tied back all the time. It just gets in the way, and twigs and branches catch on it when you’re in a hurry and not looking where you’re going.

The man looks around too, and the last place he looks is at the pile of furs. He stares at it for a really long time, and Dean takes slow, shallow breaths to try not to move too much. But still the man smiles gently. “Hi.”

Dean sucks in a sharp breath, and immediately covers his hand with his mouth to keep from making any other noise.

“You can come out from under there, y’know.”

He steps into the room, keeping his smile in place. Ellen follows, but they both stay by the door. Crouched, like they’re trying not to look threatening. Do they know they’re dealing with a kid? Probably. A grown-up wouldn’t be able to fit under the furs like this.

“My name is William.” The man touches his chest gently. “Everyone calls me Bill, so you can call me that too, okay?”

Bill holds out his hand, like he’s reaching out to a frightened animal, and Dean kind of hates him for it. He’s not a scared little kuttö with its long ears and fluffy little tail, though he might as well be. The Vingkäitä have caught him in a trap, just like the hunters do. He might not end up in a stew, like the kuttö, but he’s still trapped.

“What’s your name?” Bill tilts his head slightly, like he’s trying to catch a look at him through the slit between the furs.

Dean stays stubbornly quiet and he definitely doesn’t move.

That doesn’t seem to bother him. Bill just keeps smiling, and he jerks a thumb over his shoulder at the door. “It’s a lot nicer out there, y’know? We have a big open field, and the bedrolls are really comfortable. They’re stuffed with fresh sweet grass. I bet you’d like that, hm? And we have big a pond to swim in. Do you like to swim?”

Yeah, he does, but he’s not going to say that out loud. Dean loved the river by the village. It was sluggish and not very deep, but the water was clear. He liked ducking down until his feet touched the bottom, and then he could drift in the current and watch all the fish that swam around him. They always ended up right in the fishing nets, but it was always nice to watch. Sometimes he would try to catch them with his hands, but they were so fast and slippery, and he never could get a good grip.

“Are you hungry?” Ellen puts a hand on Bill’s shoulder and uses it to help her stand back up. “We have some fresh fish roasting on the fire, caught just this morning. I bet that would taste good, wouldn’t it?”

That does sound good. Dean’s stomach rumbles quietly and he shifts to put a hand over it, only to pull it away again because he doesn’t like the feel of the soft fabric. He did have breakfast, but he doesn’t know how long ago that was. Even though he could see the sky from this room, he couldn’t see the placement of the sun to figure out the time of day. It’s still bright out, but where do the Vingkäitä live? It could be really close or really far away. Painting-Ellen didn’t say anything about it.

When he doesn’t answer for a long time, Bill sighs and points upwards. “They’re going to want you to come out sooner rather than later.” He’s gotta be talking about the Vingkäitä. “I know it’s tough being in this place at first, and being taken from your home, but I promise it’s not all bad. We’ve got a good group of people here.” Ellen snorts at his side and Bill elbows her in the thigh. “Mostly! But not everyone is perfect, y’know? Would you like to come meet them?”

No, he really wouldn’t. Dean doesn’t want new friends, or a new tribe. He just wants to go home where he knows everyone. Where he’s going to grow up and be their taafër one… day… Oh no. What happens if he never gets back? Is Sammy going to take his place when Otehkö steps down? That means Dean is never going to get to go to the taväiling, or go see any of the other tribes, or even go beyond the map. How much is he really going to get to see if he stays here? Oh no, oh no, oh no.

It’s starting to get hard to breathe. There’s no ceiling above him; just the clear space the Vingkäitä are standing on, and the sky beyond them, but it feels like the walls are closing in on him. The furs feel like they’re suffocating him, and all Dean wants is to be home in his forest again. He wants the scent of leaves and loam, the rustle of the branches swaying in the wind, and the chatter of the animals in the brush while the birds sing. Dean can sort of hear them here, but barely, and he needs out.

He needs to get out.

With great, heaving breaths, Dean throws the furs off and jumps to his feet. Both Ellen and Bill smile, but that quickly turns into surprise when he charges right for them. They jump out of the way and Bill falls back, right on his butt. Dean runs through the doorway, slapping the vines of ivy out of his face, and barrels straight into the stomach of another body. He stumbles back and looks up at him, eyes wide.

This man has darker skin than anyone Dean has ever seen before. His hair is black as night and curly and tight against his head, and he has jewelry hanging from his ears. He looks surprised, and then a little angry. “A kid?” His voice is deep, and rough, and the words sound just a little bit different again. “Those bastards brought us a kid this time?”

Why doesn’t anything sound right here?

Dean stumbles around that man, only to face off against a group of waiting people. There are another four men standing grouped together, and two women with young children in their arms. The man behind him puts a hand on his shoulder and Dean slaps it away with a shout, lurching away to try and put some distance between him and everyone else.

One of the women wears a patch of leather over her left eye, and she stands with a young girl in front of her. The girl is maybe the same age as Dean? Maybe a little younger? He doesn’t stay long enough to ask questions. Her light brown hair is done up in braids. The other woman has shockingly red hair, and she’s balancing a little girl with wavy blonde hair on her hip. Dean’s heart aches when he looks at that chubby face and the way she shoves a fist against her mouth, watching Dean with big, wide eyes. She looks like she’s Sammy’s age. Sammy’s height.

Sammy. If Dean stays here, he’s never going to see him again. Who’s going to protect him and teach him about the world if his hëmdrë isn’t there? Dean isn’t going to get to see him grow up. How tall is he going to be? Will he be taller or shorter than Dean? Or their otehkö?

Someone asks him a question. Someone else calls for Bill and Ellen. The little girl with the braids asks the woman holding her a question. It’s so much noise, and Dean should be used to that from his own tribe, but it sounds so wrong.

He glances over his shoulder in time to see the door spiral shut behind Bill and Ellen as they come out of the room. Now he can’t even go back there. He’s trapped in this place with all these strangers, and even standing at the edge of an open field he still can’t breathe.

Dean pushes past an older man who doesn’t look that old in the face, but he has thick gray hair curling over his ears. He sprints across the field, feet bare and the ground nothing more than soft grass and dirt under him. Normally he would be crunching over leaves, and twigs, and there would be various rocks around. Nothing is ever just dirt. But that’s all this place is. Dirt, grass, and flowers. They look familiar, but it’s not right that they’re trapped here just like him.

There are people calling behind him, but they don’t know his name. Boy and Kid, but not his name. They don’t know it. They’re strangers, and Dean hates them for it. He doesn’t want to talk to them. He doesn’t want to get to know them. He doesn’t want to be here. He wants his home.

Trees line one side of the field and Dean runs straight for them. To him, trees mean safety. He might not get up into the branches, but at least they’re familiar. Sort of. These trees are much shorter than the ones he knows, and they don’t look anything like the ones where his home is, but they’ll have to do. For now. Trees mean safety and he needs that right now.

If he’s lucky, there may be a way through them.

Dean runs into them, crashing through bushes that catch at his clothes. He doesn’t care if they tear. They don’t belong to him. They’re wrong, and he paws at the tunic until he can drag it over his head. He drops it, and immediately stops caring about it.

Behind the trees is just another white wall. Dean almost runs into it head first. The trees are only five layers deep, and that doesn’t even count as a forest. The vines hang down over this wall too, and Dean desperately searches under it for a hint of another door. He can’t find anything, even as he makes his way along to the right.

Wall, wall, wall, wall.

This really is a nightmare, isn’t it? A waking nightmare.

Following the wall, Dean breaks out of the trees again and follows the ivy. It leads him towards a grouping of tents around a smoking fire, and he turns away from that. The far wall is all stones stacked up and up and up, all the way to the top of the wall almost in line with where the Vingkäitä are standing. But it stops too suddenly, too sharply, to be natural. Even the water falling over it doesn’t make it look natural.

The water splashes into a mostly calm looking pool that takes up that whole end of this area. It looks nice and cool, but taking a swim is the last thing on Dean’s mind right now.

Everyone from this tribe is gathered by the door he came through. Dean turns away from them again, stumbling slightly but still running back towards the trees. There’s no way out that he can see, but the trees will still be safer. Probably. Hopefully.

On his way by, Dean counts three women, two little girls, and three men. There’s Bill, the dark-skinned man, and the man with the wavy white hair. In addition to them is another man with equally dark skin as the first, a heavyset man with patchy hair and a beard that already looks like it’s starting to go gray, and one tall man with short hair and a smile on his face that reminds Dean of a slithering känge. Dean makes sure to leave a big space between him and Känge as he runs past them.

There’s one last wall to check, and maybe it has another door on it? Just maybe? Dean hopes and hopes, but he finds nothing. This is just one big cage. A wide, deep hole the Vingkäitä put him in. And for what? To watch him? Learn about him? Why couldn’t they just do that from his home? Why did they have to take him? Why couldn’t they just talk to him like painting-Ellen did and ask him the questions they want to know? He would have answered, probably, after he finished getting Sammy to safety. Or Otehkö would have answered instead.

Dean makes it back to the trees before he gets tired of running. He stops against a tree and rests a hand against it, doubling over and breathing deep. At least the tree feels normal, even though it’s the wrong type of tree. He sinks down between its roots and hugs his knees to his chest, staring sadly at the dirt around him. How deep does it go? Could he dig his way out of here, or would he just find another white floor under it?

He’s too wrapped up in his thoughts and getting his breathing under control again to hear soft footsteps in the graze. Dean doesn’t realize that someone is sneaking up on him until he’s being yanked to his feet by a hand on his arm. His first instinct is to fight back, but he’s pulled against a hard chest. Whoever grabbed him wraps their arms around his waist, pinning his arms to his sides. They lift him from his feet and Dean screams.

If it’s a grown-up or a Vingkäitä, he doesn’t care. Someone is carrying him when he doesn’t want to be carried, and he’s furious.

Dean screams himself hoarse, kicking and squirming for what little good it does him. He throws empty threats left, right, and center, demanding to be put down. His status in the tribe as future taafër usually has him treated with respect. No grown-up has ever treated him like this, and Dean rages. His otehkö always taught him to be brave, even when he’s not. Be brave and you can do anything. Except, apparently, to get some stranger to put him down.

Whoever is holding him doesn’t say anything. He just carries Dean across the field to the tents. Dean squirms and kicks the whole way. Ellen has a big clay pot hanging above the fire, and Dean can smell the stew she’s making. Äity made the best stew, but this one smells wrong. The spices used are different, and he doesn’t care how hungry he is. He wants his äity’s stew!

“Put him down, Richard!” Bill approaches quickly, frowning heavily and gesturing sharply. “Are you trying to traumatize him more?”

The fire is surrounded by logs draped in furs, dividing the fire from the ring of tents. Dean is unceremoniously dumped on one of them. He tries to get up right away, but a heavy hand lands on his shoulder and forces him back down again. When he looks up, it’s to find Känge smiling down at him, slick and mean.

“I’m not the only one sick of his screaming.” Känge shrugs, but he squeezes Dean’s shoulder hard enough to hurt. “There’s no getting out of this place, kid, so sit down, shut up, and listen to those of us that know what’s going on.”

Dean glares up at him for a moment, just long enough to pour all his hate and anger into that one look, and then he jerks his head to the side. His teeth snap together painfully just shy of Känge’s arm, but it’s enough to spook him. Känge jerks his hand away and takes a sharp step back, his smile falling. One of the dark-skinned men on the other side of the fire snorts a laugh, grinning with white teeth bright against his skin. He nudges the one next to him; younger, fitter, and bald except for a neatly trimmed beard around his mouth. They both chuckle as they smirk at Känge.

The older one shakes his head. “You deserved that one, Dick.”

“Don’t antagonize him, Rufus.” Ellen clucks her tongue at both men.

Her attention turns to Dean, soon enough. She fetches a polished wooden plate from the log behind her and brings it over to where Dean is sitting. It’s set with chunks of cooked fish, raw fruits and vegetables, and roasted potatoes. Ellen brings it over to where he’s sitting, but crouches far enough away from him that he doesn’t feel the need to lash out or run again… yet.

She holds the plate out to him; her smile soft and gentle. “Are you hungry?”

Dean hugs his stomach and starts at the food, mouth watering. It looks normal enough, but the thought of actually eating it makes him feel queasy, no matter how hungry he is. He turns his face away without a word. Ellen waits a moment before putting the plate down at his feet. She makes no effort to get any closer, and Dean is a little bit grateful for it.

Somewhere off to his right, a child laughs. It’s followed with a string of babble peppered with actual words. Dean looks over to see the little girl around Sammy’s age standing at the flap of a tent. Only half her hair has been braided, and she has a small doll hanging from her hand.

“Cute, isn’t she?” Ellen sighs softly, and she sounds so warm. She crosses her arms over her knees. “That’s my nentä, Joanna Beth. We just call her Jo, though.”

“She’s my nentä too.” Bill adds as he drops into a squat next to her. He has a blanket in his hands and he tosses it lightly so it lands next to Dean. “You don’t have to use it if you don’t want to, but you can wrap yourself up in that if you’re cold.”

Or if he needs comfort. Dean might be young, but he can still understand the words that grown-ups leave unsaid. His parents did that a lot, and he always understood.

Nentä is a new word to him, but Dean assumes it means that the kid, Jo, is their daughter. He nods in understanding, but stays hunched in on himself. If anyone gets too close to him again, he’ll make a run for it. If he hides in the trees, not even Känge will be able to get him. Dean isn’t the best climber, but he could probably get up into a tree and hide in the branches before anyone could find him. These trees are a lot shorter than the ones he’s used to, so maybe they won’t be as scary to climb.

After a long silence, Bill clears his throat and taps at his chest. “So, uh, you know me, I guess. I’m Bill and this is my wife, Ellen. That’s our nentä, Jo.” He points across the camp at where the little girl had been standing, but she must have gone back into the tent.

Dean nods.

Ellen waits a moment before she points at the two dark-skinned men sitting on the other side of the firepit. “That’s Rufus, -” The one with the earrings waves. “- that’s Victor, -” Now the bald one waves. “- and you’ve met Richard.”

Känge is now sitting on a different log, his back to the tent the little girl was in. His poster is straight and his arms are crossed. He looks bored and he barely acknowledges that he’s being introduced. Dean likes him even less than before, somehow. Rufus’s name for him, Dick, was so appropriate.

“I’m May.” A quiet voice from behind him has Dean flinching so hard that he nearly falls off the log. He turns around sharply to find the older girl with the braids piled on her head standing at the end of the log, looking at him with interest. “That’s my äinan.” She points back to the woman with the eyepatch where she’s kneeling at the entrance to one of the tents.”

The woman looks at Dean, and her face is stern, but still kind. She puts a hand to her chest and nods lightly at him. “Lily.” She waits until Dean acknowledges it with a tilt of his head, and then she gestures at the girl. “May, come here.”

May looks at Dean for a long moment before finally going off to her äinan. He assumes that’s supposed to mean mother, but in their language. It doesn’t quite have the same ring as äity does, though. Dean watches as Lily leads May into the tent, and the flap falls closed behind them.

A moment later, Jo comes running out of the other tent again. She waddles past Dick and goes straight to her otehkö, turning her head back and forth to make her braids swing and show them off. Bill scoops her up into his lap and Dean’s heart aches for his own otehkö. Jo settles with a squeal of laughter.

Bill tickles her, but his eyes are on Dean. “What tribe are you from?”

Words feel like they’re stuck in his throat. Dean’s tongue is glued to the roof of his mouth and he can’t say anything – not that he wants to. He hesitates for a really long time before turning and pointing at the trees behind him.

Understanding fills Bill’s eyes. “Oh, I see.” He softens around the edges and almost looks sad. “We haven’t had anyone from your tribe before, so I guess that means you probably don’t know what äinen and nentä mean, huh?”

Dean just barely stops himself from rolling his eyes. He’s scared and upset, but he isn’t dumb. In fact, his äity always told him that he was very bright, and Otehkö said he was smart, just like him.

It takes some time for Dean to be able to get his tongue to move. He swallows a few times before finally being able to speak, and even then his tongue feels thick in his mouth. “Lily is May’s äity.” Her mother. “And Jo is your nantsä.” Their daughter.

Bill’s smile grows wide, and he leans over Jo in excitement. “That’s really neat, isn’t it?” He even laughs. “How they’re kinda the same, but kinda different? Our words changed just a little after each new tribe was founded. Different, but the same. Just like all of us.”

Ellen puts a hand on Bill’s shoulder and makes him sit back again. “We’re from the tribe in the mountains, but we were taken at different times. Frank too.”

She tilts her head towards one of the tents that has the flap tied up. Inside is the older man with the big belly. He has a pipe between his teeth, one hand supporting it while the other is crossed over his chest. Even though he’s not participating in the group, he’s certainly listening. His eyes are sharp and they watch Dean closely.

“Rufus and Victor are from the tribe on the plains.” Ellen nods at them next.

Dean can’t help but stare at them again. “Why’re you so dark?”

Victor snorts a laugh, but Rufus is the one who answers. “Our ancestors came from a different tribe entirely. Your tribes -” He pauses and gestures at everyone else around the fire. “- started from the mountains and spread out. But ours first crossed the great plans a long time ago and joined up with the tribe that your people came from. There are lots of people in our tribe that look like us, or lighter but still darker than you.”

That sounds incredible, and Dean can’t believe his otehkö never said anything about it. Maybe he was saving it as a surprise for when he could take Dean with him on his travels? It definitely would have been a shock on the first trip to visit the plains tribe, or even for his first trip to the annual taväiling.

Dean looks down at his feet, struggling against the rising urge to cry. He wants to run again to escape the sudden horrible realization that he’s never going to get to do that, is he? He’ll never see the plains tribe, or the sea tribe, or even the mountain tribe. He’ll never get to be taafër and go to the taväiling on behalf of his people. He’ll never get to do anything while he’s trapped here.

“Richard and Donatello are from the tribe by the sea.” Ellen speaks softly, like she knows what he’s thinking. Dean sniffles and lifts his head, welcoming the distraction as she points out Dick and the older man with the way gray hair where he’s taken a seat next to him. “And Lily was from there too, but May was born here. Just like Jo.”

“Don’t forget Rowena. She’s from that tribe too.” Bill nods towards the tent behind Dick. Dean looks over as the woman with red hair crawls out.

She stands up to dust the dirt from her clothing. Her smile is sweet when she meets Dean’s eyes. “Yes, but I travelled with many others from across the sea.”

He does a double take when she speaks, if only because her accent is entirely different. Dick is from the same tribe but doesn’t have the same accent at all. His wonder only makes her smile grow, and she sits down on the log next to Dick.

“Oh, child, the world is much bigger than you know.”

Dean knows that, and he chokes up again thinking about it. He wanted to see it all, and now he can’t. He’s stuck here, and he doesn’t even know where here is.

Great. The tears are bubbling back up. Dean sniffles and grabs the blanket that Bill got for him. He wraps it around himself and pulls the edge up over his head. Slowly, he slips off the log so he can sit with it against his back. His knees get pulled to his chest and he hides his face against them, trying to muffle every little sound that squeaks out.

“Hey, hey…” Ellen’s voice is soft, but not soft enough to be lost by the sound of her shuffling a little closer. “I know this is a scary time for you, but it’s going to be okay. You’re part of our tribe now, and we’ll take good care of you.”

He shakes his head and trembles a little harder. “I want to go home.”

“This is your home now.” Dick’s tone is kind, but his words feel mean.

All Dean can do is shake in place, the tears coming harder now. “I want my äity, and my otehkö, a-a-and Sammy.” He’s all but wailing into his knees now. “I wanna go home.”

Not more than a moment later, and Dean finds himself being gathered up into Ellen’s arms. He knows it’s her without having to look, because she’s shushing him softly. Her hand sweeps up and down his back over the blanket as she holds him to her chest, rocking side to side.

At first, Dean fights it. He squirms and tries to wriggle away, because Ellen isn’t his äity and he only wants her. But the blanket is like a cocoon, and it’s wrapped too tightly around him. Ellen’s arms are firm and holds on, humming soft songs and rubbing his back just like how Dean’s äity would do for him when he was scared of the big storms that made the trees shake and the sky flash angry and loud.

Ellen keeps rocking him until Dean gives up; until he’s too tired to fight and cry. All he can do now is sniffle and sag against her chest. There’s comfort in this, even if she’s not his äity. It’s still nice, and Dean leans into it and takes what he can get.

Eventually, when he’s cried himself out, he pulls the blanket back to look around. Bill and Jo are sitting next to them now. Bill pats him on the knee through the blanket. “It’s rough right now, I know, but it’ll get better.”

Dean doesn’t believe him, especially not with the Vingkäitä still standing above them. He lifts his head to glare at them, and notes that they have moved over to stand above the campsite instead of by the door. It’s like they want to have a better view of what’s happening, and that’s so… Sick.

“I hate them.”

“We all do, in our own way.” Bill drops his voice into a whisper and glances up too. “But they do take care of us. If someone gets sick, or injured, the Vingkäs come and take them away. Later, they’ll bring them back all healthy again.” He shrugs and looks down at Jo where she’s making her little doll walk across his knee. “They always bring us good, tasty food, and there are always fish to catch. They give us everything we need to make the things we want.”

Rowena laughs and gestures around the camp. “All of this we made with our own hands with the tools we made from the supplies they gave us.”

Dean rubs a hand under his nose. “But why?” He just doesn’t understand what the point of all of this is.

“They want to learn about us.” Ellen pats his back lightly. “You saw the other me, right?”

Oh, right! He almost forgot about that. “The painting moved and talked.”

She looks off across the camp, but not really looking at anything specific. “Kid, they have things you’ve never even dreamed of.” With a sigh, she tilts her head back to look up at the Vingkäitä. “They call themselves Aetherians, and they’ve never spoken to us directly. In all the times I’ve been around one, I’ve never seen or heard them say a single world.”

That doesn’t seem right. “How did you know what to say in the moving-painting?”

Ellen shifts under him, expression twisting into something uncomfortable. Her eyes go unfocused and she stares off into nothing again. “All this time and I still don’t even know how to describe it. They had this… thing. All of them had one, and they have them now, actually. The flat thing they’re holding?” She gestures up at where the Vingkäitä are. “They would poke at it and it would speak words to me in a weird, emotionless voice. It asked me to repeat the words it said, and insisted that I smiled.”

“I was worried they weren’t going to bring you back that time.” Bill puts an arm around Ellen’s shoulders. “You were still early in your pregnancy, and I thought…” He shakes his head and leans in to press a kiss to her temple.

Dean shivers at the look in their eyes. That’s fear. For all they talk about how nice it can be here, and how it’s not too bad, everyone still fears what the Vingkäitä can do to them. He looks up at them and the way they still watch, silent and creepy, and wonders if there’s ever been a time when they took someone away and no one ever saw them again.

As if reading his mind, Rufus speaks up. “They always bring us back.” He gives Dean an easy smile from across the fire. “I was the first one here, and we haven’t lost anyone yet. They might take you away for a bit, but you’re always brought back.”

“But why?” Dean frowns and shifts to get a better look of him. “Because you were sick?”

Rufus shakes his head and looks down at his hands. “Sometimes they take us to go sit on a cold slab just so they can poke and prod at you.” He shrugs and rubs at the back of his neck. “I honestly can’t say I know what they’re doing.”

“They’re studying us.” Frank finally speaks; a gruff huff from inside his tent. “They take measurements and track how we grow and age.”

“It’s best not to fight them when they want to do that.” Rowena sighs and leans back on her hands, stretching her legs out.

She’s wearing soft moccasins, and her long tunic is covered in sparkling beads and dyed threads. In Dean’s tribe, they only decorate the important clothing they wear for ceremonies. They don’t have all the supplies needed to decorate all their clothing like that. What they do have, they find more important to be used in other places. Seeing Rowena wear such fancy clothes like it’s what she wears every day is… weird.

“If you fight them, they’re going to poke you with something that makes you go right to sleep.” Rowena keeps talking without noticing how Dean stares. “I slapped one once, and next thing I know, I woke up right back here, but I had been gone half the day.” She tilts her head slightly. “I think?”

Victor nods, though he doesn’t look up from the wood in his hands. A flint knife shaves away strips that gather in a pile between his feet. “I saw it happen. The bastard didn’t even flinch.” His lips draw together in a thin line. “You might as well have been an insect to them, for all the good fighting does.”

That’s terrifying, but Dean huffs and glares up at the Vingkäitä. Äity always said he was too stubborn for his own good, and he hates what they’ve done to him. It makes him want to fight, so fight he will. If they want to take him to do whatever they want to him, if they want to study him, then he’s not going to make it easy on them. He’ll fight every step of the way until they let him go home.

Ellen shakes herself out and ruffles Dean’s hair. “All that aside, it’s really very safe here.” She tries sounding brighter, and even Bill breaks into a big smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “The weather is always perfect, and even the cold season doesn’t reach us here.”

Dean knows that’s supposed to give him comfort, but all that does is make him mad. The seasons are constant. To make things so perfect that there are none is… It’s wrong. As wrong as stealing people from their tribes and putting them here in this place. He doesn’t even care that there isn’t much of a cold season in his forest. He just hates the idea that everything is the same here.

He turns his face into the gentle breeze that drifts through the air and sniffs. It smells like… nothing he recognizes. “Does it rain?”

“Not really.” Bill shrugs and glances over his shoulder at the field. “Sometimes water shoots up from the ground at night, making it all misty in here. I think that’s how they keep the grass and the trees from dying.” His face falls slightly. “I miss the rain.”

See? This all sounds horrible the more he hears about it. Dean liked listening to the rain on the leaves. It always put him to sleep so nicely.

How any of them can say that it’s nice here is beyond him. How can any of them look happy about this place? How can they smile when everything is so different from what they know? Don’t they miss their families? Their friends? Their tribes? Don’t they care that there must be people who miss them? Don’t they want to see more than just whatever the Vingkäitä put inside these four stupid walls for them?

Don’t they want more?

They must be lying to themselves; trying to make the best of a nightmare.

Why don’t they fight? How many Vingkäitä are there that they can’t gang up against them? Dean looks up again and counts them again. The original group is down to just three; two big, and the small one who is still crouched and watching closely. A couple others are standing separated from that group, but otherwise he’s only seen a handful of them at a time. How many can there actually be, though?

Everyone is quiet for a long time while Dean is lost in his thoughts. They spin around and around in his head, drowning out the crackling of the fire or the boiling of the stew. It does smell really good, though, and it makes his mouth water and his stomach rumble. That’s enough to bring his attention back down, right to the plate of food that Ellen prepared for him. He’s hungry, definitely, but the thought of actually eating right now makes him queasy.

Dean knows, without a doubt, that the food came from the Vingkäitä somehow. It wasn’t grown under the brush surrounding the trees, and how did the fish get into the pool? It looks closed off, and Dean doesn’t think that they’ve always been there. The Vingkäitä control everything here in some way, and he wants nothing to do with it. Everything here sucks… Except, maybe, the people. But definitely everything else sucks, and his homesickness just grows and grows.

After a while, Ellen moves Dean back to the log. She picks up the plate and puts it in his hands. “You should have something to eat, kiddo. You’ll feel better.”

He probably would, but he just… he can’t. Dean puts it aside and curls up again, wrapping his arms around his knees and hugging them tightly to his chest. Ellen and Bill share a look between them, but they say nothing. With a sigh, she turns to go check on the stew.

What kind of meat is in it? Fish, probably. Dean really doubts that there’s any hiruut around. He can hear the chatter of smaller creatures back in the trees, so maybe it’s from them? Or maybe it’s just a vegetable stew with no meat at all.

If the vingkäitä give them everything they need, would they give him hiruut meat if he asked for it? How would they get it? How can he ask for it? He looks around at all the things in the camp and wonders how these people get what they need. If he asked for a canoe, would the Vingkäitä give him one even though he has no need for it?

None of it makes sense to him.

Dean stays huddled up on himself and watches as everyone more or less returns to their daily life. Rowena settles at a massive contraption of wood and string, and begins to weave a wooden stick through it. There’s coloured string attached to the stick, and she hums to herself as she works. It looks like she’s making a blanket.

He watches her for a while, captivated by this different process. What’s that string made of? It looks very different from the plant fibers or leather from hide that his people use. Äity said that some of the other tribes use something called wool that they get from the pädder of her totem. Is that what wool looks like? Pädder don’t live in his forest, so he’s never seen one in person before. His tribe has lots of access to hiruut and many different plants, though, so that’s what they work with.

Dick and Donatello have settled down with something that looks like fishing line. One is braiding thin strands of string together, and the other is tying wooden hooks to the end. Victor is still focused on whatever he’s carving, and Rufus has a bowl in his lap and he’s grinding things that he takes out of woven baskets propped up behind the log he’s sitting on.

Frank just smokes in his tent, watching the movement of the camp the same way the Vingkäitä are watching from above.

Eventually, Lily and May come out of their tent. They settle down at the edge of the fire with two things that Dean doesn’t recognize. It has a wide, hollow base that sits in their laps, and a long piece that crosses over their chests and rests against their shoulders. There are strings stretched across the whole length of it.

May has a wide, flat piece of wood held in her hand. She arranges herself until the fingers of her right hand can move over the strings along the long piece. With the wood, she starts tapping and plucking at the strings. It makes a plinking, trembling sound, and it’s nothing like Dean has ever heard before. He sits up straighter, watching as Lily starts playing her instrument too.

He’s never heard the song they’re playing, but Ellen hums along to it. Rowena changes her tune to match it too. Victor and Rufus start singing lowly in deep rumbles that barely make it across the campfire. It’s an upbeat tune, but it doesn’t lift Dean’s spirits.

Next to him, Jo is starting to squirm and get fussy while she yawns. Bill hefts her in his arms and takes her to one of the tents. It must be nap time, though Dean doesn’t actually know what time it is. The sky is still bright above them, but he’s not sure where the sun is. For all he knows, it could be early afternoon, or late morning.

Once Jo is put to bed, Bill and Ellen walk to the water. There are a few piles of blankets and clothing sitting at the edge of the pond. They wade out into the water, dragging one of the blankets with them, and start the process of beating it against some rocks. Dean watches them work their way through the piles, and watches as Dick leaves Donatello to the fishing lines so he can go swimming.

As much of a nightmare as this in, he does appreciate how nice these people are. No one is pushing him right now, or trying to interact with him anymore. They’re just going about their business while he watches them, because this is what they do all day, isn’t it? Most of it isn’t much different than what happens at home, but it’s still not the same. If he was at home, he would be helping Äity take care of Sammy while cleaning, making, cooking, gathering, or so many other things. Or he would be going about the village with Otehkö to offer help to other members of the tribe and make sure that everyone has the supplies that they need.

There’s no need to do that here, is there? Not if the Vingkäitä give them everything. Would they give him mushrooms and onions, or would he find those growing somewhere in the fake-forest or pristine field? Maybe the field is more like the plains that Victor and Rufus are from? Dean is used to smaller clearings with logs, or boulders. It’s always full of other things. It’s never just grass and flowers stretching out to the line of trees on the other side.

Every so often, Ellen returns to stir the stew, or someone else gets up to do it for her. Rowena keeps smiling at Dean whenever she catches her eye. By the third time, she pats the space next to her and gestures for him to come join her. He’s tempted, somewhat, but he chooses not to move.

It’s a long time before a shadow passes over them. Dean looks up sharply, only to see a – What in the world is that? Whatever it is arches across the whole sky. It’s a black band high above them. He lifts his hand to measure it, and it’s as wide as both hands, which means it’s much bigger if he were to get closer to it – Otehkö explained that to him a long time ago. It swings slowly overhead, casting a narrow shadow across the field.

Dean watches it until it’s passed out of sight behind the walls.

“There’s another one.” Donatello brings Dean’s attention back down. The band passed from Dean’s left to his right, and Donatello points in the direction behind him. “It comes from that direction and it’s exactly the same. Passes right over head, and –” He makes a whooshing sound and arcs his arm around to point in the direction Dean is facing in. “- goes down over there. It passes by late at night, and you only notice because it blots out the stars.”

“What are they?”

He shrugs and brushes a few strands of gray hair out of his eyes. “Nobody knows. But if you ever get one of them –” At this, he gestures to the Vingkäitä. “- one of them to actually answer you, make sure to ask them. We’d love to know.”

Dean hums and continues looking at the Vingkäitä. They didn’t react at all to the sky-band. If Donatello is right, and it is an everyday occurrence, then of course everyone here would be used to it. That’s… weird. Why would they just get used to that? Obviously that’s not normal. In all his many seasons alive, he’s never seen anything like that before. That means it’s not natural. It’s something that belongs to the Vingkäitä, and that means… He’s very far from home.

After she finishes playing a second song, May stands up stretches. She leaves her instrument next to her mother and crosses around the firepit to stand in front of Dean. They stare at each other for several moments before she puts her hands on her hips.

“What’s your name?”

It would be easy for him to answer her. He’s said many things to most of the people here, and it shouldn’t be hard for him to speak to May either. And yet… His mouth doesn’t want to work again. His name sits heavy on the back of his tongue, and all he can do is stare at her.

May frowns and crouches down to his height. “I’m May.”

“I know.” That came easy, but his name? It won’t come.

She rolls her eyes at him and crosses her arms. “So, who are you?”

Dean can tell that everyone else is listening in now. They’re all paying attention, because they all want to get to know him. He knows that they just want to make him feel comfortable here. His mind understands that, but his mouth doesn’t want to listen. And it’s more than that, really. They want to accept him into their tribe, but they can’t really do that without a name, can they?

Once again, Dean’s stubbornness rears its ugly head. He doesn’t want to get to know May, or any of the others. What he wants is his family. He wants his home, and his tribe, and – and to not be here anymore.

Instead of answering her, Dean looks away and pulls the blanket up over his ears. May doesn’t move and continues staring at him, her mouth pinched in a little line. Eventually, she signs and goes back to where Lily is waiting for her. He watches her go, and frowns at the swirls and loops of black on the white nape of her neck. Part of him wants to ask about it, but she probably wouldn’t answer, especially not after he refused to give his name.

Lily starts up another song, and May joins in. After a few plinking tunes, a drum starts up from inside Frank’s tent. Dean doesn’t know this song either, and he desperately wishes for the familiar songs of his own tribe. He pulls the blanket over his head, and puts his hands over his ears. Another sting of tears makes his nose tingle, and he squeezes his eyes shut against it.

It’s not a very long time before Jo wakes up again. The sun still isn’t in the sky, but the shadows of the tents have gotten longer. No one seems to care that the sun is missing, even though Dean can feel the sunshine on his back and the sunshine lights everything around them. The tribe goes about their day around him, letting Dean wallow in his sadness.

Every so often, he’ll pull the blanket down to watch what everyone is doing. Or sometimes he just glares up at the Vingkäitä. He’s actually seen some of them come and go, walking on their creepy bird feet. It makes Dean’s stomach tighten and his chest hurt. They’re so weird. Why do they look almost like him, but have horns, and wings, and the different feet? What else about them is different from him? And why don’t they talk? Dean hasn’t met a single animal yet that doesn’t make some kind of sound.

When the sky starts turning pink and gold, Dean knows that the sun is setting somewhere. It feels wrong not being able to see it sinking behind the smudge of mountains that he can just barely see from his family tree. He can’t believe that he actually misses the bridges that connect all the different trees of the village. But not the height. He’ll never miss the height.

At this time of day, Äity would be shuffling around their home, cleaning up all the things that they worked on. Dinner would be almost ready, and Sammy would be fussing because he’s hungry. Otehkö would show up with one person or a whole family from the village, and they would share their dinner with them. They would talk, and sing, and laugh.

Instead, Dean gets Donatello standing up to serve the stew as everyone comes to settle around the fire again. The only one who doesn’t join them is Frank. He takes his bowl of stew in his tent. Dean doesn’t take the bowl offered to him, and it gets left next to his untouched plate. Everyone else, however, settles down to slurp quietly from their bowls while they talk amongst themselves.

Sometimes, Ellen or Bill, or even Rowena, will try and draw him into the conversation. Dean doesn’t answer them. He holds the blanket tight and watches them, and the Vingkäitä. The blanket is the same soft fabric as the clothes that aren’t his, but it still gives him some kind of comfort. He should hate it, though. Just like he hates the feel of the clothes. Did someone ever find the tunic he took off in the small-forest?

It’s kind of funny, isn’t it? Dean always thought that he would prefer to live on the ground. He thought it would be safer. Now he’s down here and he doesn’t feel safe at all. They said it’s perfect here, which must mean that there are no predators. He did a lap of this place, and he didn’t see anything that would suggest the pack hunters – the sukas – live here too.

But that doesn’t mean that there isn’t something dangerous here. The Vingkäitä, for example.

By the time dinner is done, the sun has fully set. That seems to mark the end of the day for this tribe. One by one, they retire to their own tents. Victor, Rufus, Donatello, and Dick all have their own spaces, and they head there with short goodnights. Most of them even wave at Dean before the flap of their tent closes behind them. Frank simply closes his tent without a word.

May shares Lily’s tent, obviously, and they head off together. She waves at Dean and points at him from the front of her tent. “You better tell me your name tomorrow!”

Maybe he will, maybe he won’t. Dean can only stare after her, mentally, emotionally, and now physically exhausted. He’s really hungry, but he feels so numb the longer he sits here. Maybe he’ll just waste away, and then the Vingkäitä won’t have any hold on them. That’ll teach them to steal him from his home.

Jo is asleep again, but this time she’s curled up in Ellen’s arms. Rowena hangs back with Ellen and Bill, but she doesn’t say anything as they all crouch around Dean.

Bill nudges the bowl of stew a little closer. “We can make you a tent of your own tomorrow, if you want? Or, you’re welcome to stay with us. Tonight, tomorrow, or for as long as you need.”

“Or me.” Rowena smiles, easy and kind. “I have a näsemm a little older than you, but it’s been a long time since I saw him.”

It takes Dean a moment to realize that she must mean her son. He has no interest in replacing her son for her, or sharing a tent with another family. None of these people will ever be his äity or otehkö. And Jo is definitely not Sammy.

Dean shakes his head, but he does feel a little twinge of regret when Rowena’s face falls slightly. She looks a little sad, but still manages a smile. “Well, little one, if you get lonely or need a tent, you can always crawl in with any of us when you’re ready to retire.”

“That’s right.” Ellen nods, swaying slightly as she rocks Jo. “No one is going to turn you away.”

Bill has a hand on her shoulder, but he’s smiling brightly at Dean. “We may all be from different tribes, but we’re all one big family here.”

Why doesn’t Dean fully believe him on that?

They linger for a moment longer before finally heading off to their own tents. Rowena goes to hers, and Bill, Ellen, and Jo go to their own. Dean stays right where he is, staring into the banked fire and the glowing embers that will sputter out eventually. He doesn’t move even after a rumble of snores starts up from various tents. He stays until he gets too hungry to ignore the cold food sitting within reach.

Dean brings the bowl of stew to his nose and takes a sniff. It smells like fish. Luckily, he hasn’t met a fish he doesn’t like the taste of yet. Still, he takes a cautious sip. The flavours are different from the fish stew that his äity makes, but it’s not bad. There are plenty of vegetables and potatoes in it, but he still dumps the contents of the plate into the bowl too.

With the blanket still around his shoulders and the bowl in hand, Dean stands up. He looks up at the Vingkäitä still above him. The same group that has been here all day are still mostly here, though all of them are squatting now. Maybe they’re tired? Good. They should be. He hopes bad things happen to them when they go to their own homes after this. Eventually. If they even have homes.

But, if there’s a small chance that they’re going to spend the night there, Dean doesn’t feel comfortable staying out where they can see him. He doesn’t want to go into the tent and sleep next to a stranger, so that only leaves him one option. And that’s why, with a huff, he takes the bowl and blanket with him as he shuffles back across the field in the dark. Trees are safety, and that’s where he plans to spend the night – far out of sight of the Vingkäitä.

Sighing, he tucks himself between the roots of a tree right up next to the wall. The white not-stone peeks through the vines and Dean stares at it while he sits at the stew. He tilts the chunks of meat and veggies into his mouth, chewing without thinking. His mind is just… empty. All his thoughts feel really far away, and he can’t even really feel his body unless he thinks about it.

Once he’s finished the food and his stomach doesn’t feel so hollow anymore, Dean gets to his feet. He can’t stand the feel of the soft cloth of these clothes that don’t belong to him. His eyelids feel heavy and he sways in place as he kicks out of the leggings and undoes the tie on the loincloth. He still finds it hard to believe that they took the loincloth he was wearing this morning. The Vingkäitä stole his clothes. Who does that? They make no sense to him.

The blanket isn’t as soft as the clothes, probably because it’s well used. It’s still made of the fabric that Dean isn’t used to, but he likes it better than the clothes. They had a few blankets like this back in his family tree. Otehkö would bring blankets and so many different things back from the annual taväiling, or from his trips to the other villages. Dean loved getting to see it all, and he was really looking forward to the day he would get to see where everything came from in person.

With a sniffle, Dean pulls the blanket up around himself and curls into the dip between the roots. He’s naked and uncomfortable, but this is the best he can do for now. He closes his eyes and tries to force himself to sleep despite the situation. It’s hard, though. Everything sounds and smells different, and Sammy isn’t snuffling in his sleep nearby. Äity and Otehkö aren’t on the level above, whispering to themselves about their plans for tomorrow.

Dean whimpers quietly to himself, and the tears start all over again. He presses his knuckles into his eyes and tries not to think. If he sleeps, maybe he’ll wake up in his äity’s arms in the morning and find that this was all a nightmare.

Morning comes too soon and Dean sits up, yawning and feeling like he didn’t sleep at all. For a moment, he’s confused. He looks around, trying to place where he is. Something rustles in the brush nearby and he turns to blink at it. It takes too long for Dean to realize that’s not a good thing and his heart starts thundering hard in his chest, the memories of yesterday rushing back with each thump.

The leaves part and a kuttö hops out into the open, its little nose twitching. Dean stares at it, shocked to see something he actually recognizes here. The kuttö snuffles through a patch of grass before lifting its head to sniff the air. Its beady little eyes fall on Dean and it freezes. He doesn’t move, holding his breath as they stare each other down.

Eventually, the kuttö turns tail and hops away, disappearing around a tree. Dean rubs the grit from his eyes and looks up. Sunlight is streaming through the branches and the leaves are outlined in gold above him. It’s similar but still not his home, and he sniffles slightly. He rubs a hand under his nose and looks around again. This time he’s searching for something in particular.

It takes a while, but he manages to find a rock that fits in his palm. Dean parts the vines on the wall in front of the tree where he spent the night, and he scrapes at the white not-stone with the rock. He scratches at it until a mark is made, and then he does it again to make a second mark right beside it.

This is the dawn of his second day here, and he has no idea what to expect of it.

Chapter Text

Castiel is completely and utterly mystified by 1-M-7. He has seen many homo sapien children before, but this is the first that he has seen one so newly collected. Whatever small part of him aches for a child taken from its home is immediately overcome by his ever-growing desire to learn. He crouches down as low as he can get to the floor of the bridge, head cocked to the side as he watches 1-M-7 move around the transition room.

Collection of a homo sapien specimen is not a common occurrence, even less so when it is a child. This is the first that Castiel has gotten to see one in person, and 1-M-7 examines his surroundings slowly but thoroughly. He feels along the walls, finding the shallow definitions of the two doors and the cover for the screen. 1-M-7 does appear to show some fear, but he also has a healthy curiosity. Castiel, strangely, feels proud of this little specimen. He looks forward to seeing 1-M-7 grow up in their care.

The first introduction to Aetherian technology for homo sapien specimens is a welcome video that has, thus far, gone over mostly well with new acquisitions. Every sector has its own video, and the welcome message is given by one of the specimens from that sector’s enclosure. In this particular instance, the first female specimen they had for this sector, 1-F-1, was the one chosen for this.

Curious, Castiel presses one of the buttons along the side of his PADD to bring up a little square at the top right corner, and he quickly writes down a reminder to himself to look into what 1-F-1's role within the enclosure’s tribe is. When done, he taps the button again and the square goes away, but a notification remains in the margins of the PADD indicating that he has made a note worth following up on. He is certain that someone, somewhere, has written a report on the decision as to why 1-F-1 was selected for the recording. While she is the first female for the Alpha Sector enclosure, there were already males in the enclosure before her collection.

Mother chooses when she believes is the best time to start the video. She starts it shortly after 1-M-7 has finished exploring the transition room. He seems surprised by the appearance of the screen, and even more startled when the video begins, which is to be expected. 1-M-7 approaches the screen, and it does not take him long to begin exhibiting anger. Castiel is intrigued by the swing between emotions and he makes efforts to document it all.

Even though they stand a good ten meters in the air above the transition room, 1-M-7's small voice reaches them all the way up here. Aetherian hearing is also quite sharp, but 1-M-7 is shouting rather loudly as he hits the walls.

Castiel understands every word of it.

As soon as he was able, he has studied every homo sapien language that they have on file. This interest in their languages has placed Castiel within the minority of his future coworkers. From what he has gathered from listening to his mother’s conversations, most do not see the point of trying to understand a species they see as inferior.

1-M-7's anger verges on desperation as he loudly demands – begs – to be taken home. The emotion in his voice causes a tightening sensation in Castiel’s chest. He says nothing, does nothing, and especially does not look at his mother. Castiel keeps his wings still and his head bowed over his PADD. Most importantly, he does not allow any of his emotions into his sha’ra to ensure that no one may accidentally feel them.

He does, however, reach for his mother’s sha’ra so he may speak with her. (1-M-7 appears to be distressed and is not adjusting well to the new information provided to him.)

She does not react physically, but does give the equivalence of a mental shrug. (It is rather hit or miss with how a new specimen will react to the recording. We shall continue to observe.)

Castiel’s grip on his PADD tightens slightly. As a Zoologist, are they also not caretakers for the tribe in this enclosure? They study them, of course, and the knowledge they have gathered from those studies allows them to build habitats that support all the different tribes from within the respective sector. They know what supplies to provide them that would keep the specimens happy and stay busy. They learn how to care for the specimens and keep them healthy.

But, the department of Psychology within the Social Sciences Division has done extensive research on homo sapiens and their mental wellbeing. Has Mother not kept up to date on their reports? Castiel has, and there are many long-lasting effects that have been noted about homo sapiens that have been in captivity for too long.

Most notably, it has been documented that there is a significant difference in habits from what has been observed of the specimens in their home environment versus in captivity, including a difference in tribe hierarchies. To Castiel’s understanding, many also exhibit the characteristics of being traumatized.

Thankfully, for 1-M-7, the tribe in the Alpha Sector enclosure has not had many problems yet. There have, regrettably, been reports of aggression and suicide following a collection. It has happened here, in their own facility, but in other sectors, as well as documented in the zoos held on Ra’haya’s sister cities. Any reasoning one might have as to why this occurs are merely theories, but Castiel is firm in his beliefs that it is because some homo sapiens cannot accept the kind of life they would face in captivity.

Despite all efforts to make the enclosures and the tribes as comfortable as possible, to some… death is a better option.

Castiel tries hard not to think about that. If his thoughts turn to it, all he can do is wonder if Aetherians are doing the right thing in collecting members of what is clearly a developing civilization. But the Aetherian creed is not about what is right. It is about science and understanding this new planet they have essentially claimed as their own.

He sincerely doubts that his people will ever deign to build a city on the planet’s surface. Back on Atan’eal, their home world, they had surface cities. But here, Aetherians have come to see the surface as dirty, much as they do the people and creatures living on it. Why they think that here, but they did not think that on their home world, is baffling to Castiel. Something happened before his time that changed how they think, and he has not yet asked about it.

Though it may be unlikely that they will ever build a city on the ground, he does wonder if they will ever build another floating city. It would be the only way for them to finally expand upon their numbers.

At this moment in time, there are roughly only fifteen thousand Aetherians alive. If any others survived the end of their home world, then Castiel has never heard of them. Each of the three existing cities on this planet has the capacity to house and feed five thousand residents at maximum, and they are always at that cap. Aetherians average a maximum age of two-hundred sol cycles, with the longest living on record to have reached two-hundred-twenty sol cycles.

It was not always that way. The genetic engineering that has become commonplace for their people extends that time frame for every other generation. Certainly they still lose people to injury, but sickness and disease is almost non-existent within their society. That too can be attributed to their skill with genetics. When an Aetherian is created in a lab with the characteristics requested by the parental units, only the best genes are used.

Of course, that does not mean that disease cannot develop, but it is extremely unlikely given everything involved in the process. If something does happen to develop, the Life Sciences Division has an excellent Functional Biology Department. The hospital is an annex under that department and gives the best care as needed to everyone in the city.

If a fourth sister city was to be built, a portion of the residents from all three existing cities would be selected to populate the new one. Should that ever happen in his lifetime, Castiel thinks he would be interested in moving there. They would have a whole new science sector that would need replenishing; new specimens to collect to build their own zoos. Ah, but that does give him pause. Could he be a part of that, knowing what his career path will be?

The first homo sapien specimen to be added to their respective enclosure would be lonely if they were only able to collect one at a time. They are a very social species and require multiple members in their tribe to be more comfortable with their surroundings.

And that could be why the child below is having such a negative reaction to the introduction video. He is likely afraid of the unfamiliar technology, and coupling that with his missing family… Well, that would be an assumption, would it not? They do not know for certain if 1-M-7 still had a family in his original tribe. Even if he did, that would play no part in any consideration, as much as Castiel hates to think about it. He would hate to be separated from his own mother.

(Naomi, do you think it would be prudent to have someone go down and speak to 1-M-7?) Castiel flexes his grip on his PADD again and looks up at her. (Perhaps he would find having someone speak with him more comforting than the recording.)

Mother looks up from her PADD, a frown furrowing lightly between her brows. She glances at her co-worker before looking down at Castiel. (We do not have anyone on staff at the moment who is fluent in Alpha Sector dialect to speak with him.)

Castiel tries not to fidget under her gaze. (I believe I could do it.) He looks down at 1-M-7 as he bangs his little fists on the wall. (I intend to learn the different languages between the sectors, and I am certain that I am fairly fluent in Alpha Sector’s languages and its different dialects.)

To everyone’s surprise, Mother’s upper wings flair out in surprise. She looks at him sharply, as do the three other co-workers of hers that have gathered around. (This is the first that I have heard of this.)

(I practice in private, as it would be inappropriate to do so in your presence.) And also because Castiel did not think that she would approve of him learning vocal languages. He feared being admonished by her.

(Understandably so.)

Mother sniffs, staring down at him for a long moment. Slowly, she turns to her co-workers to speak with them. Castiel is not privy to the conversation, though he can feel their sha’ra as they speak to one another. If he wanted to, he could easily listen in. His sha’ra was not included in the conversation, however, and it would be impolite of him to eavesdrop.

Aetherians do not have a vocal language, though they are capable of being verbal. They have never had one. Their horn halos and telepathy are one of the few things about their genetics that they have not changed since they left Atan’eal. As such, Castiel found it quite difficult to work his tongue to make the words. He has a much different accent than any of the recordings of the language they have, but he is confident that he could be understood by the specimen if he spoke with them face to face.

It is, however, very disappointing to hear that none of the Zoologists currently on staff know how to speak the languages from the Alpha Sector. Clearly they rely too much on their computers to do the translations for them. Castiel knows this because he can see the translations being shared in the lower corner of his PADD. He reads the words just moments after he has heard them.

Eventually, Mother turns back to him. (After discussing with my co-workers, we have decided to allow the integration into the tribe sooner than usual. We normally keep a specimen in the transition room for a while longer, but as this is a child, we will bend our rules this once.) She does tilt her head, though, and an almost-smile ghosts across her lips. (I do commend you on learning their language, as filthy a task as it may be. You will be a valuable addition to the team when you complete your education.)

Castiel tries not to preen under the compliment, but the downy feathers of his ears spread and fluff regardless. He ducks his head with a nod and distracts himself by quickly scribbling some notes regarding his thoughts on why the child might be reacting so poorly to the introduction video.

With that decision made, Mother issues the command to open the door. Castiel lowers his PADD and leans over to watch what happens next. 1-M-7 hides in the furs, sprinting across the room to throw himself at them. Somehow he manages to make it look like he is not there at all, but the adults who enter the room show critical thinking. They immediately narrow in on where he could be hiding, and attempt to lure him out.

Unfortunately, since they are not shouting like 1-M-7, Castiel cannot hear him. He has to rely on the recording devices within the transition room translating and sharing the conversation for him. The adults try to lure 1-M-7 from under the furs, and they do succeed… to some extent. 1-M-7 launches himself from under the furs and sprints past them, and Castiel finds that very interesting.

Should a child not find adults to be comforting? Certainly, any Aetherian child who is separated from their parental units when in a public setting will seek out the nearest adult to assist them, if even necessary in the first place. Aetherian children are quite bright and highly advanced even at a young age, unlike what has been documented of the homo sapien species.

And yet, 1-M-7 still runs. He does a lap of the whole enclosure, pointedly avoiding the entire tribe where they gathered around the door to greet him. 1-M-7 disappears into the trees that make up one end of the enclosure, and Castiel makes a note about that. It is just a budding theory at the moment, but it could be possible that since 1-M-7 comes from Site C in the jungle forest, he may be more comfortable among the trees. This will require further monitoring to confirm.

The campsite in the enclosure is set up in the corner where the field meets the pool of water. As a specimen from a heavily treed area, Castiel fully believes that 1-M-7 will not enjoy being so out in the open. Given how he looked up at them already, 1-M-7 may be especially averse to the field and the campsite in the presence of Aetherians.

1-M-7 spends quite a while in the trees. Long enough for members of the tribe to return to the camp. One, however, breaks away from the group and heads towards where 1-M-7 was last seen. Castiel has to use his PADD to manipulate the camera feed of the enclosure to zoom in on the identifying tattoo on the back of his neck. Ah, that is 1-M-5 from Site B on the shores of the inland sea of the continent below. He was a rare collection where two were collected from the same site at the same time.

Castiel watches as 1-M-5 walks into the trees. A moment later, 1-M-7 starts screaming. Castiel’s wings all spread in surprise before he reins in his reactions. Mother and her coworkers do not react the same, though they do lean in to observe more closely. 1-M-5 walks out with the child in his arms, and 1-M-7 is kicking and screaming the entire time he is carried across the field to the campsite.

Why is 1-M-5 doing this? He should have allowed 1-M-7 to adjust to his new surroundings. Eventually, he would most likely have sought the care and comfort of others. Homo sapiens are a very social species and it is unlikely that a child would have stayed away from them for very long. But now 1-M-7 is more distraught then before, and Castiel feels… bad for him. He is much smaller than 1-M-5 and he is unable to fight him off for his freedom.

Upon reaching camp, 1-M-5 puts the child down and Castiel moves further down the bridge to situate himself almost directly over the camp. He squats on the balls of his feet, setting himself away from his mother and her co-workers as they discuss the specimen. There is not much else to do at the moment, as things in the camp take a fairly boring turn. The conversation between his mother and her co-workers touches his sha’ra and he listens only somewhat, taking notes of what they say while keeping a close eye on 1-M-7.

All the specimens of the enclosure are sitting around the campfire, talking too quietly for him to hear. While they may have cameras built into the edging of the bridge that are focused on following the various specimens, primarily used for observation and monitoring of health, there are no microphones to listen to what is said. Castiel can zoom in with the cameras and try to read their lips, but even his interest in their languages is not enough to quell that turn of his stomach when watching mouths move.

He swallows against the rise of his gorge, knowing that studying homo sapiens means he will need to get used to seeing them talk and eat. With that firmly fixed in mind, Castiel takes control of one of the cameras and focuses it on 1-M-7’s face to observe him specifically. His face is red, covered in tears, and filled with emotions. Homo sapiens have so many expressions, and Castiel is not very good at understanding them. It is a weakness in his studies. He is much better with languages.

For every expression that 1-M-7 makes, Castiel saves a still image of it. Each one is saved into a file where he can compare it later to the examples from his lessons, and hopefully to figure out what they mean. At this point in time, he is almost positive that 1-M-7 is exhibiting anger, fear, and confusion. Given the situation he is currently in, all of them would be understandable emotions to be experiencing.

Castiel documents each member of the tribe that speaks with 1-M-7, taking note to monitor if any relationships form between them. At the moment, the mated pair of 1-M-2 and 1-F-1 seem to be the most concerned with his well being. They have a young female child of their own. Are they going to attempt to adopt 1-M-7 into their familiar unit? That seems the most logical. The only other specimen with a child is 1-F-2, but she appears to be intent on raising her daughter on her own.

1-F-2 was collected already missing her left eye, and heavily pregnant. Within the first thirty days of being collected, she gave birth to F-3, the female child that will hopefully one day take 1-M-7 as her mate. It will depend entirely on whether 1-F-2 will allow it. She has been fairly standoffish with the rest of the tribe in her many sol cycles here, and has thus far shown no interest in 1-M-7.

Eventually, the tribe stops trying to interact with 1-M-7. They split off into their own activities, leaving food and a blanket for 1-M-7 to make himself comfortable. Castiel finds it concerning that he has not touched the food yet. Of course there is no way of knowing when 1-M-7 ate last without checking his stomach contents, but what if he has not eaten for many hours? He is small, and a child. They need nutrients. Hopefully he will not put it off for much longer.

1-M-7 does not make any motion for the food for quite some time. He sits and watches the rest of the tribe go about their daily business, and Castiel watches him from his comfortable crouch off to one side of the bridge. Castiel assigns a camera to record 1-M-7 and have the file saved directly to his PADD, having the application run in the background while he opens his lesson plan again to continue with the studies he has started this earlier.

(Castiel.) Naomi touches his sha’ra unexpectedly. He looks up as she approaches, her talons clicking on the quartz glass of the bridge. (I have spoken with my co-workers. They have agreed to share to you any of the notes they take regarding 1-M-7 and their own observations.)

As if summoned by her announcement, notifications begin popping up at the corner of his screen, a number counting up every new notification. Castiel blinks at it, surprised, before brushing gratefulness against his mother’s sha’ra, knowing that she will share it with her co-workers. (Thank you. Their notes will prove most useful.)

She touches his hair lightly before returning to her coworkers. Castiel almost smiles, pleased to know that she is supporting him. He turns back to the anatomical charts he had been studying this morning, returning to focusing on memorizing the bone and muscular structure of a female homo sapien. Next will be comparing the difference to the structure of a male.

The rest of the day passes slowly. Castiel occasionally looks down at the tribe, checking in on 1-M-7 and writing a few notes. Not much else happens that requires his attention, though he does notice that the camera has recorded 1-M-7 speaking. That is a good sign. Communication with the tribe could mean that he is beginning to settle into his new home.

Regardless, Castiel does spend most of his time during the day focusing on his studies.

As the sun begins setting, the tribe within the enclosure gathers for their evening meal. One of the specimens, 1-M-4, takes his meal in his tent. He spends almost all of his time in his tent, and it has been that way since he was collected. Despite how Castiel is not that familiar with the specimens within the Alpha Sector enclosure, even he has heard of 1-M-4 rarely leaving his tent. Thus far, it has only been documented that he uses the latrine dug in the far corner of the forested section of the enclosure, or to welcome a new specimen.

It was the tribe that decided where their camp would be, and dug their own latrine. All of it was documented, and it has been noted across all sectors that homo sapiens prefer to put the latrine from away from both their camp and their water source. This indicates some kind of understanding of waste and the leaching properties of the soil. Castiel finds that very intriguing. Homo sapiens are far smarter than the most Aetherians give them credit for.

Once again, 1-M-7 does not touch the food that is offered to him, and neither does he speak to anyone. Several conversations are going on around the campsite, but 1-M-7 makes no effort to join them. Castiel cannot help but wonder if 1-M-7 will remain in the camp overnight, or if he will return to the trees. He is almost certain that he will choose the latter.

When dinner is done, and the fire banked, the specimens break away to return to their own tents. The redheaded female, 1-F-5, stays with 1-M-7 and the parental units of F-4. The three of them speak with 1-M-7, but he simply shakes his head. Whatever they offered him, it appears to have been firmly rejected. 1-M-7 remains where he is as the others break away to their respective tents.

Castiel breathes a quiet sigh of relief through his nose when 1-M-7 finally picks up the food the tribe left for him. He stands and looks up at the bridge and the gathered Aetherians with one last glare. The camera on Castiel’s screen magnifies it enough to show the hatred in his green eyes. Castiel is almost taken aback by it. He has never had anyone hate him before.

1-M-7 takes both the food and the blanket still wrapped around his shoulders with him as he returns to the trees, just as Castiel suspected he would. He still documents that the newest specimen has curiously chosen to isolate himself from the rest of the tribe for the night. It does lend credence to his theory that anyone from Site C will find more comfort amongst the trees, but that will require further observance for actual confirmation. 

Now that the tribe has retired for the night and there is nothing more to observe, Mother stretches her wings out in Castiel’s peripherals before turning to him. (Are you ready to return?)

(Yes, Naomi.) He stands as well and stretches both of his arms above his head, curving his spine. He shakes out his legs and notices for the first time that some of her coworkers have left at some point in the day. (This has been a very informative day.)

She smiles at him, close lipped but her eyes warm and her sha’ra indicating that she is pleased. (I am glad that you were here for this. Come, let us review on the way home.)

They discuss their opinions and thoughts on the day and 1-M-7 as they head to the lift that will take them directly to the roof of the building. From there, they take off together, gliding down along the edge of the dome until they can break away and soar between the other rounded edges of the rest of the science sector. Since this side of the city is raised above the residential sector, they will be able to glide directly to the landing pad outside their unit.

With night fully upon them, Ra’haya is lit with rings of light surrounding the base of each building. It reflects through the water that makes up the floor of the city, and is more than satisfactory to see by. Aetherians have excellent night vision, so it is of little concern to them how much light is available to them. Castiel has always considered the light to be more for aesthetic purposes than any actual use.

One of the rotating gyroscopic rings is rising over the edge of the city, a sliver of reflective metal peeking into view. It moves slowly and will pass overhead in a few hours. There are two rings that encircle the city, held in place by supports built into the sides of the city. Powerful magnetic forces are used to keep Ra’haya floating, but the rings are what keep it balanced. They also help provide power via the solar panels on their outside edges. Wind turbines built into the underside of the city also transmit power to the batteries that power the city.

Using clean energy is very important to Aetherians. If they ever leave Har’adid, they do not wish to have caused disease and destruction to it like they did their home world. Its destruction can be laid squarely on their shoulders, not that anyone will ever truly admit it. But Castiel has read the historical records, and he knows that they killed it. They polluted the world until it started to kill them back, forcing them to leave or risk dying with it.

Castiel’s thoughts linger on all the changes they have made to get to where they are now even as they land at home. The door unlocks to the chips in their wrists, and he goes straight to his desk. He curls his talons into his perch and drops into the same comfortable squat he spent the day in, however it is much better when on a perch.

His mother moves about in the background as Castiel uploads the data from his PADD to his desk. There is so much information to review that he will need additional screens than just the one that takes up the whole of his desk. He activates the holographic options with a touch, and the sensor bar at the top of the desk starts throwing his files up into the space above it. The same bar will follow Castiel’s movements and allow him to grab files and enlarge them for reading, close them entirely, or move them back to the screen to work on them directly.

(1-M-7 is fascinating.) Castiel flicks through the various files he gathered from today, organizing them as he maintains conversation with his mother. He draws up more papers from the Zoological Division, some of which even have Naomi’s name on them. (Research has shown that when children are collected, they have sought the comfort of the adults in the enclosure. Children form tight, almost familial, bonds with the adults. You yourself have theorized that they replace their original family with a new one, and yet… 1-M-7 is acting contrary to what we know.)

He is an outlier, and Castiel is very much looking forward to seeing how 1-M-7 will further push the boundaries of what they know about collected homo sapien children.

(It has only been one day, but I look forward to seeing how he will react tomorrow.) Mother is most pleased with him for pointing that out, and she does not hesitate to share that through their sha’ra.

Castiel flexes his grip on his perch. (May I accompany you again?) He looks up at her with wide, hopeful eyes, and both pairs of wings dropping into a pleading gesture. He even angles his ear-wings downwards to appear more pathetic.

Mother rolls her eyes and crosses the room to him. She cups his face in her hands and leans down to press her forehead against his. It is a simple, quick, and chaste gesture of affection, but it is one that she has not given him often. She straightens and ruffles his hair light. (Of course you may.)

Works every time.

He presses his gratefulness against her sha’ra as he turns back to his desk. (Thank you, Naomi. I look forward to studying 1-M-7 further.)

It may be late in the evening, but Castiel still begins reviewing the research papers from both the Zoological Annex of the Biology Department and the Psychology Department of the Social Sciences Division. While he fully plans to major in zoology, perhaps having a minor in psychology would be beneficial for his lessons.

He has yet to decide on a thesis topic, but... Castiel’s gut is telling him that there is something special about 1-M-7 and he should keep an eye on him.

Every day, Castiel goes to work with his mother. She has many things to do as part of her job, so she leaves him to take up residence above the Alpha Sector enclosure on his own. He could easily have watched the cameras from home where he would still be able to continue his studies, but he prefers this to be able to keep an eye on 1-M-7. Mother, in her ever present efforts to support him, has ensured that all her co-workers continue to share their own notes and observations to Castiel’s PADD.

According to everyone’s notes, Castiel is not surprised to learn that 1-M-7 does spend most of his time among the trees. He has rejected wearing his tunic, and is often seen wearing just the loincloth that was given to him. Sadly, 1-M-7 does not appear to be blending well with the rest of the tribe. Castiel has witnessed it himself as 1-M-7 avoids the members of the tribe while he thoroughly explores the entirety of the enclosure.

The ivy that covers the walls of the enclosure is a purely aesthetic addition to the habitat. It was learned fairly early on during their specimen collection that homo sapiens in particular reacted rather negatively to the clinically white walls that the enclosures originally started with. Yet, in all the many sol cycles since they started collecting specimens, they have never had one attempt to climb the ivy.

Castiel has documented two occasions where 1-M-7 attempted to climb the ivy on the walls. The ivy was planted at the bottom of the wall and encouraged to grow upwards, then drape downwards again on the opposite side. As such, without anchoring at the top, the vines were unable to support 1-M-7’s weight on both occasions that he attempted to use them. He did not climb very far before they gave out. Luckily, no injuries were sustained.

1-M-7 is a very… difficult specimen. Castiel is not the only one to have noticed that there is open hostility between him and 1-M-5. Every since that first day, 1-M-7 will run if he is approached by 1-M-5, and has even been seen to hide from him. This is fairly unsurprisingly, as 1-M-5 has been observed to antagonize other tribe members on occasion. The reclusive 1-M-4 fought with him as well, shortly after 1-M-5 and 1-M-6 were added to the enclosure.

Even the females seem to take issue with 1-M-5’s attitude. The redheaded 1-F-5 and the one-eyed 1-F-2 are from the same tribe as 1-M-5. While they get along well with each other, both of them do not seem to like 1-M-5 a lot. It is only 1-M-6, the older male who was collected at the same time as 1-M-5 from the same tribe, that seems to get along with him.

The dynamics of the specimens and their relationships is most intriguing. If Castiel were not so focused on 1-M-7 and his integrating into the tribe, perhaps he would be more interested in studying how the rest of them get along. So far, he has not looked too much into their histories. Most of what he knows of them is what he has observed during his days overlooking the enclosure and monitoring 1-M-7.

He has noted that 1-M-1 and 1-M-3, the dark-skinned specimens from Site D, tend to keep to themselves. They have spoken to 1-M-7 several times, and he does occasionally respond to them, but he is mostly stubbornly silent. Almost as much as he avoids 1-M-5, he also avoids the young female close to his age, F-3. The youngest child, F-4, seems interested, but 1-M-7 refuses to interact with her in any way. Castiel can only begin to guess why.

F-4’s parental units are still trying to interact with 1-M-7. Of all the specimens within the tribe, he seems the most receptive to their advances and that of the redheaded 1-F-5. Despite that, 1-M-7 still continues to keep himself separate from the rest of the tribe. And Castiel finds that so very odd, if only because nothing 1-M-7 has done over the last few days have been the same as the other children collected. He is truly a very stubborn specimen.

Five days. It has been five days and 1-M-7 still has not spent any significant time with the rest of the tribe, including at meal time. He will allow himself to be brought back to sit with them by one of the adults, but he will not partake with them. Instead, 1-M-7 will sit apart and not talk with them. It is only when the sun sets that he will take his food back to the trees, after which Castiel will leave with his mother.

Just like as he eats, 1-M-7 does most things on his own, even swimming. Neither of the other two children are allowed to do so without an adult in the water with them, yet 1-M-7 dives in on his own, often going deep under the water. Castiel was worried the first time he did that, and was very nearly ready to send someone down to save him. Aetherians cannot swim, so that was a truly harrowing moment, as Castiel would not have been able to do anything to help.

In truth, now that 1-M-7 has dove to the bottom of the pool several times, Castiel is starting to think he is up to something. Is he exploring the pool the same as he has been exploring the rest of the enclosure? Castiel has seen him crawling along the walls, inspecting them centimeter by centimeter. Since the vines failed him, is he still looking for a way out? If that is truly what is going on, then that is truly amusing, if not a little heartbreaking. They have never had anyone escape their enclosure before.

Castiel marks down, privately, that 1-M-7 is more than just stubborn. He is a fighter, and Castiel predicts that he will not take captivity well.

In between his observations of 1-M-7, the vast majority of his time is spent simply crouching over the Alpha Sector enclosure whilst working on his lessons from his PADD. It is far more difficult using this tiny screen than the large one built into his desk at home, but at least he is being productive. In a sense. He does have to keep pausing his lessons every time he has an idea for his thesis. There is a file open at all times now where he has begun to frame it.

While Castiel may be young, it is never too early to begin working on it. Once his thesis is complete, he will need to submit it and have it approved by the board that oversees the Life Sciences Division’s Biology Department. If he wants to work as a Zoologist, which he does, then they need to accept his thesis. Age will not play into their decision. What he needs to prove is that he has a firm grasp on what it is the Biology Department does, and that he understands the subject matter he wishes to specialize in.

In Castiel’s case, he wants to specialize in homo sapiens. As well, the more he watches 1-M-7 defy what they have come to learn about young tribespeople, the more he wants to work here. 1-M-7 may very well be the key to his thesis. Castiel has already decided to frame it around the psychology of collected children and how it may affect their development. All that data that he gathers about 1-M-7 can be compared to the children from the Beta, Gamma, Delta, Epsilon, and Zeta Sectors.

Of course Castiel will have to include something about the differences identified between those born in captivity versus those collected from the wild. And he will need to frame out a section for commentary on an adult’s adaptability to a new surrounding versus a child’s. Thankfully, there is a large database for him to reference, but there is more to consider.

For instance, how does culture play into it? They are already well aware of the differences between the cultures of one sector and the next. And the homo sapiens in captivity almost seem to create one of their own that is separate from what they had prior to their collection.

There are many new things that Castiel has thought about since 1-M-7 was collected. He has spent a lot of time reading into homo sapien psychology. Previously, he had been looking at them in a purely anatomical light with the intent of working with them medically to ensure their health, much like what his mother does. But now, after five days of watching 1-M-7 refuse to join a tribe that would mean safety, security, and support, all Castiel can think about is what could be going through his mind. He wants to understand the why, the how, and the reasoning for it all.

It will be difficult, however. Every time he looks down at 1-M-7 and finds him staring up with anger and hatred on his face, all Castiel can feel is a sense of pity – a desire to help. And he is well aware of how that is not a good thing.

A hand taps him firmly on the back between the joints of his upper wings and draws Castiel from his sleep cycle. He lifts his head from where it lay on his crossed arms on the resting bar, and his upper wings fold back from where they had been lifted over his head. A quick glance at the chronometer on the wall tells him that it is shortly after dawn and he has only been sleeping for a few hours. He stayed up far later than normal to complete one of his lessons, but he does not regret it. They were very informative and he enjoyed the subject matter.

(Yes?) Castiel is instantly awake, regardless of how little he has slept. He has near perfect control over his body and he can make such little rest work for him.

Mother stands at the edge of his roost, her face stern and her sha’ra radiating an emotion very similar to concern. (I have just been informed of an altercation in the Alpha Sector enclosure that involved 1-M-7. I must be present for the reports on the incident and to inspect the specimen. As such, I must leave now.)

It is unsurprising that his mother was asked to come in. She is the overseer for the Alpha Sector enclosure, and must be kept informed of all that happens within it. Mother has the final say on all changes and care of the specimens, and Castiel is most proud of her for the hard work she put in to be awarded the position.

What is odd about this is that she does not normally wake him up before she leaves. On previous occasions such as this, he would merely wake up at his usual time to a notice on his PADD. But Castiel understands why she has made a change to her habits, and he is most grateful for it.

(May I come?) He has read the procedures on what to do in the case of an altercation between specimens, but he would still like to witness it in person.

Her expression softens and pride touches Castiel’s sha’ra briefly. (Of course, Castiel.)

(Thank you.) Castiel stands up and stretches his back and wings briefly before hopping down from his roost. (I will be ready momentarily.)

Mother must still get dressed herself, so she leaves him to prepare quickly. Castiel rushes, which would be frowned upon in any other situation. He cannot help it. Rarely has he ever had something to worry about in his life, but 1-M-7 seems to inspire that in him. He is worried for 1-M-7 and what may have happened to him, and all Castiel can do is hope that he is alright.

Chapter Text

Dean was right… This place is a nightmare.

He’s been here for many days, and his outlook on things hasn’t changed a bit. No matter how hard he looks, no matter where he goes in this stupid place, there just doesn’t seem to be a way out of here. And Dean has explored everywhere, spending whole days combing through the ivy on the walls to look for a secret door, or some kind of weak place he might be able to hit hard enough to break through.

It’s just solid white walls under everything. Dean is really coming to hate the colour white.

Even the pool of water by the campsite has no way out. Dean spent half a day, at least, holding his breath and diving down to the bottom. It’s definitely deeper than the river; maybe three Dean’s down at the deepest point. The edges are sandy out until it reaches his hips, and then it drops off slowly until the deep place beneath the waterfall. It’s a gentle sheet that hits the surface of the pool, broken by bigger rocks here or there that jut out of the rocky wall, so it barely disturbs the surface of the pool. Nothing like the waterfalls that Otehkö has described to him before.

Dean hasn’t checked the whole pool yet, but all he’s been able to find so far is that there’s a slit in the very bottom. His hands are smaller than the grown-ups by a lot and he can barely fit his hand into it. When he did, he felt like the water was being gently sucked past him. Not strong enough to make him stuck, and not strong enough for the various fish in the water to be unable to swim away. He did find a kind of tube, about the size of the fish he’s seen, at one end. His arm fits through it, but he can’t.

So, water is coming in at the top of the waterfall, and leaving the bottom of the pool through this slit. Is it the same water? Dean has no way of figuring out if that’s true, but that’s what he’s suspecting. Why wouldn’t it be weird like that? This whole place is just wrong… All of it. So wrong.

The rocks that make up the wall of the waterfall are almost impossible to climb. Dean tried earlier, but he couldn’t get a good grip on them. He could barely lift himself out of the water, losing his footing and his hold, and falling back into the water. It was the first time that he’s hurt himself here, skinning his knees and getting a few bruises on his arms.

That’s not going to be enough to stop him, though. Dean isn’t going to give up. The Vingkäitä aren’t going to keep him here. He won’t allow it.

“You’re not the first one to want to leave here.” Rufus looks at him steadily as he dabs a paste onto Dean’s knee. It’s supposed to take the pain away, but it has a bit of a sting to it. “I’ve been here the longest, and the only way out is through that door.” He tilts his head towards the place where Dean first came in. “And the only thing on the other side of that door is another room with another door. Beyond that are long, endless passageways.”

Dean looks back to him sharply, tearing his eyes from the door. “How do you know that?”

Rufus shrugs and picks up a roll of thin cloth. “I’ve seen it.” He starts wrapping the cloth around Dean’s knee, covering the paste in a few layers of it and tying it off. “When they take us for the testing. If you behave, they let you walk with them to the room where they do it.”

With one knee dealt with, Rufus starts to tend to a scrape down his shin on the other leg. Dean takes his words and rolls them over in his mind. He tilts his head back and stares up at the clear blue sky. A type of bird he doesn’t recognize is flying overhead, a bit above where a few Vingkäitä are walking above them. A smaller one is crouched off to one side, but it’s looking at the flat thing it’s holding. Dean ignores them and watches the bird until it disappears out of sight over the edge of the wall closest to the camp.

Why are the animals allowed to go where they want, but the people can’t?

Rufus starts talking again about what the testing room is like. Dean listens with half an ear, but he’s distracted by an ekravä running across the top of the wall. Its long puffy tail twitches, and its cheeks are bulging. He’s seen a few in the trees here over the last several days, but this is the first time he’s seen one of them on the wall. Dean watches, curious, as the ekravä turns and drops out of sight over the edge.

There’s something else on the other side of the far wall, opposite the door Dean came through. He’s sure of it.

“What if you run from them when you’re in the passageway?” Dean turns back to Rufus, interrupting him about the testing room.

He blinks at Dean for a moment before snorting harshly and shaking his head. Victor is the one who answers instead, dropping into place next to Dean. “You’ll be sleeping before you get three steps from them. Trust me, I know.” He holds out a bowl filled with mixed berries, some that Dean doesn’t recognize. “Eat.”

Dean takes it, but he sets it aside and chooses to ignore it for now. It might be from the Vingkäitä, but he’s not sure because he has found a number of berry bushes among the trees. Besides, he’s not that hungry right now. He drank a lot of water earlier, and he found a tree the other day that has small, sour apples on it. There were plenty on the ground and he ate a bunch of those.

Yeah, sure, he knows that it’s bad not to eat. Ellen tells him that every time he turns down whatever meal the tribe shares together. But it makes his stomach turn and his throat feel tight whenever he thinks about eating anything that the Vingkäitä might have given them. At the very least, he doesn’t want to eat anything where they can see it. There isn’t much Dean can do to rebel against them, but he’s going to do his best whenever he can.

For now, he ignores the food and focuses on the wall across from the door. What could possibly be on the other side of that wall? Are there more rooms and passageways like Rufus mentioned? Dean chews on the inside of his cheek, thinking hard about it. He has no idea when the Vingkäitä will come to take him for testing, but Dean already knows he won’t let it happen. Not easily. They can try, but he’ll fight them every step of the way.

Maybe he should try and make a weapon. A knife would be nice, but there aren’t many free stones, and the only flint he’s seen are little pieces used to make the fire whenever it burns out. Whatever knives the camp has only come out at cooking time. Dean isn’t sure where the grown-ups keep them the rest of the time. They would probably notice if he took one.

Victor and Rufus are muttering to each other about something, poking through a woven bag that Victor brought over too. Dean picks up the bowl of berries and stands up. They glance at him, but he just nods at them and walks away, heading back towards the trees.

Over the last several days, Dean has been taking things back to his own private camp. Rowena gave him some blankets she wove a long time ago, and Dean put found sticks or used a rock to break off a few thin, low hanging branches from the trees to build himself a lean-to among the roots where he spent his first night here. The branches and sticks are tied together with vines that he’s pulled down off the wall. It’s his own version of a camp, and it’s not pretty, but it’s his.

One of the blankets Rowena gave him makes up the outside wall of his lean-to, and the other two are inside. Dean folded one over the ground space, to make it comfortable, and the other he uses to cover himself at night. Not that he really needs any of it. In all the days that Dean has been here, it hasn’t rained yet. The ground-mist that Bill had mentioned happens every few days, and it does crop up in the trees too, but not at the back wall where Dean has set up his camp.

At the edge of the trees, Dean stops and turns to look up at the Vingkäitä on the bridge. Some are walking along it, glancing down here and there, but only one is crouched in place like his first day here. It’s a small one; the same one that is there almost every day. There has only been one day since he got here when the small one wasn’t up on the bridge. Dean frowns at it briefly before going into the trees.

For now, maybe he’ll take a nap and think things over. He can explore some more later on, or set about making more rope. All he has to do is strip more vines off the wall and braid the thinner ones together. If he had a sharp rock, or a knife, he could split them into long pieces and braid those, but he’s just going to have to make do with what he has. It couldn’t hurt to have more rope, if he ever needs it.

The day the Vingkäitä decides it’s time to deliver supplies, there are as many marks on the wall at Dean’s camp as he has fingers and toes. The only door into this nightmare place opens unexpectedly with a little hiss, still mostly hidden by the ivy covering most of the walls. At that time, Dean is crouched at the edge of the pool closest to the waterfall, catching water in a bowl and drinking from it.

While the tribe does have big clay pots where they keep water, Dean doesn’t know where the pots came from. At least he knows the bowl was made by Donatello, having watched him make it from the pieces of wood Ellen and Bill gathered from the trees. Donatello carved and sanded the bowl just for Dean, so it must be safe to use. It hasn’t been tainted by the touch of the Vingkäitä.

Dean freezes when he hears that unfamiliar hiss. He looks up, bowl to his lips, and watches as two Vingkäitä brush aside the vines and walk through. All the blood in Dean’s body feels like it goes cold. Fear grips him, and, for a moment, all he can do is stare. And then he’s on his feet, the bowl forgotten and floating in the pool, and he takes off at a dead sprint for the safety of the trees, going the long way around the camp to avoid going anywhere near the Vingkäitä.

He hides among the trees again, crouching between roots to catch his breath. This time, he didn’t go far in. Whatever they’re up to, he wants to keep an eye on them, but he can’t do that from the safety of his private camp. When he can breathe easily again, Dean gets up and peeks around the tree to watch everything that happens.

From where he’s mostly hidden, Dean is about as far from the Vingkäitä by the door as he usually is from the ones who walk on the invisible bridge. It’s not that far, and even though Dean has good vision, he still has to squint to try and make out details.

These two Vingkäitä are wearing more clothing than he’s ever seen any of them have on. Some kind of fabric covers their hands and feet, and most of their bodies. The only thing left free is their wings. There’s something like a bubble covering their whole heads. Dean can see through it, but the sunlight makes the edge shine whenever they turn. He glances up at the small one on the bridge, making sure for himself that they’re definitely wearing very different clothing.

One of the Vingkäitä brings in a massive woven bag, and the other carries a heavy clay jar that has to be as big as May, if not as big as Dean. They put both down a little ways in from the door, and turn to leave without saying or doing anything else. The door slides shut behind them again, and Dean almost steps out from his hiding place to go investigate. It’s possible that they might come back, and what would he do then? This is the first time they’ve brought supplies while he’s here, and he doesn’t know what to expect. Better to stay back and observe for this first one.

As soon as the door is shut, a few of the grown-ups come from the camp to check out what was left behind. Dean feels like an idiot, because he didn’t even look to see what everyone else was doing while the Vingkäitä were here. Did anyone else hide like he did? He can’t tell now, and Dick will probably make fun of him if he asks about it later.

Ellen and Rowena make it to the large woven bag first. They pull it open and start pulling out other, smaller bags, piling them next to the big one. There are a few that Rowena takes, and she carries them back to the woven baskets that surround her loom. They hold all the supplies she uses to make the blankets: different coloured threads, beads, and so much more than Dean cares to learn about. She sits and starts sorting through the bags to put them away.

Victor and Rufus gather up a bunch of smaller bags into their arms. Dean watches them take those to the various jars around the campfire. He’s learned that’s where they keep seasonings, spices, and various vegetables and fruits that are used when they cook. Ellen stands up and follows them back, one little bag in her hands, and leaves the rest of the big bag to be gathered up by Dick. He slings it over his shoulder and starts walking towards the camp with it.

Dick stops after a few feet and turns to glance towards where Dean is hiding. He raises his voice, and it’s just enough for Dean to hear him from this distance. “Are you going to help us or not?”

Instead of making a face at him like Dean really, really wants to, he chooses to duck behind the tree and wait until Dick moves on. He can hear Bill’s voice call out to Dick, but the words don’t make it all the way across the field. When Dean peeks out from behind the tree, Dick has left the bag in the middle of camp and is ducking into a tent. As far as he knows, no one actually sleeps in that tent. Dean hasn’t looked in it himself to see what’s in there yet.

After a moment, Dick comes out again with a bundle of long sticks, each one carefully shaped and sanded. May and Lily were mending a blanket up to that point, and they both abandon it to go help him. While Dick and Lily put the sticks together, May stands to the side handing them ones as they’re needed. It doesn’t take long for Dean to realize that they’re setting up drying racks.

Once the racks are set up, Lily goes back into the storage tent and comes out with a basket that appears to be full of supplies. She puts it down next to a large fairly flat rock that Dean hasn’t thought much about. He watches as big pieces of meat come out of the bag, wrapped in wide leaves. Lily shows May how to slice the meat thinly, and Dick puts them on the flat rock to beat with a stone hammer and thin them out even more.

When he’s done, May takes the meat and hangs it on the drying rack. Even though the racks are in full sunlight, Dean still wonders if it’s going to get hot enough to actually dry the meat properly. He’s never felt fully hot here, like he did whenever he was out in the sun. He doubts that he’s going to get any more freckles from walking around without a tunic like he has been.

If they want to preserve their meat properly, they should try smoking it instead. If Dean could get his hands on enough stones and clay, he could probably make them a smoker. Maybe. It’s not like he’s ever made one before, but he’s smart and he’s seen it done. He’s pretty sure he could do it if he really put his mind to it.

Jo waddles along in Ellen’s shadow as she takes the small bag in her hands to Frank’s tent. She tosses it inside, and Dean wonders what Frank would want from the Vingkäitä. He seems just as wary of them as Dean is.

Up until now, Donatello had been sitting at the edge of the pool trying to fish. He brings in the hooked string he was using and leaves that in a coil on a rock. With Bill’s help, he carries the clay pot the Vingkäitä left. It takes the both of them to shuffle it into the camp, where it took only one Vingkäitä to bring it out in the first place, and it didn’t even look like it was heavy to them. Bill and Donatello even struggle a little with carrying what Dean knows to be an empty clay pot, very similar to the new one, back to the door. They leave it there and return to camp.

Dean has no idea what is in the new pot. He’s curious, but he doesn’t want to get close enough to find out. Not when there’s still the chance that the Vingkäitä might come back for the old clay pot, and the bag, apparently. May runs it over when Dick and Lily have finished emptying it. She drops it next to the pot and dusts her hands off.

Everything about this is so wrong. They shouldn’t have supplies delivered to them like this. It takes half the fun out of being alive. How do they have any satisfaction with the things they make when they haven’t gone to the effort of gathering and processing the supplies themselves?

His bitter cursing of this place cuts off sharply when May doesn’t return to Lily’s side. Instead, she puts her hands on her hips and turns to look at where Dean is mostly hidden. His stomach sinks and he knows exactly what is about to happen next. May has been really trying to get to know him, and he’s flat out refused to allow it to happen. Because of how nosy she is, Dean hasn’t even told anyone his name yet, purely out of spite.

As expected, May starts walking straight towards him. Dean groans and ducks away. He doesn’t have long to find a place to hide before she gets here. She’s already discovered his private camp, so that’s not a good place for him to hide. With that in mind, Dean heads in the opposite direction, but still to the back of this pitiful excuse of a forest. There are at least four different kinds of trees here that he’s managed to find, and one kind is very good for climbing.

Dean grabs a low branch thick enough to support his weight. He hauls himself up, and he doesn’t stop, but he also doesn’t look down. With his teeth gritted and his eyes firmly fixed upwards, Dean climbs as high up as he can where he feels confident that she won’t be able to see him from below. He can barely see down, so it’s unlikely that she can see him too.

On the bright side, his stomach only flips a little bit. It’s high, but not even half as high as the trees back home, and Dean isn’t as afraid as usual. Seems like only really high heights make him feel like throwing up. If he fell from this height, it would hurt, but he probably wouldn’t die, and Dean is going to cling to that thought to keep himself from passing out whenever he looks down.

May passes by under his tree, and he holds his breath so she doesn’t notice him. “C’mon!” She sounds frustrated as she stomps around, checking behind every tree. “You can’t hide from us forever, you know! We’re a tribe and you gotta be a part of it!”

Oh, yeah, sure. They’re a tribe alright, but they’re not Dean’s tribe. He could talk himself to death trying to explain that to May, but she would never understand. May was born here. The only way of life she knows is for people to be stolen from their families and brought here. That’s normal for her. And Victor said that it’s been a long time between when Dean arrived, and when Dick and Donatello were brought in. May wasn’t much bigger than Jo is now, so it’s been many seasons.

Honestly, Dean doesn’t talk much to the others. Anything he says to them is mostly just questions about the Vingkäitä, but they sure do a lot of talking at him. He’s learned more than he’s ever wanted to know about everyone here. And it’s not like Dean doesn’t know what they’re up to. The more they talk to him, the more he gets to know about them, the more comfortable he should probably be getting. If he gets comfortable, he’ll open up to them, and eventually become part of the tribe.

Well, the joke is on them. Dean has stubbornness for seasons, and he’ll be able to wait them all out.

He sticks his tongue out at May and turns away, settling back against the trunk of the tree. Dean stares out through the leaves and branches, and realizes that he’s almost at the same height of the white walls here. It’s not high enough to really see over them, but it’s a much better view than he had before.

From what he can tell, there’s nothing but a big, open area beyond the walls. But not just that… If he squints, he can see… Curls of smoke? They’re faint, but some of them are wavering up into the open sky. Well, now. Isn’t that interesting. There’s something more beyond those walls. Dean can’t see them, but he knows they’re there.

As much as he hates heights, maybe he can use this to his advantage. Somehow.

Careful to not disturb anything around him and give away where he’s hiding, Dean stands up on his branch and rises up onto the tips of his toes. The see-through bridge that the Vingkäitä walk on is higher than the walls. How much higher are they from where he is right now? He tries to get a look at it, but the leaves are thick and he’s not standing on the proper side of the tree. It’s a miracle enough that he got up here on his own, so Dean isn’t willing to move around a whole lot. What if he slips and falls? He’ll never want to climb a tree again.

With a sigh, Dean sits back down again, straddling the branch. He leans back and eyes what little bit of the wall he can see through the leaves. There’s nothing much for him to do right now other than sit, think, and wait for May to lose interest in him again.

And, when he finally comes out of the trees much later on, he’s not surprised to find the stuff by the door is now gone.

“How do they make this in your tribe?”

Dean is hunched over at the edge of the firepit, picking at one of the fish that he caught and cooked from himself for breakfast. Another is threaded onto a stick and cooking nicely over the coals. He pulls the fish apart with his fingers and sucks on the pieces until they fall apart in his mouth. His other fish isn’t in danger of burning, but he continues to check on it and rotate the stick every so often, all while watching as Bill kneels over a deep clay bowl.

His hands are pushed into it, and he mixes together a bunch of stuff inside it. Dean has seen him add handfuls of dried berries, dried meat, and animal fat that he scooped out of the heavy clay pot the Vingkäitä brought a few days ago. Next to him, Rufus is using a stone hammer on a grooved rock to pound dried meat into a powder. Every time the grooves get full, he tilts the rock into the bowl and brushes the powder in for Bill to mix up.

With fish in his mouth, Dean’s only answer is a shrug. It’s not the most truthful, but he doesn’t care. Does Bill really need to know that he’s made something almost exactly the same at home? Except for him, the animal fat was boiled off the hides and skin from the hiruut and various other animals the hunters brought back. Here, Dean watched them scoop it from the Vingkäitä’s pot in solid chunks, and then melted it down again.

That alone means that he’s not going to eat any of the käani they’re preparing. And… that’s kind of becoming a bit of a problem. Dean’s stomach feels hollow and it makes a gurgling feeling in the back of his throat every so often. He’s down to eating more or less one meal a day, with a few snacks of fruit throughout the day when he finds them. It’s just… The thought of trying to eat food the Vingkäitä gives them makes it feel like his throat is closing up. He’s sure that he wouldn’t actually be able to swallow down something from the monsters that stole him from his family. Not now that he knows what to look for.

But he’s trying to work around that. He doesn’t know if the Vingkäitä give them the fish, or if they’ve always been here, or if they come through the tube at the end of the pool. Either way, he’s been able to eat these just fine. Maybe, if he took one of the potatoes from the baskets where they’re kept, he could let its shoots grow out. If he breaks it up and buries it, he could start growing his own. Maybe his body will let him eat the food that way, even if the original potato came from the Vingkäitä.

Dean is really grateful to Äity for showing him what he could do with old fruits and vegetables when they started to get old or have sprouts of their own. Some could be returned to the earth to grow more of the same kind, but others could be reburied to help other plants grow.

Bill and Rufus finish with mixing the käani. The bowl gets passed off to Donatello and Lily, leaving it to them to roll into flat, palm-sized cakes. While they get started on that, Bill washes his hands in the pool and Rufus rinses his tools. May is crouched next to her äity, wrapping the käani cakes with wide, flat leaves. They look like the ones that the meat was wrapped in when the Vingkäitä brought the supplies.

As always, because she doesn’t know when to just give up, May keeps glancing at Dean. He makes it a point not to look at her. If he does, then she sees it as an invitation to talk to him, and he’s not in any mood to play with her or listen to her endless questions about everything he lost – everything that still makes his heart clench. Some mornings he wakes up still expecting to have Sam cuddled up against his side, or to hear Äity and Ötehko murmuring to each other on the level above him in their family tree.

Continuing to ignore May, Dean finishes off his first fish. He tosses the bones into the basket where they’re kept to be cleaned and used to make tools, or as decoration. The second fish is cooked fully, and Dean pulls the stick from the dirt. He’ll save it back at his camp for something to eat later on. If he’s not going to eat anything brought to them by the Vingkäitä, then he’s going to need to ration what food he does manage to get his hands on here.

He glances around the camp, satisfied that no one is trying to bother him right now. Victor is taking a nap, stretched out at the edge of the pool, and Frank is watching everything from the safety of his tent. Ellen is sitting with Jo in her lap, attempting to measure cloth against her to sew a new tunic out of something Rowena wove. The loom clacks every so often as Rowena uses it to weave something fancier than anyone in Dean’s tribe has ever made. It looks like it might be more clothing, and every so often she stops to sew a bead or quill into the pattern.

The only person that Dean doesn’t see is Dick, and he counts his lucky stars for that.

To be honest, Dean kind of likes Rowena. She doesn’t take Dick’s pompous attitude, and sasses him right back. Some of the more amusing things are when they get into an argument. Dean isn’t always present for that, but it’s fun to see when he is. He likes that she doesn’t expect anything of him either. Ellen, Bill, and the others keep trying to get him to interact with them. Sometimes he has a question, sometimes he just sits in silence while doing his own thing. Rowena just talks at him.

From just her chatting away while he’s been fishing around her, Dean has learned that she was collected in the same season as Dick and Donatello were, but she was taken nearly a moon before they were. Half the reason she’s able to go toe-to-toe with Dick is because she knew him back in their village. She told Dean that there’s no hierarchy in this tribe, and that Donatello is fine with that, but Dick wasn’t. He arrived and immediately wanted to be their leader, and is still feeling stung when they turned him down. No one listens to him when he tries to give orders.

Out of everyone here, Rufus is not only the oldest, but he’s been here the longest. Dean would assume that he would be the taafër for this tribe, but apparently not. Rufus has no interest in being leader. After Rufus is Donatello in age, and then Frank. He doesn’t want to leave his tent, and doesn’t want to be in charge of the tribe either. It’s kind of weird how convinced he is that the Vingkäitä can read their minds when they look at you, but it does make sense. Sure would explain Dean hasn’t seen any of them speak to each other. 

Then it’s Rowena. She says it would be too much work to be taafër, even for such a small group. She was the leader of the group of her people that sailed across the big water, and she was more than happy to not be in charge once they arrived. Dean got to hear all about how stressful it was, though he knows all about that. His ötheko was the taafër for his tribe, and Dean was going to take his place one day. He knows how big a job it is, and he was looking forward to being able to protect and represent his tribe.  

If you were to ask him, Dean would say that Bill seems the most like the tribe’s taafër. Maybe it’s just because he’s an Ötehko and takes on a fatherly role with the rest of the tribe. Just like how Ellen takes on a motherly role for everyone. Both Ellen and Lily are close to Bill in age too. Lily keeps to herself and May mostly, even though she knew Dick and Donatello from her original tribe. She was taken before Rowena came across the big water and joined up with the tribe. Lily is harsh and kind of scary, so Dean hasn’t interacted much with her. Plus, May is really annoying.

Victor is the second youngest of the grown-ups. Dean has noticed that he kind of has a commanding tone when he talks, but he doesn’t strut around expecting people to listen to him. He’s nice about it, and everyone really likes him. Rowena said it’s because Victor was being trained for a position of power within his own tribe before the Vingkäitä brought him here. Apparently the tribe of the plains have a Council that works under the taafër.

And the youngest of the grown-ups is Dick. He hates having people be ‘above’ him. Even Dean can tell that Dick likes to act like he’s in charge, but everyone just ignores him when he starts getting bossy. The tribe is too small to need a taafër, and there’s no danger for them here. Nothing about their way of life needs a taafër to make hard decisions for them.

Everyone is happy to just go about doing their own thing. They share everything, and they talk out their issues if they have to. The tribe decides things as a group, and no taafër is needed to do that. There’s only a dozen of them. They only have each other, and on one can just leave the tribe if things don’t go well. It’s in everyone’s best interest to play nice and get along with each other.

Dean is young, and even he can see that. Dick, apparently, is the only one who doesn’t agree.

Age doesn’t play too much into the hierarchy of the tribe back home. Elders are respected, sure, but Ötehko is the taafër because the position belongs to their family. Only through a challenge can it be taken away. There are some who challenged it in the past, but Dean’s family is strong. Man or woman, they’re strong, and they’ve always won.

Maybe age is more important in Dick’s tribe? If he’s the youngest grown-up, that might make him feel like he’s at the bottom of the hierarchy. Rowena said that the men of the sea tribe have a higher status than their women, which is just crazy to Dean. It’s not like that here, which Rowena and Lily seem to really like. But that doesn’t stop Dick from trying to boss them around. He’s not very successful at it.

Rowena told Dean, laughing the whole time, about the first time Dick tried to order May around. Lily hit him so hard that she knocked him off his feet. He’s never tired again. When Bill and Ellen had Jo, they made it clear to Dick that he wasn’t allowed to take that kind of attitude with her either. 

But now Dean is here. He’s new, he’s a male, he’s young, and he doesn’t have any parents to fight on his behalf. Dick is probably really excited to have someone he can boss him around now. Too bad for him, because Dean isn’t going to let that happen. He doesn’t need a grown-up to defend him. If Dick tries anything whenever he’s ignored, Dean is going to fight back with everything he’s got.

He kind of wants to see what the Vingkäitä are going to do if a fight ever does break out. What do they do when a tribe doesn’t get along together? What happens if someone kills someone in the tribe? It doesn’t happen often, but Dean has heard the stories within his own tribe of the violence they’ve done against one another. That was long before he was born, and well before his ötehko became taafër.

Dean thinks about that as he heads over towards the pool again. He only gets a few steps before May calls out to him; “Hey! Come learn how to roll this.”

So annoying. Dean rolls his eyes and ignores her. He says nothing and goes to the edge of the water. With the stick of the fish stuck in the ground again, Dean takes a moment to wash his hands and splash some water on his face. Part of him wants to go for a swim again and check out the bottom of the pool, but his äity always warned that he shouldn’t swim after eating. He’s only explored half of the bottom of the pool so far, despite Ellen and Rowena not liking it when he dives out of sight. Dean doesn’t understand their worry. He’s a great swimmer, and he can hold his breath for a really long time.

Cleaned up after eating, Dean takes his fish and turns his back to the pool. He’ll swim later. Right now, he should put his fish away. Or get to work on weaving his own basket to store things in at his camp. Bill, also finished with cleaning up from mixing the käani, steps out of one of the tents with a wooden ball in hand. He spots Dean and waves.

“Hey, kiddo!” Bill tosses the ball back and forth between his hands. “Would you like to play with Jo, May, and I? Donatello made this for us, and it’s really fun!”

Dean shakes his head while rubbing one of his hands on his leggings to dry it off. His stomach is more full than it has been in a while, and he’s actually kind of tempted to just take a nap, even though it’s still early in the day. He was up with the sun, same with the rest of the tribe. It’s not like he doesn’t have all the time in the world to do anything he wants. Everything is the same here every day. Nights… Maybe they’re the same. Dean has never stayed up all night before. Maybe, one day, he’ll be able to do it. He’d like to see what the Vingkäitä do at night.

Bill looks a little disappointed, but he still smiles and turns to where Ellen and Jo are sitting. Dean dries his other hand and starts walking. He skirts around the outside edge of the camp, looking up to frown at the bridge. There aren’t any Vingkäitä standing over them right now, but he spots a few of them further along. The small one isn’t there yet, and Dean wonders if it won’t be coming today too.

He doesn’t get very far around the camp before Dick steps out in front of him from between the tents, blocking his way. Dean doesn’t even bother looking up at him and just moves to the side to go around him. Once again, Dick takes another step over to keep him from going any further. His arms are crossed over his chest and he’s staring down his nose at Dean.

“You’re a little brat, aren’t you?” Dick leans over him, upper lip curled back in a sneer. “Don’t you know what it means to be a tribe? You’re rude to everyone and you never contribute to anything.”

Dean just barely manages to keep himself from snorting. What’s there for him to contribute? Everything is given to them. There’s nothing hard about surviving here. They don’t need to make preserves to last through the Vingkäitä season. No one has to forage or hut. As far as Dean knows, he’s the only one so far to strip vines from the wall to make rope. The tribe hasn’t once taken thin bark and shaved strips out of it to make fibers for weaving baskets.

All the materials they need are given to them, and Dean finds it incredibly boring. He has no idea how everyone keeps finding something to do. He would be so bored all the time if he wasn’t obsessed with trying to find a way out of this nightmare place.

Again, Dean chooses to ignore Dick. He tries, for a second time, to go around him, but Dick continues to block him. “You’re a kid, you know? You’re supposed to play with other kids.” Dick sniffs and bends down to look Dean in the eye. “You’re going to hurt May’s feelings by ignoring her all the time.”

Good. She keeps bothering him and Dean would really like it if she would just stop. If things never change, if he really is stuck here… Maybe he’ll want to be friends with her one day, but definitely not right now. He doesn’t want to be anyone’s friend, and he definitely doesn’t want to deal with Dick right now in any way, shape, or form.

Without a word, Dean turns on his heel to head in a different direction. He doesn’t want to start something, because then one of the other grown-ups will intervene and it’ll become a whole thing. Just because Dean doesn’t like being here doesn’t mean he wants to disrupt the tribe by causing trouble.

Dick has different opinions, though. He grabs Dean by the arm and yanks him back to him. It wrenches Dean’s shoulder, not quite painfully, but definitely not comfortable. On top of that, Dean does not like being touched by strangers. He was the same in his tribe until he got to know everyone, and he’s the same now. Especially now, and most definitely when the stranger is someone who hasn’t been very nice to him since he got here.

Dean doesn’t even think about it. He turns as he’s pulled and does the first thing that he can think of: he bites Dick’s forearm. It’s not a hard bite, but it’s bound to hurt. He’s pretty sure he doesn’t break the skin, but Dick sure does act like he did. Dick swears loudly and jerks his arm away. Dean let’s go without a fight, hoping that’s the end of it.

The next thing Dean knows, he’s on the ground and one side of his face is stinging badly. His head is spinning, his mouth feels wet, and tears are already making his eyes go blurry. He wipes the back of his hand over his mouth, and it comes away with a streak of red. The hit was hard enough to split his lip.

People are shouting all around him, but Dean’s ears are ringing and not a word makes it through. He looks up to find Bill kneeling over him, looking concerned and already reaching to help him up. Behind him, Victor is surprisingly awake and holding back one of Dick’s arms. It’s raised like he was getting ready to hit Dean again. Dean blinks the stars out of his eyes and watches as Victor pulls his other arm back, and swings forward. The punch catches Dick straight in the face, and he’s sent sprawling on the ground too.

“The fuck is wrong with you?!” Victor is angry, shouting loudly as he’s standing over Dick. “Hitting a kid? It doesn’t matter what tribe you’re in, you don’t hit a kid!”

“Are you okay?” Bill’s hand brushes lightly over Dean’s shoulder but doesn’t grab him to pull him up.

Dean opens his mouth to answer, but the sound of flapping fills the air and the rest of the camp goes eerily silent. He knows what it is before he looks, but it still makes Dean’s blood run cold when he looks up to see two Vingkäitä dropping down towards them from the bridge. Their four wings are spread wide, the lower set flapping lightly.

Panic fills Dean’s chest and the sound of a rushing river fills his ears. He’s up and on his feet in a heartbeat, knocking past Bill and sprinting for the trees. They’re so far away – as far as the sound of the river and Äity screaming. Like before, there’s a pinch of pain high in the middle of his back. His vision swims, blurring like his crying or he’s underwater.

He staggers and falls as the world goes dark.

Everything sounds different when Dean wakes up again. He can still hear the buzz and chirp of insects, and various birdsong, and it almost sounds like home again, but there’s something… off about it. There’s something wrong with the way it sounds, and he doesn’t have the words to explain how.

Dean sits up slowly and rubs a hand over his eyes. At least this time the back of his neck doesn’t hurt, but he’s still not happy that the Vingkäitä knocked him out for a second time. His vision clears and he glances around at his new surroundings, and his heart immediately sinks. This is such a small room… And he has no idea where it is in relation to the big space where the captured tribe is. It’s not much bigger than the first one he woke up in with the pile of furs, but there are no furs here, and this room actually has a ceiling.

At the center of the ceiling is a big hole where sunlight is streaming through. Unlike the other room, this one is very green. Grass goes from corner to corner, and a small pond takes up one of those corners. Reeds and lily pads fill it. Moss and vines are crawling up three of the walls, but one of them is empty. It looks a little different, but he doesn’t know how. Not like the door to the big space, but more like a part of the wall is missing.

He shakes his head, trying to clear out the clouds settled between his ears, and rubs a hand over his face. That makes him stop, and Dean touches his face again. Surprisingly, it doesn’t hurt. Dean feels along his bottom lip, and he can’t find the place where it was split and bleeding before. He was definitely injured before, right? He didn’t imagine that, probably.

So, the Vingkäitä took him, fixed him, and put him in this new place. Dean is almost positive that no one, not Rowena, or Ellen, or Rufus, has told him anything about being taken to a room like this. They only mentioned the poking and prodding, and that always happened in a white room. This is definitely not a white room. It’s… different.

Is this where he’s going to be forever now? Are the Vingkäitä going to bring him food, and is he going to just be here all on his own for the rest of his life? That sounds worse than being back at the camp with the tribe. Dean would rather put up with Dick and May than stay here, alone, forever.

Instead of sitting here wallowing in worry and fear, Dean decides that it would be a better use of his time to explore his space. He gets up and stretches, and there’s just a slight ache between his shoulders. The wall is the most interesting thing in this place, and he shuffles towards it, one hand outstretched in front of him.

When he reaches it, his fingers bump against something that he can’t really see. Dean frowns and presses both hands to it, feeling along the wall. Is this made of the same thing as the see-through bridge? It’s a see-through wall, clear and hand, and it doesn’t move at all when he pushes against it. There’s an open space behind the wall, like some kind of passageway. Is it the same passageway that Rufus told him about?

Dean presses his cheek against the wall, trying to see down the passageway one way and then the next. When he looks back the other way again, his heart jolts painfully in his chest and he jerks back sharply. The small Vingkäitä from the see-through bridge is standing there now. Its four wings flare out a little bit, and the blue against black eyes go wide, almost like it’s surprised to see Dean. It’s so close, and Dean quickly scuttles back to the far corner, away from the weird wall and the Vingkäitä.

The small one is about the same size as Dean, now that he’s seen it up close. It might be a little taller than him, but those chubby cheeks, and fluffy feathers in its hair and… the wings coming out of the side of its head, make Dean wonder if this is a child. He thinks that might be the case even more when a very big one comes up beside the small one. It’s huge compared to Dean, even from all the way on the other side of the room.

If he had to guess, he would say the big one is probably head and shoulders above the grown-ups of his village, or even anyone from the tribe here. The big one has delicate features, and long hair done up in a bun. Is it female? Dean can’t really tell from first glance. Both Vingkäitä are wearing the same outfit, and the shirts are so loose that he can’t tell if the big one has breasts. Long hair isn’t a good way to tell, because Bill has long hair too.

A better question would be, do Vingkäitä even have genders? Dean bets that they don’t. They’re definitely weird enough to not have men or women. But then how do they have babies? He has so many questions about them, and why they’ve done the things that they’ve done, but he’s certain that they wouldn’t answer him if he asked. He’s not even sure if they would understand him.

The small one looks up at the big one for a moment, and then they both look at Dean. He presses back against the far wall, frowning between the both of them. They’re each holding a flat thing in their hands, and they both look down at their respective flat things, not looking at him as they start tapping at them. Neither one says anything to each other that Dean can tell, and they definitely don’t say a word to him.

Dean draws his knees up to his chest and hugs them tightly. He glares at the Vingkäitä, hating them just a bit more than he did before. If either one of them comes into this room, he’s going to fight them. He’ll bite them just like he bit Dick. Though that might not be the best idea… because Dean can definitely see the sharp points of their nails from here. Those would probably hurt a lot. And he’s definitely seen their creepy bird feet on the bridge, and they’ve got some pretty sharp talons. That’s pretty scary.

Eventually, the big Vingkäitä leaves, but the little one stays. It stands off to one side, close to the see-through wall, and spends a lot of time looking between Dean and the flat thing in its hand. Dean figures that the room he’s in must be higher up, because the bottom of the see-through wall is about chest height for the small one.

It tilts its head one way and then the other, studying Dean with a little line between its eyebrow when it squints at him. Dean doesn’t like being stared at so much, and he turns away, putting his back to the small one. He rests his cheek on his knees, closes his eyes, and hums to himself a song that his äity used to hum when she was trying to get him and Sammy to sleep. An ache forms in his chest and a lump rises in his throat.

He misses his family so much.

The incident with Dick was only the first of many. And, every time they fight, Dean gets taken to what he has come to call The Alone Room. Every time he wakes up there, no matter what time of day, he spends the whole night there. The wrong sound of the birds and the insects is on repeat. Dean has noticed a pattern in them, and he knows exactly when they start over again. It’s not actual birds and insects. It’s something like the copy of Ellen he saw in that very first room.

If Dean is going to miss a meal with the tribe, he’ll find food waiting for him in The Alone Room. But he never touches it. This is obviously provided by the Vingkäitä and no way is he going to touch anything they give him. Luckily, the fights with Dick don’t happen every day. Dean manages to count a handful of the marks on his wall before another incident happens.

Most of the time, Dick starts the fights. He keeps trying to get Dean to do things that he doesn’t want to do. Things like doing things around the camp, or playing with May. Dick has a soft spot for her, even though Lily obviously doesn’t like him. It’s dumb. The whole thing is dumb, and Dean has to deal with all of Dick’s frustrations.

To be fair to Dick, Dean has also kinda fought with May too. She just... She really bothers him. May demands to know his name, and she just asks too many questions of him. If Äity were here, she would say that May doesn’t respect Dean’s boundaries. Charlie used to be like that too, where she would try to get Dean to stand closer to the edge of the bridges and walkways, even though she knew it would make him lightheaded and sick to his stomach.

Today, May got really frustrated with him and his silence. Dean knows he’s not being fair to her, but he doesn’t really care. This is her life. It’s not his. But she got mad and she pushed him. Dean went to his knees, and when he got back up, he took a swing at her for it. Even if it’s not right to hit someone, even if they hit you first, Dean did it anyway, and Lily did not like that at all. She smacked him for hitting May, and the Vingkäitä intervened just like they normally do if it had been between him and Dick.

They put Dean to sleep and here he is, awake again in The Alone Room. He’s once again sitting in the far corner of the room, frowning at the blue-and-black eyed Vingkäitä kid. It always shows up, and Dean knows it’s the same one from the bridge. The colouring of its feathers are a dead giveaway. They’re pretty distinctive: black with hidden colours whenever the sunlight hits them just right.

If Dean didn’t hate all Vingkäitä with a passion, he might say that the small one has really pretty wings. But he hates the kid anyway, so too bad. It just always stands there staring at him, or tapping at the flat thing in its hand, or uses a stick on it. And Dean’s patience with the small one is wearing very, very thin.

See, today, Dean is mad. Not because he’s in The Alone Room, and not because the small Vingkäitä is watching him again. It’s because May called him a jerk. She told him, straight to his face, that if this is how he always acts, then his family probably doesn’t even miss him. That might have been why he hit her after she pushed him. She doesn’t know his family. She doesn’t have the right to talk about them, or him, that way.

Furious with everything, Dean gets to his feet. He stomps across the little room while the Vingkäitä child is looking down at the flat thing. Dean slams both fists against the see-through wall hard enough to make the blue-eyed small one jump and take a step back in surprise. It looks up at him, because when he’s standing, Dean is taller than it.

“Why don’t you ever talk to me?!” Dean slaps the wall again and again, his face burning and his eyes starting to sting with unshed tears. “I want to go home! Let me out and take me home!” He bangs at the see-through wall repeatedly with his fists until they’re sore. “Why did you take me? Why?!”

The baby-faced Vingkäitä stares up at him with those blue eyes surrounded by black. They’re wrong eyes – alien eyes. Why are they black where they’re supposed to be white? It’s so weird. It’s not right. And it’s weirder still when the Vingkäitä’s eyebrows come together and it frowns. That’s a people expression. It’s still, but it’s still people.

The child looks down and away. The fluffy feathered wings where ears should be droop, and its lower set of wings curl tight against its body. Its upper wings curl over its shoulders, and it holds the flat thing to its chest.

Dean steps back, confused. Even with all the extra limbs, this is a kind of people reaction. Not a monster reaction. That – That’s guilt. It understands him. The Vingkäitä understands him. It understands him and they’re still doing this to him. He backs away slowly, horrified. Dean’s throat goes tight and he feels like he’s choking.

When the small one looks back at him again, its wings droop.

The air feels thin and the walls feel like they’re too close. Dean can’t look at it anymore and he turns away. He rushes back to his corner and sits with his back to the see-through wall. Dean hugs himself and hides his face in his knees, sniffling quietly as he tries to wrap his head around why they would do this to him and his people.

Chapter Text

Castiel is beginning to grow concerned, and he is not a fan of feeling stress for the first time in his life. He is not accustomed to caring about anything aside from himself and his mother. Yet here he is, worried about a specimen that he should have no attachment to. No, attachment is too strong of a word. As is obsession or infatuation. If he must choose a word, then it is… fascination.

He is fascinated by 1-M-7.

This is not what he expected, but this is what has happened. Though Castiel wonders if, perhaps, his concern for 1-M-7 has exceeded the professional boundaries that his mother’s coworkers have for the specimens within the care of the Zoological department. He is ashamed to admit that he may even be losing sleep over growing worries about 1-M-7’s overall health.

In the time that 1-M-7 has been in their care, he has lost a significant amount of weight. They have not given him a check up since he was last brought in, and he is not due for another until he has been here for a whole sol cycle. Visually, however, it is quite obvious. Perhaps Castiel watches 1-M-7 closer than his mother or her coworkers, but he sincerely doubts that anyone has failed to notice that he has thinned out, or that deep bruises have formed under his eyes.

Research has indicated that could be caused by a lack of sleep. Why has 1-M-7 not been sleeping? Observation has confirmed that 1-M-7 has built himself a separate campsite of his own at the back of the forested section of the enclosure. When he is not exploring the enclosure, swimming, or fishing and cooking his catch, 1-M-7 spends most of his time at his own camp. But, apparently, he is not sleeping when he is there?  Castiel is very confused by this. What else could he be doing?

Castiel is not the only one to have documented this, yet he appears to be the only one who is worried. Through his own observation and others, Castiel knows that 1-M-7 has one, possibly two small meals a day, and they are not always had with the tribe. Most of the time, he seems to avoid sharing company with the rest of the tribe, which is odd. And he certainly has not given up on his exploration efforts as he has combed through every centimeter of the enclosure from one end to the other.

But no matter how many times Castiel brings it up to his mother, the conversation is always the same.

(There is nothing we can do at this point in time, Castiel.)

(But, Naomi –)

(Short of taking him to an examination room and pumping him full of necessary vitamins, we cannot intervene and force a specimen to eat if it does not want to.)

And Castiel does not doubt that 1-M-7 would hate that. He has been particularly adverse about all things regarding Aetherians. 1-M-7 refuses to get any closer to them as is entirely necessary during supply drop offs, even going so far as to hide and observe from a distance. Castiel has also seen him look up at those walking along the observation deck with nothing but hate in his eyes.

1-M-7 would need to be sedated for the entire time, and Castiel does not doubt that he would hate that. Even if they returned him to exactly where they would have sedated and taken him, his tribe members would likely tell him what happened. This could add further stressors to 1-M-7 that might, again, negatively impact his health.

Castiel hates having those conversations with his mother, if only because it reinforces how little there is that he can do to help 1-M-7 adjust to his new home. In his current position, Castiel can only be an observer. It is not his place to try and brainstorm care ideas or ask his mother to enforce anything involving the specimens. That is her job, and he is still just a child, no matter how many exceptions have been made in light of his pending thesis.

But 1-M-7 is a developing homo sapien child. He needs adequate levels of nutrition to ensure that he develops properly. If he does not start to take care of himself or allow the tribe to tend to his needs, he will need to be sedated and given a nutrition supplement before placing him in the calming room. 1-M-7 ends up in the calming room every few day cycles now, and it would not cost them anything to give him a supplement when he is already unconscious.

It may not be his place to make suggestions, but Castiel still makes a note to mention that to his mother the next time tensions in the tribe reach a head again. That, too, is cause for worry. Of the documents that he has made over the last several lunar cycles in regards to 1-M-7, he has made note of the relationships being developed with the tribe.

There has been nothing but friction between 1-M-7 and the next youngest male, 1-M-5. Castiel has tracked each altercation that has occurred between them, and each one seems to have 1-M-5 attempting to exert some form of control over 1-M-7. Despite his young age, 1-M-7 is admirable in his refusal to be pushed around. He stands up for himself, even if doing so ends up causing a fight between them.

Both get taken to separate calming rooms. That does seem to temper 1-M-5’s temper, and he has eased off on bothering 1-M-7 some. But the young female of similar age to 1-M-7 has stepped up to fill in the gaps and bothers him as well. F-3 pesters him quite often, but any altercations involving her are primarily between her parental unit, 1-F-2 and 1-M-7. To 1-F-2’s credit, she does seem to be attempting precautions to keep the two children from being alone together.

F-3’s interest in 1-M-7 has certainly made Mother and her coworkers happy. Castiel, as a future Zoologist, should be pleased by this too. It could indicate a high possibility that the two of them will form a mated pair someday. He finds it difficult to be content with this information when he feels… bad for 1-M-7. This is clearly not easy on him.

No matter how many times he is sedated and moved to the calming room, and this has happened at least once a lunar cycle, it does not seem to be doing 1-M-7 any good. He continues to isolate himself from the tribe, and Castiel believes this is negatively impacting him. Unfortunately, there is nothing Castiel can do to help, aside from actually speaking to 1-M-7.

If they were allowed to talk, one to one, there is the possibility that he could determine why 1-M-7 is struggling. They might even be able to make strides towards correcting the difficulties. Clearly there is something upsetting him, and whatever the reason, it is also affecting his ability to integrate into the rest of the tribe. Castiel has his suspicions about what those things may be, but how is he supposed to know for sure if his mother will not allow him to speak with 1-M-7 or any of the other specimens?

But the more that Castiel watches 1-M-7, the more he is leaning towards taking a psychological standpoint in his thesis rather than a zoological one. Mother would be happy with whatever he chooses to do, certainly, but Castiel has had his heart set on working in the zoological department with homo sapiens. All simply because he finds them and their burgeoning civilization to be truly remarkable.

The differences in the cultures between the different tribes, and across the different sectors? Astounding. Castiel cannot get enough of learning about it all now that he has finished the anatomical section of his lessons. Many new questions have been brought to light by his new classes, and from his time observing 1-M-7. So much so that Castiel has also ordered lesson blocks on the psychology of the homo sapien mind.

These new lessons are cutting into the zoological ones, but they are incredibly important. While Zoology will certainly always be his first love and the main focus of his thesis, psychology could still be applied to what could be his future position here. Castiel just wants to know everything he needs so that he can truly understand 1-M-7 and why he is reacting so differently to his new life compared to all the other specimens they have on file.

Unfortunately, understanding the emotional reasons behind what homo sapien specimens do is not considered a priority. Those who express interest in the emotional well being of this specific species get labeled as Sapien Sympathizers, and that small subgroup of Aetherian society is mentioned quite often in Castiel’s new lessons – with no small amount of disdain.

Lessons should be factual. There should be no opinions in them, and yet whoever compiled this lesson most certainly did not keep their opinions on Sapien Sympathizers out of it. Sadly, Castiel is not surprised about this. He should have expected it, really, but he stares down at the block of text on the screen of his desk and feels a sinking sensation in his stomach.

The text details how Sapien Sympathizers are unable to remove their feelings from their studies. Sympathizers feel bad for the specimens when they should be indifferent. Aetherians are not about what is right or what is wrong. They are about science and understanding the creatures of this planet in an effort to potentially colonize it fully in the future. To do so, everything must be catalogued from one pole to the other.

Certainly, Castiel agrees that it would be best to know everything about the planet they eventually want to call their own, but can they truly do that if there is already an existing civilization and people here? He does not think it would be right to do so. And that leads to another thought: what will happen to the homo sapiens if Aetherians eventually decide that floating cities with a maximum capacity of five thousand Aetherians is not enough for them anymore?

If Aetherians decide to start building permanent locations instead of continuing to drift across the globe in their floating cities, are they going to relocate any homo sapiens in the same area? Or will they commit nothing short of a genocide?

It is highly unlikely that anything like that will happen in Castiel’s lifetime, but the worries still take root in the back of his mind. These are things he can never mention to his mother, and he already is uncomfortable with mentioning that he is now also studying psychology and sociology. Mother has never shown him anger before, but Castiel fears that she might if she even got a hint of an idea that he might be leaning towards being a Sapien Sympathizer.

Thoughts like that certainly have been coming to him more often the longer that he watches 1-M-7.

But the more that Castiel scrolls through his lesson, the more that it stresses that opinionated and vocal Sapien Sympathizers do not do well in their chosen careers. They will be passed over for promotions, assigned lackluster projects, and are otherwise seen as lesser in the workplace. Castiel understands why, but it is still fairly disappointing to read. Even if he seems to agree more and more with Sapien Sympathizers, he can never let anyone know. It could cost him his chance at getting to work directly with homo sapiens, and that has been his dream for as long as he can remember.

Before he even reaches the end of the lesson, Castiel has already decided that he is going to have to keep his feelings on Sapien Sympathizers and homo sapiens to himself.

More than half a sol cycle has passed since 1-M-7 was collected. If it were not for Mother’s position within the department, Castiel would most certainly not have all the extra perks that he currently has access to. Not only is he still being shared information from his mother’s coworkers, but he now also has notifications specific to 1-M-7 coming to his PADD. If an altercation or injury occurs, Castiel receives notice just like his mother.

Usually, Castiel is there to see it happen, but he has appreciated the notifications for whenever he chooses to take his lesson at home. On those days, Castiel transfers his lesson to his PADD and flies across the city to check on 1-M-7 where he has been isolated in the calming room again. He may be the only one who unofficially identifies this one room as belonging to 1-M-7 now, but the workers do seem to put him in the same room every time.

He has grown somewhat attached to watching 1-M-7 and his slow progress with acclimating to his new surroundings. Castiel appreciates being kept in the loop, despite still being a child and most definitely not being an employee. There are still four point two six sol cycles left to his lessons, or less if he pushes himself harder. Unfortunately, his thesis is just bare bones currently. If he wants to start working with his mother by the end of his lesson, he will need to have his thesis completed.

It is not unheard of in Aetherian society, and perhaps it is more common to finish one’s lessons and take another sol cycle or longer to formulate and construct one’s thesis. Castiel could easily do that, but he would prefer not to. He is quite ambitious and wishes to start contributing to their society as soon as he possibly can. So much so, actually, that he has been sacrificing sleep lately in pursuit of completing lessons at home after sundown.

A lack of sleep is not normally a problem for Aetherians. They require much less rest than most of the creatures on this planet. Even so, Castiel has been pushing it quite a lot. Tonight, he experienced actual fatigue for the first time in memory. As such, Castiel decided that he would actually sleep the full night instead of waiting for the early hours of the morning.

However, he did not expect to be awoken in the middle of the night by his PADD quite literally screaming at him from the small table next to his roost. There are different levels of importance that notifications can be marked with. Castiel has never received a notification of this level before, and it wakes him in an instant.

His wings flare and he stands sharply, nearly falling backwards off his roost. If it were not for the grip of his talons, he may actually have fallen. Instead, Castiel pinwheels his arms before grabbing the bar on which he usually rests his arms and head as he sleeps. Once satisfied he will not fall over, he grabs his PADD to silence the alarm and reads the flashing notification.

From the room next door, Castiel can also hear his mother’s PADD screaming. It stops a moment later. He knuckles at his eyes with one hand while swiping open the notification with the other. Castiel barely glances over the words before he drops his PADD and jumps from his roost. With urgency fueling his motions, he slaps at the control panel for his closet. It has barely slipped from the wall before he is grabbing a pair of pants.

Hopping on one foot is not easy with talons, but Castiel manages to make his way towards the door of his room. It does not even occur to him until he and his mother are all but sprinting through the main living space that he forgot the wraps for his pants. Even Mother did not wrap hers, but at least she is also wearing a shirt. She ties her hair up as the unit door slides open, and the cool air is a shock to Castiel’s bare chest.

Behind his ribs, Castiel’s heart is pounding almost painfully, and yet it feels like it is lodged in his throat. His mouth has gone strangely dry, and it takes him far too long to realize that he is experiencing fear. Aetherians have nearly nothing to fear in their cities, and this is not a common thing for him to feel. Fear swallows the usual thrill of flight as he launches in tandem with his mother, both of them beating their wings hard to cross the city as fast as they can.  

Mother’s wings are built for speed. She pulls ahead of him quickly, the strength of a full grown Aetherian going into each beat of her four wings. Castiel does his best to keep up with her, and he is just beginning to feel the effects of straining himself by the time they spiral down into the entry column of the zoological building. They land heavily at the base and take off running. He has no idea where they would go first and differs to follow his mother, rushing after her to the lift that will take them up to the observation bridge.

Despite it being the middle of the night, the Alpha Sector enclosure is lit with floating lanterns. Castiel squints in surprise at the light. He was not expecting it to be as bright as midday as they step out of the lift and onto the empty bridge. All other Aetherians are already down in the enclosure.

Those who work the night shift at the zoo are split into two groups. One group is standing around the campsite of the tribe. Castiel only glances at the camp briefly, but he notes that a few of the tribe members are collapsed outside of their tents. One of the workers is checking each of the tents, a tranquilizer in hand. Of course. It would only make sense that they would put the entire tribe to sleep so none could potentially interfere.

The rest of the workers are gathered in the back of the enclosure, standing under the trees off to one side. Castiel recognizes it as an unmonitored corner. The specimens do not use it for anything, so there is no reason to keep cameras focused on it. Up until now.

Castiel remains on the bridge as his mother leaps over the railing and glides down to join her coworkers. She lands and looks back up at him. (Are you coming?)

Surprised, he hesitates, but only for a moment. Castiel grips the railing in both hands, hopping up and over it. He glides down to land behind his mother as she starts striding across the field towards the wooded area. She walks with such confidence, but Castiel staggers slightly with his first step. He has never stood on dirt before. His talons sink into it and the grass in a way they never have on another surface before.

Getting over it quickly, Castiel lifts his talons as he walks, and he follows after his mother. When he reaches the line of the trees, he looks up. At first, he is baffled by what he sees, and then a sense of pride fills him. Castiel quickly schools his expression into one of neutrality. It would not be good to accidentally smile in front of the others.

Apparently, it has been some time since the trees were last pruned, if ever. A fairly thick branch, at least thick enough to support a malnourished child, has grown closer to the wall than it likely should have been allowed. From the branch, a thick braid of vines has been tied to it. The braid stretches across the space of nearly two meters before it reaches and drapes over the wall that divides the Alpha Sector and Beta Sector enclosures.

1-M-7’s ingenuity is quite impressive.

One of Mother’s coworkers turns to her as she approaches. Castiel does not recognize him, but he appears to be younger, perhaps in his late teens or early twenties. His blond hair is swept back out of his face, and there is some light facial hair on his chin and around his mouth.

He nods at her as she comes to a stop next to him. (Naomi.)

(Zachariah.) She looks up with a heavy sigh through her nose, her hands on her hips. (I see our problem child has been hard at work.)

(I have not heard of a homo sapien figuring out how to escape one of our enclosures before.) Zachariah crosses his arms and looks up as well. (One might say that I am almost impressed with how clever this specimen is.)

Castiel is impressed, but he wisely chooses not to offer his own insight to the conversation. Instead, he takes the chance to get a more in depth look at a section of the enclosure he has not been able to observe as closely as the others. Following the back wall, Castiel does not have to go far to find 1-M-7’s private camp. He is excited to have a chance to poke through it.

To his surprise, he finds a few rudimentary tools have been collected and stored under the roots that make up part of the tent. Rocks and sticks are gathered with them, as if 1-M-7 were planning on attempting to make more. Castiel allows himself a smile now. There is no reason for him to be pleased with the intelligence 1-M-7 displays here and with his escape attempt, and yet he is.

As he leaves the small camp, intent on rejoining his mother, something catches his eye. The vines of ivy covering the wall are disturbed in one place. He steps up to the wall and brushes the vines aside gently, parting them in the same way they appear to have been done several times before. Castiel is not expecting to find clusters of lines scraped into the wall under the vines, and he drags a nail through one of the indentations.

There is no rhyme or reason to the lines. Why would 1-M-7 make them? Castiel scans over them quickly. At first glance, he counts two-hundred-four marks. It takes him a moment to realize, with a start, that the number of marks number the same amount of days since 1-M-7 was collected. This is remarkable… 1-M-7 has been counting and keeping track of the days!

Castiel reaches for his PADD to mark this down and take a picture for his notes, only to remember that he did not bring it with him. Chastising himself briefly, he makes a mental note to add this information to his ever growing list of fascinating things that 1-M-7 has done.

Is there anything else that he missed? Castiel steps away and glances around the campsite. It seems he has seen everything to see here. He makes his way back to where his Mother and coworkers are deep in discussion about the next steps to take to find 1-M-7, his punishment for this, and what they can do to ensure it does not happen again.

On the backside of the tree closest to the wall, Castiel takes note of another braided rope of vines dangling between the branches. Curious, he walks over and gives the rope a light tug. It appears to be secured up in the tree. 1-M-7 must have climbed the tree and used this rope to bring his supplies up with him. Castiel doubts that he would have been able to carry the thick rope easily on his own. But… How many more supplies does 1-M-7 have? Did he bring food with him? What is the rest of his escape plan?

Though he should probably join his mother again, Castiel tugs at the rope again. Satisfied that it is well secured, he tucks his wings against his back as tightly as he can, and uses the rope to start climbing the tree. He digs his talons into the soft bark to keep a good grip, and alternates between using branches and the rope to climb as high as he can get.

It is a little difficult to scale the tree, but he does manage to make his way up and around the tree to the thick branch that 1-M-7 had used to escape. He stands there, staring out across the nearly two meter gap that 1-M-7 either had to have jumped, or somehow climbed along the rope. It would need a counterweight on the other side, but how would he have found something he could have used, let alone get it up here and across the gap?

As he contemplates this, a buzz of contact brushes against his sha’ra. It is gentle at first, before turning sharp and incredulous. (Castiel! What are you doing?)

(I am looking for the specimen.) Castiel flares his wings and, with a little hop and a few flaps, he manages to make it across the gap to land lightly on the wall. He leans forward and looks down. (It appears that 1-M-7 used the length of rope to climb down the other side.) There is a lack of a counterweight, so he must have jumped.

The Beta Sector enclosure is built fairly similar to the Alpha Sector. A waterfall and pool of water are at the far end, but the thicket of trees in the Beta Sector enclosure is much smaller. It is located on the far side from the Alpha Sector enclosure. The vast majority of the rest of the space consists of high grass from the plains. It sways in an artificial breeze, rustling quietly. From where Castiel is standing, he can see the Beta Sector camp is also on lockdown like the Alpha Sector camp. Aetherians are starting to activate and release lanterns to light this enclosure as well.

At the base of the wall, a large section of the grass has been flattened. From it, a path has been made through the grass to cut towards the thicket of trees. Understandable, of course. 1-M-7 is from a village that lives in the trees. Castiel has already theorized that 1-M-7 finds comfort among them, thus why he has created his own camp separate from the rest of the tribe.

(Get down from there, Castiel.) Mother’s firm touch to his sha’ra is accompanied by a sense of annoyance and concern.

Castiel acknowledges his mother’s command, but he does not move. His eyes are fixed on the trail leading into the grass. He can see where it continues to part further ahead. 1-M-7 is still moving towards the trees. Unfortunately for him, he is essentially trapped. A part of Castiel does feel bad for him. After this, 1-M-7 will likely be spending a few (if not several) days in the calming room. He will be isolated at least long enough for the trees of the Alpha Sector enclosure to be pruned, and a method of ensuring this never happens again is determined.

The lanterns are quite bright as they float closer to where Castiel is standing. He squints against the light, focused on what he believes to be 1-M-7 still moving through the grass. The forming of the path comes to an abrupt stop as the light floats overhead. Will 1-M-7 try to hide in the grass? It will not do much good against infrared detection, and it is only a matter of time until someone brings a scanner out to view the area from above.

1-M-7 will be hunted down quickly and efficiently, and a sinking sense of sadness situates itself in Castiel’s stomach. Regardless of whether or not he is a specimen, 1-M-7 is first and foremost a child. He is likely scared and frustrated with a situation that he has no control over. Perhaps if someone were to speak to him, he might return to the Alpha Sector enclosure without a fight. He may even come to understand that he should not be attempting to escape.

The touch to his sha’ra turns harsh and he flinches from the disapproval in his mother’s words. (Castiel.)

(My apologies, Naomi.)

His words are not for how he continues not to listen to her, but rather for what he is about to do next. Castiel knows he will be punished for this later, but he cannot simply stand by and allow a child not much younger than himself, of a species much less developed than his own, be terrorized.

He flares his upper wings and launches off the wall. As expected, his mother’s touch on his sha’ra resonates with anger and disapproval. Castiel focuses to tune her out. His concern lies solely with 1-M-7 currently, and he glides down into the grass to land in the path that was cleared through it. Once he stands amongst it with the grass coming up to his chin, Castiel realizes that 1-M-7 must have been crouching as he made his way towards the trees.

Cautiously, he begins to move forward, parting the grass ahead of him with his hands. By crouching as he walked, 1-M-7 damaged less stalks around him. With the breeze, the grass waves together and obscures everything from view except for the bit of the path directly in front of him. Now Castiel can no longer tell if 1-M-7 is moving again, but at least he can continue to follow the path.

His heartbeat is a constant pounding pressure in his chest. It fills his ears, almost to the point that he nearly misses a noise off to his left. His ear-wing on that side twitches, angling towards the sound. Castiel turns his head just as a form jumps out of the grass next to him, knocking him to the ground with a gasp. He blinks rapidly as a small fist catches him in the cheek, but he barely feels it or any of the other punches that follow.

1-M-7 is on top of him. He barely weighs anything to Castiel, and his punches are weak at best. They do not hurt in the slightest, and Castiel doubts that they will even leave bruises behind. It takes no effort at all for him to catch one thin wrist and then the other, overpowering 1-M-7 easily. Homo sapiens are already quite weak compared to Aetherians, and 1-M-7’s lack of sleep and weight loss has only widened the gap between them.

This close, Castiel can count 1-M-7’s ribs. He is all angular bones and skin, and it is… heartbreaking.

Castiel is not expecting tears, however. They are streaming down 1-M-7’s face. Words are flying at him, fast, fumbled, and broken by choking sobs. He manages to catch bits and pieces; home, strange places, family, hatred. That last word lodges itself between his ribs like a sliver of ice. That is a powerful word, especially in Aetherian society. There is little to hate in this life, if anything, and one does not use that word lightly.

There are many questions being launched at him, and 1-M-7 is shaking with the effort of it all. His body trembles violently with every sob. He is truly pitiful. Pathetic even. And Castiel… Castiel wants to hug him. A surprisingly large part of him wants to fold 1-M-7 in his wings and offer him comfort. What a curious notion.

Now is not the time for that, however.

Sitting up sharply, Castiel forces 1-M-7 off of him. “Please stop.” The words feel weird on his tongue, despite how often he has practiced them.

Immediately, 1-M-7 goes still. His jaw drops and his eyes, a deep shade of green and gold in the bright light of the lantern, go wide. Castiel gets his feet under him and stands, pulling 1-M-7 up with him as he does not seem keen to move on his own. He stands taller than 1-M-7 by a good six centimeters at the least. As such, 1-M-7 stares up at him, frozen in place.

“You talked.” 1-M-7’s voice is barely more than a hoarse whisper. “You talked.”

“Yes.” Castiel nods and he turns, prepared to pull 1-M-7 with him towards the wall again. “I –”

He gets no further as his ear-wings perk at the soft pfft of a tranquilizer being fired. Castiel glances back, and a dart is now sticking out of 1-M-7’s shoulder. He tenses briefly with a gasp and staggers forward a single step. 1-M-7’s eyes roll back as they slide shut, and he goes limp. Castiel catches him before he hits the ground, and does not think twice about scooping the small body up into his arms. It is… saddening to see him so thin. Castiel will have to push harder with his mother to try and get 1-M-7 proper nutrition.

There is a small cloth sack tied to 1-M-7’s hip, likely containing whatever food and supplies he deemed necessary to bring in his escape venture. It will be confiscated once they have left the enclosures. The Beta Sector tribe may not be aware that anything happened tonight, but the Alpha Sector has two tribe members outside their tents. They must have been awake for when Aetherians descended into the enclosure. This is a break in their routine, and they will no doubt have a difficult time come the morning.

The humming whirr of a hover-pad catches Castiel’s attention. He looks up and takes note of one coming from over the wall, guided by the Aetherian standing on it and manipulating the control column located at the front of the pad. Castiel can feel his mother seething against his sha’ra. She is very unhappy with him, but she will not say or do anything in front of her coworkers. He can expect a stern talking to and potentially severe consequences when they return to their home.

(Get on.) The Aetherian on the hover-pad brings it down next to him.

Castiel has not met her before, but he nods and steps on as instructed. He hefts 1-M-7 in his arms, keeping him curled tightly against his chest as the hover-pad rises again. They bypass the Alpha Sector enclosure, but Castiel still gets a good look at how they are working at tearing down 1-M-7’s rope, gathering it to likely throw in a recycler. Others are standing on more hover-pads and setting to work pruning the trees back by at least another meter. It will be significantly harder for 1-M-7 to escape via this method again.

Mother is nowhere to be seen, but that could easily be explained by the cover of the trees. Perhaps she is checking into 1-M-7’s secluded camp? Castiel would ask, but he does not want to set off a lecture any earlier than he needs to.

He does note that none of the workers seem to be disturbing the vines on the walls. Since 1-M-7 makes rope from them, would it not make sense to remove his access to them? Granted, they do have a purpose within the enclosure by hiding the white walls and creating an ambiance to help the tribe settle better into their new home. Perhaps that is why, in which case Castiel will be worried that 1-M-7 may make more rope and try again.

If 1-M-7 has escaped once, he will most certainly do it again.

The hover-pad docks next to the bridge, right beside the lift. Castiel is led from there, down via the lift to the next level, and exits through a different set of doors. The back of the lift lets out into the employee only passageways that connect various sections of the building. Stark white halls lead along the outside edge of the building, broken up by doors every so often. Display panels next to each door list which enclosure it has access to, or if a calming room is in use.

For the entire walk, the Aetherian leading him does not say a word. She merely guides Castiel to a specific door and inputs information into the panel. It lights up with 1-M-7’s designation and the door slides open. It is the same calming room that 1-M-7 is always brought to, though Castiel has not seen it from this side before. He knows it almost intimately from the other side of the quartz glass that usually divides him from 1-M-7.

Castiel steps over to the corner where 1-M-7 normally sits. Gently, with all the care he can manage, he puts 1-M-7 down in the soft grass.

Homo sapiens do not have a horn halo or a means of receiving his sha’ra, but Castiel still thinks very hard in 1-M-7’s direction. (I am sorry.)

He refrains from glancing back over his shoulder as he leaves the room. The Aetherian who led him here tilts her head in a gesture for him to continue to follow her. She starts walking without waiting for him to acknowledge the direction. Without her attention on him, Castiel takes a moment to linger and stare at 1-M-7’s name on the panel. He sighs softly to himself and turns to follow her.

To his surprise, he is not taken back to the lift. Instead, he is shown down a different hall to a room that he is not familiar with. His mother is waiting inside, her arms crossed and her ear-feathers fluffed in irritation. Her wings shift against her back, further signs of how unsettled she is. Castiel immediately ducks his head and his upper wings curve forward over his shoulders. His ear-wings droop, as the dreaded lecture is now upon him.

Mother’s coworker leaves without a word, and they are alone. She at least has the courtesy of waiting until the door is closed before her sha’ra brushes harshly against his own. (I am very disappointed in your actions tonight, Castiel.)

(I know, Naomi.) He bows his head further. (My apologies.)

Fury buffets against his sha’ra and he winces, even when it is eased by her worry. (What if the child had a weapon?) Mother’s talons click on the floor as she approaches a control panel against the wall. (You are not trained in dealing with a specimen one-on-one. You could have been hurt.)

Unlikely, given 1-M-7’s state, but Castiel does not dare say as much. (I did not put any forethought into my actions. I allowed my concern for 1-M-7 to direct me.) And this is quite shameful for him to admit, even to his own mother.

(That is not the Aetherian way.) Disappointment filters through her words. (We do not allow our emotions to control what we do.)

Her tone is specifically scolding now and Castiel’s wings droop fully in response. Even though she is not looking at him, his ear-wings droop in tandem and his bottom lip sticks out just slightly. Such a pathetic expression would usually ease her anger, but this may be one of those few situations where it would have no effect.

Mother is more focused on initializing and preparing what appears to be a decontamination unit. (I am going to assign you an extra lesson regarding Aetherian conduct. I expect you to write a paper afterwards detailing what you did wrong, and what the correct course of action should have been.)

(Yes, Naomi.) There is little point in arguing against it.

(Good. Now remove your clothing and deposit them into the recycler.) One of her wings twitches out to gesture towards where the recycler is located in the room.

Castiel sighs and quickly undresses, removing both his pants and underclothes. He bundles them up and drops them into the recycler, watching them tumble down the tube that will eventually drop into the recycling hub where they will be broken down into matter to be used in the synthesizers. While Mother continues priming the decontamination unit, Castiel stands naked in the center of the room and is quietly grateful that his mother is not aware that he actually spoke to 1-M-7. 

When the unit is ready, Mother steps over to it and gestures him inside. The unit takes up the whole backside of the room, needing to be wide enough for an adult wingspan. Castiel steps through the doorway and Mother closes the opaque glass door behind him.

(Raise your arms, spread your wings, and remain as such until the decontamination process is complete.)

(Yes, Naomi.)

He complies without complaint and closes his eyes as the sonic shower begins. Little pulses of high frequency sonics clean him from head to toe, knocking away whatever dirt and dust he might have gathered on his feathers.

(Until you are employed here, you are not to enter the enclosure.) Mother continues her lecture as the unit scans Castiel over to ensure he has been cleansed properly. (You are still a member of the public. Had you been injured tonight, an inquisition would have been made and I could likely have lost my position for having brought you with me in the first place. Do you understand what consequences your actions could have had?)

(Yes, Naomi.)

He sighs quietly through his nose and tilts his head back as a fine sanitizing mist is released from sprinklers in the ceiling. It settles into his hair and feathers and leaves his skin feeling clean but slightly damp. At least it will ensure that he will not catch anything from his contact with 1-M-7 or the enclosures. Frankly, Castiel did not expect that there would be problems on that front no matter what. He is fully up to date on his vaccinations, and all specimens are thoroughly vetted before being added to the enclosure anyway.

(Are you aware of how many exceptions have been granted to you regarding access to information regarding 1-M-7? Even though your thesis will be based on that specimen, your extended presence goes undisturbed because of my position.) Mother opens the door for him when the decontamination process is complete. (My coworkers have taken a liking to you and they are impressed that you have top marks for your age group. But that will not be enough to prevent you having all current access revoked if you do something like that again.)

(I understand.) Castiel steps out of the unit and accepts the fresh set of clothing Mother has already had synthesized for him. (I am grateful for the opportunities you have made available to me, and I will not act again in a way that would jeopardize my safety or the access I have been granted.)

Mother nods, seemingly satisfied with his response. And then she picks up a hypo-spray and Castiel winces at the sight of it. He is not overly fond of hypo-sprays, and Mother is fully aware of this.

Neither her tone nor her expression show any sympathy as she steps up next to him. (Consider this part of your punishment.)

If anything, there is a sense of amusement brushing against Castiel’s sha’ra as she presses the injection nozzle of the hypo against the side of his neck. With a quick hiss, and barely a pinch, it injects the contents. Castiel does not enjoy the feeling of it.

(These prophylactics will handle anything that you may have contracted from 1-M-7.)

(Thank you.) Though he is, perhaps, not as sincere as he could be.

Castiel’s shoulders are up around his ears and his wings shiver from the remaining feeling of the hypo-spray. It takes him a moment to shake himself out of the crawling sensation along the skin over the back of his neck. Once he has centered himself again, he begins getting dressed. Mother only provided another pair of pants for him, and he is quick to get dressed.

His mother steps up in front of him after he has finished tying the pants around his waist. She cups his face in her hands and presses their foreheads together gently. (Please understand that you worried me quite a bit.)

(I am sorry, Naomi.) Castiel leans into her and covers her hands with his. (I did not intend to worry you.)

Yet… There is a part of him that does not feel bad about any of this. It is hard to feel bad when all he can think about is how 1-M-7 will be in the calming room for a few days. Alone. He will most certainly not like that, but he cannot be returned to the enclosure until they have figured out how to ensure that it will not happen again.

What would have happened if the next enclosure had not been for the Beta Sector? What if it had housed a dangerous mammal, reptile, or otherwise? Castiel shudders to think about what could have happened to 1-M-7 then.

And there are still further concerns that he cannot forget.

(Naomi…) This might not be the best time for it, but it is a very pressing matter and not one that he believes can wait any longer. (My concerns about 1-M-7’s weight and overall health have increased exponentially now that I have -)

Mother cuts him off with a shake of her head. (We can discuss that on our way home.) She bumps their foreheads together once more before turning away. (I have made arrangements for Zachariah to handle everything else for the night.)

Castiel would prefer discussing it now, but he knows better than to press his luck. As long as they discuss it soon and his mother actually does something to help 1-M-7, then he will be happy.

It is nearly midday by the time Castiel returns to the zoo on his own. Naomi had set out in the morning, as she always does, but had insisted that he stay behind and get some proper rest. It was not hard, as he was rather worn out after the events that had transpired.

By the time he arrives at the zoo, it is to find that they have already solved the issue concerning 1-M-7’s escape. An energy barrier has been erected along all potential walls that 1-M-7 may attempt to breach in the future, rising an additional two meters into the air. Any higher would be unnecessary as 1-M-7, nor any adult homo sapien in the enclosure, would have the upper body strength necessary to get a counterweight or rope over top of the barrier.

At first, Castiel was concerned for the free roaming avian specimens that fly wherever they wish from enclosure to enclosure. The barrier is invisible to the naked eye so as to maintain a sense of normalcy for the homo sapiens. He knows from his lessons that the barriers do have a rippling blue energy to them when they are touched. That would not help an avian specimen from flying straight into it, however. But, if it was set up correctly, the barrier should give off an energy signal not unlike the sha’ra that they will want to avoid.

Castiel is not fully convinced that the barriers will be enough to keep 1-M-7 contained. He is stubborn. Incredibly so. This will not be the last attempt that 1-M-7 makes to escape. Castiel is certain of it.

Chapter Text

Dean stares at the stupid empty ceiling, tracing the edge of the hole that lets in the sunlight. He woke up a little while ago, but he hasn’t moved. What’s the point? There’s nothing for him to do, no one has come to watch him through the see-through wall, and he’s hungry. Bowls of food are by the door full of dried meat and different fruits. He’s not going to touch them, but he wants to. He really, really wants to.

His stomach gives an aching gurgle and Dean closes his eyes, trying not to think about it. He rolls onto his side, and then onto his stomach. It brings him a lot closer to the pond of water that takes up a front corner of the room. Dean groans and shuffles around until he can crawl the rest of the way. The water is clear and the surface shimmers in the sun.

Propped up on one elbow, Dean uses his other hand to scoop water into his palm. He brings it to his mouth and sips. It’s as good as it has been every other time he’s been here, and he scoots forward to drink greedily straight from the pond. Filling his stomach with water is about the only thing he can do until the stupid Vingkäitä bring him back so he can get to his stash of berries, sour apples, and fish.

When he sits up again, there’s someone standing on the other side of the see-through wall. Dean jerks back in surprise, and then he’s scrambling forward. There’s only one Vingkäitä that he recognizes. Only one that comes around all the time, in both The Alone Room and the walled field. It’s the small one; the child; the one that found him on the other side of the wall in the tall grass, grabbed his hands, and –

“You talked.” Dean presses his palms and nose against the see-through wall. “You talked to me.”

The child looks surprised and takes a step back, all its feathers puffed up and wings spread out slightly. It blinks rapidly, alien eyes big and wide. The blue really stands out against the black of them, and it would be a pretty blue if the black wasn’t so creepy. It’s standing close and Dean realizes, with a start, that its pupils are different too. Thin and running from top to bottom. And the longer they look at each other, the wider those pupils get, until almost all the blue is being swallowed up by them.

After a minute, the Vingkäitä’s ear-wings shift and flick. It looks to one side, down the passageway, and then the other, and then again. Finally, it looks back at Dean and nods. Just once. Sharply. And then it looks down at the flat thing it’s always holding in its hands. It pokes at it a bit, and Dean frowns. He hates being ignored, and especially by the child that spoke to him.

He slaps the wall to get the Vingkäitä’s attention. “Talk to me again! Tell me why I’m here!” He curls his hand into a fit and slams it against the wall. “Why did you take me? Why am I here?”

The child looks up at him again, its bottom lip sucked in just a bit. One of its ear-wings twitches, and it checks both directions of the passageway again. It stares one way a lot longer than the other. Finally, it shakes its head and steps back to crouch against the far wall. The flat thing in its hands has its attention again, and it’s staring at the stupid thing like it’s trying to ignore him.

Dean does not like that. He stomps his foot, slams both fists against the see-through wall, and shouts himself hoarse. He’s heard a lot of bad words in his time, a lot of them from his own Ötehko. Äity told him never to repeat them, but he uses them now. She’s not here to frown at him in disappointment and shake her head, or lecture him, or send him back into the family tree down into the carved out space where he and Sammy would sleep. Dean uses all of them now, throwing a tantrum to end all tantrums.

But the Vingkäitä child is completely undisturbed. It just keeps tapping away at the flat thing, most definitely not saying a word.

It doesn’t take long for Dean to tire himself out. He really doesn’t have a lot of energy these days. Eventually, he slumps down in the corner by the see-through wall, temple resting against it so he can keep an eye on the child. Maybe it will eventually talk to him again?

The child does stop and glance up at him when he finally calms down. Its eyebrows are drawn together and lips twisted in a small frown. It doesn’t say anything, but it doesn’t look angry. If anything, Dean would say that it kind of looks… Sad?

And that’s when it occurs to him. “You’re not allowed to talk to me, are you?”

The Vingkäitä checks the passageway once more before looking him in the eye again. It shakes its head slightly, lips pressed into a thin line.

“Then why did you talk to me last night?”

It sucks in its bottom lip again, and looks down, fidgeting with the thin stick that it keeps removing and sticking back to the side of the flat thing. Dean has watched the child long enough by now to notice that the stick is held like he holds charcoal. He figures, maybe, the Vingkäitä uses it to write or draw or whatever it does on the flat thing. But somehow it never runs out of space to do whatever it does. He’s curious, but not enough to ask because he knew he would never get an answer. Now, though…?

The four wings against the child’s back shuffle slightly. It shifts its weight from one clawed foot to the other, and looks around again. But it still doesn’t speak and Dean sighs, closing his eyes. Even though he woke up a little while ago, he’s already tired again. Maybe he’ll just take a nap, and the Vingkäitä will talk with him after? Hopefully.

“I did not want you to get hurt.”

Dean sits up sharply, opening his eyes to find the child standing directly on the other side of the see-through wall. Its head is tilted towards the flat thing, and its wings are drawn up over its shoulders, but its eyes are on Dean, watching him. The words sound… weird. Stilted and with an accent that’s different from Rowena’s. It’s like the child isn’t used to speaking.

“You were hitting me. If the others had seen it, your punishment would have been more severe than having to spend a few days in a calming room.”

Dean frowns and looks around The Alone Room. Is that why they bring him here? To make him calm down? He knew it was supposed to be a punishment, but it’s only ever made him angrier. Made him more determined to find a way out of this place for good. And it definitely hasn’t helped him have a better relationship with Dick, May, or even Lily.

The child taps at the flat thing again. “Calming rooms are meant to give a specimen space to calm down after an altercation in an enclosure. We believe a fight would just escalate if–” It stops talking and frowns, glancing up at Dean. “You do not understand what I am saying?”

“You’re using a lot of big words I don’t know.” Dean shrugs and leans forward.

“Oh.” The Vingkäitä’s lips press together again. It points at Dean before quickly going back to pretend it’s looking at the flat thing. “You are a specimen. An altercation means a fight. The enclosure is where you live. Escalate means to become or cause to become more intense or serious – something that increases rapidly.”

Okay, so, that’s a lot of words too. But it’s what the child says first that makes Dean’s frown deepen. “I’m not a spesmin.” Or whatever the heck it said. “I’m a people.”

The child’s nose wrinkles a bit. It focuses on the flat thing for real now, and taps at it a bit. Eventually, it tilts its head to the side and its ear-wings flick slightly. “Being a specimen means that you are an example of your species that is used for scientific study and display.”

It speaks some of the words slower than the others, and one of them Dean doesn’t recognize at all, but the rest he does. Study. That’s what Frank has been saying since Dean got here. He says the Vingkäitä are studying them.

“Haven’t you studied me enough?” He presses his hands to the see-through wall again. “Don’t you have enough people to study? Why do I have to stay? Why can’t I go home?”

The child shakes its head and its wings drop slightly, ear-wings tilting downward. It looks away from him, and Dean knows all the signs of guilt when he sees it. “I cannot answer that. I do not… I am not…”

That’s not good enough. Dean slaps the wall again and rises up onto his knees. “Why not?”

“We do not release specimens once they have been collected.” The child won’t look at him, and it stops fidgeting with the flat thing. “You belong to the Zoo now.”

Dean’s jaw goes tight and he balls his hands into fists against the wall. Zoo? What is a zoo? Is that what they call this place? He opens and closes his mouth a few times before he slams one fist into the wall. “I belong with my family!” And then the other fist. “I belong at home!”

The child’s lips pinch again. It straightens its shoulders, jaw set and wings held still as it stares Dean straight in the eye. “This is your home now.” It’s trying to be strong, but Dean can hear the wobble in its voice, and how one of its ear-wings keeps twitching.

Standing in The Alone Room, Dean is taller than the child. He drops to his knees and ducks his head so they’re eye to eye. “No. It’s not.” He presses his forehead against the see-through wall. “I’m never going to stop fighting. I’m never going to stop trying to get out of here.”

To Dean’s surprise, the Vingkäitä almost smiles. One corner of its mouth twitches up, and it almost seems to… relax. Its shoulders and wings getting loose again. “I know.”

Dean’s lips curl. “I hate you.”

And then the child’s wings droop sharply, eyes widening slightly. It looks… shocked. But only for a moment. Then everything goes back to neutral and expressionless as it looks back down at the flat thing in its hand. “… I know.”

With that, the Vingkäitä steps back from the window to the other side of the passageway again. It drops into another crouch and balances the flat thing on its knees as it turns its attention to that. Dean knows that basically means that they’re done talking. He’s not going to get another answer out of the child. At least not right now. Maybe he can try again later.

Frustrated, Dean gets up and turns to go back to his corner. He’ll relax for a bit, and then yell at the child some more. The more information he gets, the more he knows about this place, and the better he can plan his next escape. Dean is fully aware that it won’t be easy. The Vingkäitä found him both quickly and easily on his last attempt. He remembers seeing floating lights flare to life over the camp and the field shortly after managing to get his vine rope over the edge of the wall.

There was some faith and luck involved with jumping from the tree to the wall, and Dean was sure his chest was going to bruise from hitting the edge. If he did bruise, then the Vingkäitä must have dealt with it before bringing him to The Alone Room like they do every time he fights with Dick. It wasn’t easy, but Dean had hauled himself over the edge of the wall from there and used the rope to shimmy down the other side.

His heart clenches in his chest again, remembering how his stomach sank when he saw that it was just another field with taller grass and more walls. It was dark and he couldn’t see a whole lot, but he just went from one trapped space to another. If he wants to escape from this place, he’s going to need to have a plan to get over another wall, without the use of trees.

“You should eat more.”

Dean stops a few steps from the see-through wall. He looks back over his shoulder, and the Vingkäitä child is looking up at him again. He frowns. “I’m not gonna eat anything monsters give me.”

The child’s expression goes tight again, its shoulders curling forward and wings folding over them slightly. It takes a deep breath, but doesn’t look away. “I recommend that you do.”

“Not happening.” Dean turns around again, arms crossed. “Never going to happen.”

“You should.” The Vingkäitä doesn’t move, but everything about it has gone serious and determined. “You will not like what will happen when those responsible for your care determine that you are dangerously underweight.”

There’s something about what it said that sends a chill down Dean’s spine. He steps up close to the see-through wall again. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

The Vingkäitä taps its chin with the stick from the flat thing. It glances around again before leaning forward, hugging the flat thing to its chest, but not standing up to move closer. “I do not mean this as a threat. I mean this as fact. If your health becomes affected by your choice to not consume what we give you, they will take you from the enclosure –”

It pauses at Dean’s frown and cocks its head to the side. “– your new home. Whether you are conscious for this period or not is up to them, but you will be unable to move. A tube will be pushed down your throat, either through your mouth or your nose, and into your stomach. You will be force fed nutritional substitutes through that tube until you have regained an acceptable weight.”

Dean’s stomach turns uncomfortably and he feels like he’s going to be sick. He covers his nose and mouth with his hands. “That – that’s sick.”

The child shrugs and sits back again. “They will do what needs to be done to ensure that you remain healthy. We do not like loss of life if it can be avoided.”

“You’re all sick.” Dean feels like gagging. He doesn’t even really understand what a tube is, but he can make a decent guess.

The Vingkäitä’s wings curl tighter over its shoulders and it stares down at the flat thing again. “I would greatly prefer if you would simply eat what is provided to you.”

Dean huffs loudly, turns on his heel, and stomps to the back of The Alone Room again. He paces back and forth there, sorely tempted to kick the bowls of food and scatter them everywhere. Instead, he kicks at the grass, and then at the reeds growing near the edge of the pond. The Vingkäitä doesn’t move. It stays where it is, looking at the flat thing, and Dean growls to himself.

This is stupid. This is the worst. He’s so mad at everything. And he’s hungry, getting tired, and just – It isn’t fair. It’s not fair.

And then an idea starts to form. Dean crosses the short distance to bang his fist against the see-through wall until the child looks up at him again. He crosses his arms and looks away. “Can you get me seeds?”

The child looks up, head cocked to the side slightly. “Seeds?”

Dean watches each movement from the corner of his eye. He rubs at his arms slightly. “Yeah, seeds. So I can grow my own food.”

The Vingkäitä jumps up suddenly and rushes forward, eyes wide with what looks like actual excitement. “You mean that you wish to farm? Have you ever farmed before?”

That’s another word that Dean doesn’t recognize. He shakes his head. “Farm?”

But the child is practically trembling in place. Its wings and ear-wings are all twitching up and the feathers are puffing out. It starts using the stick on the flat thing feverishly. After a long moment where it still doesn’t answer Dean’s question, the Vingkäitä stops and looks back up at him.

“I cannot make a promise, but I will see what can be done.” It points past him towards the back of the room. “In the meantime, please eat something. I carried you here last night, and you are abnormally thin for a child of your age and height. I am…” It pauses, frowning slightly. “I am concerned.”

Now that is something Dean doesn’t understand. The big Vingkäitä sure didn’t have a problem with taking him from his family and locking him up. None of them – child or not – is allowed to be concerned about his health or anything else about him. It puts a bad taste in Dean’s mouth and he turns on his heel, stomping back to his corner.

He drops into the corner, arms and legs crossed, and glowers at the Vingkäitä as it watches him from the other side of the see-through wall. His stomach gives a weak, sad gurgle and a tingle buzzes at the back of his throat. Dean doesn’t know what that feeling is, but he only gets it when he’s really hungry. Too bad he doesn’t have any of the supplies that he brought with him for his escape. The Vingkäitä must have taken it when they brought him here.

There were a few crude tools, but a bunch of berries, apples, and dried fish that he had packed into pouches. It would suck not to have it back when he’s returned to the rest of the tribe.

“Hey!” He calls out to the child, getting its attention again. “Will I get my stuff back?”

The child tilts its head slightly, eyes narrowed. “The rope you made has been recycled.” It pauses and then shakes its head. “That means it has been removed and will be processed into something else. The bags you have will be returned to you when you are returned to the enclosure.”

“When’s that gonna be?”

“I am unsure.” The Vingkäitä looks down at the flat thing and taps it a bunch of times. “They are very unhappy with what you have done. You may be left in the calming room for a few days as punishment.”

Dean groans and drops his head back against the wall. “Guess I’m gonna be hungry for a while, then.”

The child makes an unhappy noise and knocks its knuckles against the see-through wall. “Please do not do that. I promise you that the food we give you is plucked straight from the plant and given directly to you. We are very strict about ensuring that the food we provide you is grown and prepared the same as what you would encounter in your natural habitat.”

“Still don’t trust it.” Dean stares at the ceiling and drums his fingers on his arms. “Still don’t trust you.”

“You eat the fish that you catch, and the fruit that grows in your enclosure.” The child sounds frustrated, and its ear-wings are getting all kinds of fluffy. “We are the ones who planted the bushes and the trees. We are the ones that release the fish from the breeding tanks. How are those different from the other provisions that we provide?”

That… is not something Dean had considered before. He never stopped to think of how things ended up as they are here. This isn’t a natural place. Someone made it. Ugh. Now he feels sick. All his efforts not to eat something they give him has been for nothing now. And, really, what’s the difference between the seeds and anything else they give the tribe? It’s still going to be something they give him.

Dean groans and draws his knees up. He drops his forehead against them and sighs loudly. After thinking about it backwards and forwards, weighing his options, and finally looks up again. “Do you… Do you know how long it takes seeds to grow?”

The child blinks at him a few times before looking down at the flat thing again. It looks up again after a while. “It depends on the plant itself, but it would certainly be more than a few lunar cycles.” It pauses. “Lunar cycle means the changing of the moon. The time it takes for it to go from full to new to full again. That is a period of roughly twenty-nine point five days.”

That’s a lot of days. Dean is definitely going to starve to death if he has to wait for plants to grow. And that’s not even taking into account how long it’ll take for fruit, vegetables, or anything actually edible to grow on the plants. He groans again and rubs his hands over his face, trying really, really hard to ignore the sad little gurgle deep in his belly. It’s so empty, and the water did nothing to fill him.

“I’ll…” He hates this. He really truly hates this. “I’ll eat some of what you give us. Enough to get by. But I want seeds. I want to grow my own food.”

“I am appreciative of your efforts.” The child actually gives him a close mouthed smile. Its wings have gotten all puffy again. “And I will try my best to get you seeds. As I am not supposed to be speaking with you, I will need to fabricate a reason why I believe we should give them to you.”

Dean shrugs and slips along the wall to lay on his side, well within reach of the bowls of food. He drags one over to start picking at little purple balls all attached to one stem. These are different, and he’s never had them before. He pops one in his mouth and bites down, surprised to find it a little tart, but juicy. Better than the berries and small apples he’s been eating since he got here.

The Vingkäitä child knocks on the see-through wall again. “Thank you.”

Again, Dean just shrugs. He stares at a point in the grass in front of him and takes his time working through the bowl of fruit. Some mouthfuls are harder to swallow than others, but he’s just hungry enough not to care that much. It’s hard, but he tries not to think too much about how it’s something they gave him.

Instead, he forces himself to keep thinking. Every question he wants to ask the Vingkäitä, every way he might be able to escape, and maybe how he can use the Vingkäitä child to get out of here.

The supplies have been delivered to the tribe a few times since Dean was brought here. Every single time they arrive, he makes it a point to hide. Everyone always keeps their distance from it, but Dean is the only one to purposefully run away and tuck into the trees to hide. He watches the delivery from as far away as he can get. Meeting the Vingkäitä child face to face in the tall grass is the closest he wants to get to another Vingkäitä.

Except today is different. Today something new happens.

Dean watches from behind the tree as the two overly-dressed Vingkäitä bring in another big clay jar and a bag of supplies. They put them down, like usual, but this time only one of them leaves. The other stays standing, looking around the – What did the Vingkäitä child call this place? The enclosure? It looks around, frowning. There’s something in its hand, but Dean can’t see it from here.

Eventually, the Vingkäitä looks up at the see-through bridge above the enclosure. Dean looks too, and of course the child is there again today. It’s there most days. Today, it’s standing at the very edge, hands resting on a railing that Dean can barely see the edges of. It points towards the trees – it points at Dean – and his heart thumps hard in his chest. Why is he being singled out?

When the big Vingkäitä turns its head to look at him, Dean swallows thickly and ducks further behind the tree, barely even peeking out around the trunk now. The Vingkäitä doesn’t move from where it’s standing. All it does is lift the arm holding the something and throw it. Dean watches it sail through the air in a blur before bouncing into the grass not far from where he stands. It’s a cloth pouch, from what Dean can see. He doesn’t move, staring at it in confusion.

The Vingkäitä doesn’t seem to care much whether he gets it or not. It turns and heads back through the door, and it finally closes behind it. As soon as the Vingkäitä is gone, Dean darts out from behind the tree and rushes over to the pouch. He scoops it up well before May or Dick can even think about getting to it before him. Already, Dean knows that he’s going to get an earful from one of the grown-ups. Everyone is going to want to know what he got, or why he’s so special to get something else. And, honestly, Dean doesn’t know what’s in the pouch.

He sprints through the trees until he reaches the one that is easiest for him to climb. It’s his favourite, and he’s able to reach the branches and climb up until he’s hidden by the leaves. No one from below would be able to see him. If they can’t see him, they can’t ask him what he was given. It’s genius, really. And it’s how he hides from May when she comes looking for him.

Once he’s safely straddling a big branch, Dean picks open the knot holding the pouch. He dumps it out between his legs, careful not to lose any over the edge of the branch. Inside are more sachets, these one made of leaves that have been sewn together. Dean picks one at random and picks the threads apart just enough to get a peek inside.

It’s seeds.

Dean frowns and feels the other pouches. Everything feels like seeds. Why is he – Oh! It’s been several days since he was brought back from The Alone Room after his escape attempt. He all but completely forgot about the not-promise that the Vingkäitä child made.

Hm. Isn’t that interesting? It actually kept its promise. Now that’s certainly something.

Carefully, Dean puts all the little sachets of seeds back into the pouch. The cloth pouch is held closed with a leather string and he uses that to tie the whole thing to the thong holding his loincloth together. Once it’s secured, Dean climbs back down the tree, keeping an eye out just in case May, Dick, or anyone else might be looking for him. The forest is quiet and he jumps the last little bit.

He goes back out to the edge of the tree line, just enough for him to be able to see the see-through bridge again. The Vingkäitä child is still standing where it was last. Dean can feel its eyes on him. Has it been waiting this whole time for him? Weird. It’s strange that the child is so… What did it say before? That it was concerned for him? Just weird.

Dean looks up at the child. He nods at it, just once, and turns back into the trees.

Nobody back home ever really paid much attention to using seeds. There was always so much food everywhere for them to use. The hunters very rarely came home empty handed. And if they did, then they would just go fishing and there was always plenty of fish in the river. The gatherers found all sorts of fruit and veggies and tubers and mushrooms no matter where they went. They never needed to plant things themselves, though they did sometimes. Dean never really learned much about it, but he thinks he’s got the basic idea of it.

First things first, he’s going to need a stick.

Dean is crouched over the collection of sticks that he has set up between roots of a tree next to where his camp is. He sorts through them all, trying to find the best one to use to break up dirt and make it easier to plant the seeds.

The snap of a twig gets his attention and he looks up. Ellen, Rufus, and Victor are making their way through the trees to him. Dean frowns when he notices Dick isn’t far behind them, and of course the jerk has a stupid smug smile on his face. He isn’t too upset that they’re coming to his camp. Everyone has been to his space at one time or another during his time here, either to check on him, ask if he would like to eat with them, or bother him.

Aside from the obvious people, everyone else has been really respectful of Dean’s space. They never get too close or stick around for too long.

“Hey, Kid…” Ellen crouches down to match his height where he’s squatting over his stick collection. “Can we talk for a bit?”

Dean looks back and forth between all the faces. He presses his lips together tightly and frowns. It’s pretty obvious what this is going to be about, but he was hoping that no one would bother him too much about it.

Rufus drops into a crouch too, offering a smile. “It’s nothing bad, Kid. Don’t worry.”

Victor does the same, and it’s only Dick left fully standing. “It’s just a bit weird to us that they gave you something special. We’re just wondering what it is, that’s all.”

“I bet it has something to do with that night where they came in and put us all to sleep.” Dick crosses his arms and leans against one of the trees. “The kid was gone for two days, and they changed the treetops while we were forced to sleep. He’s just getting special treatment now for being a pain in the ass.”

Dean flat out ignores anything that comes out of Dick’s mouth. He does, however, touch the little pouch at his hip. Everyone’s eyes go to it. Ellen looks back at him, smiling softly. It’s encouraging, and Dean can’t deny the little pang in his chest. It’s the same kind of smile his Äity would use. For a moment, he sees his Äity face instead, and it hurts.

He looks away, turning back to his sticks, and swallows against the lump in his throat. “Seeds.”

“Seeds.” Ellen repeats it quietly to herself and shares a look with the others. She keeps her voice nice and soft. “Why did they give you seeds?”

“To grow stuff.” Dean shrugs and picks up one of his sticks, checking the strength of it. He spent a lot of time gathering all the different sticks and branches that had fallen in the small forest, stripping them of extra branches or leaves. “I don’t like eating anything they give us.”

But he has been. The Vingkäitä child definitely had a point, and it’s going to be a long time before Dean is going to see progress on the plants. He still doesn’t eat as much as he did before he was brought here, but he’s more open to at least having some of what the tribe prepares when they share meals together a few times throughout the day. It’s difficult, because he has to choke it down, but it’s better than skipping the meals entirely.

Victor hums and crosses his arms over his knees. “Yeah, we noticed. We’ve been pretty worried about you in that regard, Kid.”

Dean just shrugs again. He doesn’t really like that anyone here is worried about him. He especially doesn’t like that the Vingkäitä child is worried about him too. But that’s on him, probably, since he’s the one doing things that makes them worried. Although, to be fair, Dean doesn’t quite understand why they’re worried about him. They don’t know him. He’s not a part of their family, and he’s not even a part of their tribe, really.

He puts the stick in his hands down and picks up another one. It’s quiet for a while. Even though Dean is used to the quiet, because he spends so much time away from the rest of the tribe, he kind of hates that they’re just watching him. They’re waiting on him and he’s not sure what it is that they want from him.

Eventually, Dick sighs really loudly. From the sound of it, Dean already knows that he’s going to hate whatever comes next. “I’ll just say what we’re all thinking. How did they know to give you the seeds?”

Again, Dean doesn’t look at him. He doesn’t even bother to answer. Dick still treats him badly, no matter how much everyone else gets mad at Dick for it. Dean doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction of answering him.

Victor has been the one to stand up for Dean the most, even going so far as to hit Dick to keep him from fighting with Dean. The Vingkäitä have taken him off to his own Alone Room for that. So, it’s not surprising that Victor snorts and almost smiles at Dean’s small ways of kicking Dick in the shin without actually kicking him.

He definitely sounds amused when he repeats Dick’s question. “How did they know, Kid?”

Because it’s Victor, Dean is more interested in actually answering him. “I asked for ‘em.”

The answer obviously shocks everyone. They all go still, even though they weren’t really moving much before. After a moment, they all share looks between one another.

Rufus is the one who leans forward, his eyes bright. “You talked to them?”

“Just the little one.” Dean shrugs again and uses the stick in his hand to point up in the vague direction of the see-through bridge. “It’s always on the bridge, watching us. And it comes and watches me when I’m in The Alone Room.”

“And it… It spoke to you?”

Dean nods. “Yeah.”

Even Ellen looks shocked by that. She blinks a lot, and her hands are shaking enough that she curls them into fists against her knees. “They’ve…  None of them have ever spoken to any of us. When they took me, they never – It was the things they carry that spoke to me. Was it – Did the small one use that?”

“No. It opened its mouth and talked to me.” Dean remembers the story Ellen told him about when she was taken to make the fake-Ellen that had been in the wall when he first woke up here. “It sounded weird. I don’t think it speaks like us a whole lot.”

Satisfied with the stick that he has in his hand, Dean stands up. “I’m gonna go dig some holes and plant some seeds now.” He’s done with this conversation now. If they want to ask him more questions, they can do it out in the field while he’s working.

With that, he goes around them, ignoring Dick and the way his upper lip curls back in a bit of a sneer. He might as well get started on planting his seeds now. As long as he gets them in the ground, he can figure everything else out as he goes.

“Hey, Kid!” Rufus’s voice follows him out of the trees. “Do you want some help?”

Dean doesn’t exactly say ‘no’, but he also doesn’t say ‘yes’ either. If anyone wants to help him, they can. Chances are he’s going to end up growing a lot more food than he’s going to eat by himself, and he’s not against sharing it with the tribe. It’ll definitely take away from how many supplies the Vingkäitä need to give them.

Now to decide where he’s going to put the seeds. He doesn’t want to put them right out in the middle of the field because that’s where May and Jo play with their parents. To one side is the door, which would just be in the way, and it’s also too close to the latrine for Dean’s comfort. Even he knows that it’s not good to go to have food grow near where they do their business. And that really only leaves one place then – on the side of the field between the forest and the camp.

Good enough.

Using his feet, Dean measures out several paces away from the wall. Best to make sure there’s room for roots to grow. When he’s satisfied with the distance, he starts stabbing the dirt with the stick and wiggling it around. It’s hard dirt and he needs to loosen it up. He should probably just do a row of loose dirt, and then stab some holes in the line, drop a few seeds in each hole, and then cover it up again. Sounds about right to him.

While he gets started, Dean thinks about what else he might have to do. His tribe had a medicine woman and she would talk about the plants and the trees. He remembers that she used to say that plants need light and water. Well, there’s plenty of light here, even with the wall. Dean might not be able to see the sun, but it must be passing directly overhead all the time, because he never really sees shadows under the wall.

But what about water? It never rains here, but the misting water comes out of the ground every few nights. Will that be enough to keep his growing plants wet enough? How wet is too wet? At least they have the pool and he can use a bowl to water them himself if he needs to. Dean will just have to keep checking and rationing the seeds until he figures it out. If he messes up, maybe he can ask the Vingkäitä child for more. If it’s so interested in his health, it might go the extra distance to get him whatever he wants – even if it won’t let him go home.

All in all, Dean is pretty sure that he has the basics down for plant growing. It’s definitely way different from just reburying old vegetables and tubers, but hopefully not that different.

After a while of wiggling the stick in the dirt, Rufus and Victor join him. They both have sticks of their own, and they start two more lines a few paces apart from where Dean is working, going in the same direction as him. Dean nods at them, but otherwise doesn’t say anything else. One of these days, he’s going to have to get over himself and actually talk to the people here normally. Even though everyone here doesn’t seem to mind talking at him without him talking back, Dean kind of misses actually talking.

“Y’know, I’ve never done this before.” Rufus hums and wipes some sweat gathering on his forehead. “There aren’t a whole lot of forests where we come from. If we ever wanted more than wheat and meat, we had to travel far to find it.”

Victor nods along, because of course he understands. They were from the same tribe. As far as Dean knows, Victor was younger when Rufus was taken, but they still knew of each other from their tribe before then.

“We were starting to change how we lived the season before I was taken.” Victor stabs his stick into the ground particularly hard. “We would eat most of what we brought back, and then bury the rest. Plants would start growing in their place, and we were leaving them there when we travelled but put up markers to remind us where it was.”

Dean remembers that. When he closes his eyes, he can picture the leathers that Ötehko would pin up on the walls inside their family tree. They were covered in drawings from the other tribes that he would visit. Some had pictures of markers so that he would know what to look for if he ever needed to. In his head, Dean can see the one for the Mountain Tribe and the stacks of balanced stones they would make. The Plains Tribe would make crosses of sticks standing tall over the high grasses, and they would decorate them with little items that mean different things.

The Sea Tribe didn’t have a leather drawing. Ötehko said that they’re different. Instead of markers, they use stars. That’s what Ötehko said, but he never explained why or how. Dean should ask Rowena or Donatello about it someday. Definitely not Dick, though.

Even though he tries not to notice, Dean is all too aware of how the young Vingkäitä stays up all the bridge all day. It just stays there and watches them work, or pays attention to the stupid flat thing it carries around everywhere. But it’s not alone. While Dean, Rufus, and Victor work, more and more Vingkäitä show up. They’re all watching them, and he kind of hates it.

Dean’s stomach starts to ache partway through breaking up the lines. It clenches with hunger and he does his best to ignore it. The sooner he gets the seeds in the ground, the sooner the plants will start to grow, and the sooner he can eat what grows.

At some point, May comes over to help for a while. She chatters away, mostly to Victor and Rufus. She’s gotten better at leaving Dean alone, especially after he was gone for a few days after he escaped. He generally doesn’t answer her when she talks to him. It gets her all huffy, but Victor or Rufus are quick to distract her from bothering him too much. Dean knows it’s not fair of him, because she’s just excited to have someone her own age around now, but he doesn’t like how pushy she is. She doesn’t respect his boundaries, so he’s not going to give her the time of day until she does.

May has really backed off mostly because she’s gotten in a lot of trouble with her Äity for fighting with him so much. Whenever they fight, Dean isn’t the only one who gets taken away to a calming room (ugh, he hates that name). She always gets taken too, or Lily does if she gets mad enough at Dean for retaliating against May when she gets frustrated and rough with him. May and Lily really don’t like being separated, so both have gotten better about bothering him.

Dick, on the other hand, hasn’t quite figured that out yet. Every time he gets hauled off to one of The Alone Rooms too, he comes back all the angrier with Dean. Like it’s somehow Dean’s fault that he keeps picking fights with him. If Dean had it his way, he would never interact with Dick at all. But he’s the one that keeps seeking Dean out. All Dean does is stand up for himself.

On the bright side, Victor is pretty nice. He intervenes with Dick a lot and gets in his face until he backs down. Sometimes he’s not around to see it, which sucks, but when he is, he’s got Dean’s back. Of course he doesn’t think that he needs to be protected, but it’s still nice to know that there are people here that he can trust to help him when he needs it – even when they’re not the people that he wants (like his family and his own tribe).

It takes a while, but they end up with five lines of broken dirt, each one many paces long. While Victor and Rufus poke holes in the soil for the seeds, Dean goes through every sachet inside the pouch and goes about sprinkling a few in each hole. He covers them up and pats them lightly until he’s gone through at least half of each sachet. When he starts bringing water to them with a bowl, May helps with that too, surprisingly staying out of his way. Ellen and Jo start helping while Victor and Rufus take a break for something to eat.

The plan is to soak the ground to start, and then hopefully the night mist will be enough to keep it wet afterwards. But he’ll have to keep an eye on them.

One of the times when he’s passing through the camp, Frank calls out to him as he walks by his tent. “You better keep an eye on those to make sure no birds or rodents go after your seeds.” Dean nods at him and continues. He hadn’t considered that before.

Once everything is finally watered, Dean takes a moment to get something to eat from the little cache of food he has at his own camp. There’s a basket inside his tent that he made out of bark fibers. Inside are all the berries and sour apples that he has collected recently. The basket is starting to get really low on berries, and they haven’t started to grow back from where he picked them yet. More sour apples may have fallen, so he should check for that. Or maybe he’ll go fishing later today. Cook some and dry the rest to save for later.

Or, maybe, Dean should make some traps for small animals. That way, he could put them around his seeds and protect them. If he catches a long eared kuttö or a puffy-tailed ekravä, that would be some different meat for him. Dean has seen his parents skin animals before, but he’s never actually done it himself. He’s sure that if he asked for help, at least one of the other grown-ups would help him.

After eating a handful of berries and two sour apples, Dean goes back to the pool to drink enough water to fill his stomach the rest of the way. Satisfied for now, he sets up at the far end of his lines of seeds with a lapful of fine fibers, and starts working on another storage basket. From here, he can keep an eye on his seeds, but neither task is something that requires such focus that his thoughts won’t be able to drift while he works.

Getting over the wall didn’t work, and he’s pretty sure that he’s not going to be able to do that again. But… He eyes up the overturned dirt from the planting spree and hums to himself. Digging… Now there’s a thought.

Chapter Text

(Mother.) Castiel stands up on his perch at his desk the moment he hears his mother’s talons clacking on the floor. He turns to find her walking into the kitchen, partially dressed and still rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

Naomi blinks at him slowly, her ear-wings flicking up and forward to indicate her surprise. Understandably so. It is unusual for Castiel to call her such an intimate term like Mother. He sticks to using her given name to indicate his great respect for her, as is common practice in Aetherian society. At this moment, however, Castiel is purposefully using Mother to throw her off. It is an attempt at sweet talk, and it is not something that he is particularly good at.

(Castiel.) Naomi nods at him and proceeds to fill a glass with water from the tap. She makes no move to drink it, and she will not until Castiel turns away or either of them leaves the room. (This must be serious.)

(It is.) He steps off the perch and does his best to stand straight, wings held perfectly folded against his back, and his chin held high. (As you are aware, I have been paying particularly close attention to 1-M-7 because he will be the main subject for my thesis.)

After a moment of silence, one of Naomi’s eyebrows arches upwards and she nods. (Yes, I am aware. I have reviewed the outline you prepared. It is… interesting.)

The hesitant brush of her sha’ra indicates to Castiel that ‘interesting’ is not a good response. He chooses to ignore it and persevere with his plan. (As such, then you are also aware of my concerns in regards to 1-M-7’s weight loss.)

(I am.) Naomi nods again. She crosses her arms loosely over her chest and leans a hip against the counter. (We are looking into the matter and what can be done. I believe the files I have shared to you should reflect that.)

Castiel nods. (They do, thank you.) He takes a deep breath and hopes against hope that Naomi will not catch him lying. (I have formulated a theory as to why he has not been eating.)

Naomi’s other eyebrow goes up as well. (Please enlighten me.)

The urge to shift on his feet makes his muscles tense and Castiel steels himself against it. He takes another deep, steadying breath. (1-M-7 shows a clear aversion to Aetherians. He hides when anyone enters the enclosure, and I have caught him glaring at us often when he looks up at the observation bridge. As well, he has yelled at me several times with vitriol while I observe him in the calming room.)

All of the calming rooms are as equally monitored as the enclosures, and Castiel is still waiting for someone to report him to Naomi for having actually spoken to 1-M-7. (I have also noticed that his eating pattern is primarily what he can catch or forage on his own. I believe 1-M-7’s issue with food is that we are the ones providing it.)

(I see.) Naomi looks away, ear-wings twitching back again, likely thinking over the hypothesis. (An interesting observation.)

Castiel curls his hands into fists while she is not looking, claws biting lightly into his palms. He takes a few short breaths and takes a step forward, relaxing again. (May I make a suggestion, Mother?)

She looks back at him, blue eyes calculating. (Please do.)

(I believe that we should provide 1-M-7 the means of growing his own food. Perhaps the seeds to different fruits and vegetables.) Castiel hesitates slightly when Naomi’s sha’ra brushes against his and he feels her doubt. (Of course I understand that it can take some time for plants to grow and bear fruit. There is, however, the chance that 1-M-7 will be more open to eating what we provide in the meantime until he is confident in his own food source.)

Naomi tilts her head to the side slightly, eyes narrowing. The questing touch of her sha’ra drifts against his in an almost lazy touch. She regards him closely, probing but never violating his thoughts in any way. Castiel remains firm. He controls every aspect of his body in that moment, being sure not to twitch any part of him, or fluff his feathers, or show emotion. Aetherians find it rather distasteful to show their emotions plainly.

As such, Castiel still feels a burn of shame curl in his chest and tries to bring heat to his cheeks. He wills that feeling away, and tries not to think about how openly emotional he had been the other day at the calming room with 1-M-7. Castiel had displayed several emotions on purpose, because that is what Homosapiens do and he wanted to encourage 1-M-7 to talk and, more importantly, listen to him. Had Castiel done that in front of any Aetherian, he would never have been able to live it down.

(None of the tribes that we have observed thus far have shown much interest in farming.) Naomi picks up her glass of water and rolls it between her hands. (1-M-7 is also a young specimen, and he does not interact much with the rest of the specimens in his enclosure. Are you certain he will know what to do with seeds, should we provide them?)

Castiel looks away, glancing out the round window starting to fill with morning light. (I am not certain, but I am confident that he could figure it out.) 1-M-7 is far smarter than Naomi or any of her coworkers think he is. (I did investigate if, perhaps, any of the other specimens might have any knowledge that they could share with him. The only one who may be of some use is 1-M-3 from the Plains Tribe. He was collected after we noted that their people have started planting food to return to within their nomadic lifestyle while they follow the migration patterns of the bison bison bison.)

Or, in the worst case scenario, Castiel will just have to stealthily give him the information the next time 1-M-7 is in the calming room. (Even if it takes him some time to figure out how to farm, I do not foresee any harm in giving him the seeds.)

(You have… sound reasoning.) Naomi sighs through her nose and approaches him. (I will bring your suggestions to my department for their thoughts on the matter.) She rests her hand briefly on Castiel’s hair. (You will be a valuable addition to our department when your thesis has been approved.)

At that, Castiel does allow himself the slightest show of emotion. He ducks his head demurely. Another blush fights to rush to his cheeks and he wills it away as well. There is nothing further for him to say, but he does brush appreciation against his mother’s sha’ra. She allows a rare, small smile in response, and turns to return to her room. It is another few hours yet before they will head out to the Zoological Annex of the Biology Department.

Once she is out of the room, Castiel breathes a sigh of relief. He returns to his desk to crouch down on his perch, knees pressed to his chest. Now that he is alone, he allows himself to fidget and rubs a finger under his bottom lip. This he only ever does in private.

Castiel hopes that he did not give himself away to his mother. Granted, he would likely not get in that much trouble for having talked to and arranged this with 1-M-7. Naomi would definitely be disappointing for going against her wishes like that, and Castiel hates disappointed her. Unfortunately, 1-M-7’s health and safety is paramount. If he has the means of learning what is going on, then he is going to do something about it.

Of course, once Castiel is employed under the Biology Department, he will need to be more careful. But, hopefully by then he will be more informed about the ins and outs of the Department  so that he can carefully work around them. Because the safety and security of the specimens will always be his top priority, even if it means going against the orders of his superiors.

Time is a constant. Castiel knows this. He is very much aware that time cannot go faster or slower. And yet, he is surprised to check the chronometer while crouched on the observation bridge and realizes that it has been always a whole sol cycle since 1-M-7 was collected. Which means it has been roughly a hundred and eighty days since his first escape attempt.

They have not spoken again, but 1-M-7 has certainly tried. Castiel refuses to, though it is rather difficult. There is so much that he could learn from 1-M-7 if he was just allowed to speak to him, but he does not wish to risk getting caught.

Regardless, the last talk apparently did some good. 1-M-7 stopped losing weight shortly after they spoke together. He was given the seeds, planted them, and has already seen the fruits of his labour. Literally. A variety of melons, vegetables, and legumes have been growing with little to no issues. A few were failed attempts – seeds not having been planted deep enough; plants ravaged by parasites; or scavenged by different rodents. Of course, the different berry bushes are taking longer to show results.

What matters is that 1-M-7 is getting healthier by the day.

This is much better for both 1-M-7 and the rest of the tribe. In particular, Castiel believes that it is improving his relationship with them. 1-M-7 has been sharing the products of his garden, which is an improvement in his previous attitudes towards them. Castiel is not the only one who was concerned that 1-M-7 would never start to get along with the other Homosapiens in his enclosure.

However, he is not holding out any hope that 1-M-7 and F-3 will mate when they are older. This is still better than nothing.

As Castiel predicted, 1-M-3 and others did show 1-M-7 how to harvest from his garden. Zea mays, in particular, required assistance. It grew taller than 1-M-7 could reach, and Castiel suspects that he has never encountered it before. He appeared to not know how to use it. The members of the Plains tribe, 1-M-1 and 1-M-3, showed him how to both harvest it, cook it, grind it into flour to make cakes fried on hot stones over the fire, or used in making a number of different dishes. Since then, 1-M-7 has made it a point to prepare the majority of his own food.

It is fascinating to watch him learn how to farm. He is remarkably intuitive. While the adults do help him, he has figured out quite a lot on his own. Castiel has badly wanted to give him some pointers, but 1-M-7 has done a great job on his own. As well, Castiel has done enough interfering already, though only 1-M-7 (and perhaps others in his enclosure) knows this. Regardless, Castiel finds himself delighted with the results of this.

1-M-7 has regained the majority of the weight he had lost in the first half of the sol cycle. It is now much harder to count his ribs at a glance. With focusing on his garden, 1-M-7 has also been fighting less with other tribe members, and has thus been taken to the calming room far less. The frequency has dropped exponentially, and 1-M-7’s relationship with the tribe has improved significantly. Castiel is very proud of 1-M-7 and all the growth he has accomplished since his first escape attempt.

Naturally, it is not yet an ideal situation. 1-M-7 is still stubborn. His relationship with the tribe has improved, but he spends a lot of his time out of sight under the trees. He eats his meals with the tribe, tends to his plants, lays traps to keep rodents from disturbing them while also giving himself a new source of protein. Castiel has no means of knowing just how much 1-M-7 had learned before he had been collected, but it is still impressive.

Now that it has nearly been a full sol cycle that 1-M-7 has been in their care, Castiel estimates that he must be entering his eight cycle – three cycles behind him. Castiel is four thousand and ten days old. It takes roughly three hundred and sixty five days per sol cycle, which would mean that 1-M-7 is likely just under three thousand days old.

Some Homosapien tribes pay no attention to turning another sol cycle older, nor do they seem to track how many days they have been alone. Others will hold a celebration for the whole tribe turning another cycle older.

Aetherians do not celebrate their time of birth, purely because they are not born. Castiel was created in a lab, as all Aetherians are now, given that the species as a whole is barren and infertile. He was grown in an incubation chamber and, when the appropriate size, removed and given to his mother. His days of age began on the date in which his heart first started to beat in the incubation chamber, as Aetherians do not believe that life begins until then.

Castiel marks down his estimates in a separate document before returning to working on his thesis. Every so often he returns to his notes to record what 1-M-7 has done today. For example, he broke his night fast with the tribe, partaking in smoked fish, various fruits, and unleavened bread. After eating, he took a swim, caught more fish, and strung them up to dry. Those he left to tend to his garden, checking the traps and the leaves, and fetching water for some of the ones that require a little more care.

Once that is all finished, 1-M-7 returns to his camp under the trees. Castiel has not seen him since. After his first escape attempt, another camera was added in the back of the enclosure and focused on his tent. Eighteen days ago, 1-M-7 erected a new tent. This one is placed against the wall, though it does not cover the numerous markings tracking the number of days that he has been here. From what Castiel can tell, no one has investigated as to the purpose of the new tent. He has noticed, however, that 1-M-7 seems to be using it for storage. He is often bringing baskets or sticks inside.

With that in mind, Castiel did not think twice about the second tent, until today. In the midst of framing the body of his thesis, movement in the top right corner of his PADD catches his attention. He glances at the camera feed he has constantly playing, and frowns slightly. Castiel taps the feed twice to make it fill the screen of his PADD. He drags a finger across it to rewind the feed a few minutes, and uses two fingers to spread across the screen and zoom in.

1-M-7 is in the process of dragging a basket out from under the tent. Something about it is… weird. If it is a storage space for food and supplies, why is he acting like the basket is very heavy? If it contained food previously, pulling it out of storage should mean that it is empty, should it not?

The camera, since it is fixed on 1-M-7’s campsite, is not set up to track movement. There are manual controls, however, and Castiel manipulates those to follow 1-M-7 as he drags the basket away from his camp. Castiel doubts that 1-M-7 is aware of the field of vision on the camera, but this is undoubtedly very interesting.

He watches, with interest, as 1-M-7 pulls the basket to the base of a few trees. Surprisingly, 1-M-7 opens it and begins to spread what appears to be dirt among the roots. Once the basket is light enough, he carries it with him to other trees until it is empty. Castiel’s ear-wings are perked up and forwards as he pans the camera around some more. He has particular focus on the bases of all the trees. Though he may not be certain, it does appear to be fresh dirt spread around all the trees surrounding the camp.

1-M-7 empties the basket and shakes it free of dirt before looking around. He seems satisfied that no one is around, and disappears back under the flap of the tent. Castiel watches it for approximately ten minutes before concluding that 1-M-7 is not coming back out again.

His suspicions are raised now. 1-M-7 is up to something, and Castiel knows exactly what he is doing.

Sighing heavily through his nose, Castiel pushes a button on the side of his PADD. It is preset to open a specific program. In this case, it is the PADD-to-PADD communication application. Castiel really only uses it to communicate with the educators in charge of his lessons, and his mother. On one occasion he did use it to message other students from his age group that he had been collaborating on an assignment with, but they have not spoken again since.

Most often, the only open communication is with Naomi. Castiel begins typing immediately, his PADD balanced on his knees. He details what he has seen and, before he hits send, he adds the timestamped camera feed as an attachment.

There is a slight delay before the program informs him that Naomi is typing back. A minute later and there is a soft ping of acknowledgment when the message is received. Castiel frowns and adjusts the setting for the program. It should not give him a notification if that application is the one currently open.

<< It appears that 1-M-7 is digging beneath the tent.

>> Affirmative. I believe this is another escape attempt. Though all that hard work will ultimately be for naught. The caretakers will not have to do anything to stop him either.

<< Apparently so. He will be most disappointed when he encounters the structure of the city and can proceed no further.

Castiel idly plucks the stencil stylus from the side of the PADD. He spins it between his fingers a few times, his eyes fixed on the video feed in the corner of the screen. His lower left wing twitches with a slight itch, and he firmly blocks out the sensation to ignore it.

>> Should something be done about this?

He is torn. On one hand, 1-M-7 is keeping busy. This results in less altercations with other members of the tribe that he tends to fight with. On the other hand, it is a pointless endeavor and a waste of time. It will only result in frustration that could easily lead to further issues within the enclosure. 1-M-7 may try and take his anger out on the others.

<< Negative. This will keep him entertained for a while. He is not fighting with the rest of the tribe. However, we will take precautions and fill the hole the next time he is taken to isolation.

She speaks as though it is just a matter of time before 1-M-7 will do something that requires him to be taken to the calming room. Castiel finds that to be unfair. He has been tracking how often 1-M-7 is taken to isolation, and it has been decreasing – even more so since he started focusing on his garden. But Castiel holds back his thoughts and changes the topic.

>> I checked his file. 1-M-7 is due for his annual check up. I understand if it will not be acceptable, but may I be present for it?

Castiel fiddles with the stylus, allowing it to magnetize back into its holder on the side of the PADD and plucking it free again. He taps the talons of one foot against the floor. The one downside to using PADD-to-PADD communication is that he has to wait for his response. Although he can be a fairly patient Aetherian, it is… difficult. He refuses to acknowledge that it is difficult simply due to his interest in 1-M-7 and that it has grown more than he first anticipated.

Finally, a new message pops up.

<< Perhaps. Uriel will be performing the examination. I will discuss with him. If he prefers that you not be in the room, at the least you will be able to view from the observation window.

>> Thank you, Naomi. That would not be ideal, but it would be preferred to not being allowed to watch at all. Then he would need to get the information from reports. Granted, the examination will likely be recorded and he could watch after the fact, but that just is not the same.

With that, Castiel flicks a finger across the screen and closes the messaging program. He occasionally glances at the video feed in the corner, but otherwise turns his full attention back to the task at hand; his thesis. There are many thoughts that he would like to get down in point form, and organized into the body of the thesis before he goes home with Naomi later in the day. After that, he will return to his lessons, as he finds that he can focus on them better when he is at his desk as opposed to the PADD.

Before he can even put the stylus to the screen again, his message application pings quietly. Castiel’s ear-wings flick up in surprise and he taps the notification to reopen the program. Naomi has sent another message.

<< You have a social gathering with your age group in three days. I have added the engagement to your calendar.

It takes some effort for Castiel to refrain from rolling his eyes.

>> Thank you, Naomi.

<< Please try to actually interact with them this time.

At this, Castiel winces. His wings curl over his shoulders slightly and he ducks his head. His ear-wings droop slightly and he closes his eyes briefly. Sighing through his nose, he slowly types out a response.

>> I will try.

He is not one to lie, but he truly does not feel like he will put in much effort when the day arrives. The last time a social gathering was held for his age group in the central space of the terrarium tunnels, Castiel had spent the vast majority of the three hours cataloging the flora from Atan’eal, trying his best to remember their names, genus, and so on. It was certainly more interesting than talking with the rest of the group – of which there are only twelve Aetherians who were born in the same sol cycle as him.

They had been discussing their lessons and their own views on the material. By that point, Castiel was more than a whole lesson set ahead of them. He had many views on the material, but saw no point in contributing. Had his PADD not been confiscated prior to the gathering, he would have spent his time on that to continue his lessons. Unfortunately, because that was what he had done during the gathering prior to that, he was denied the opportunity.

It is not that Castiel does not believe that socialization is not important. Socialization is important in Aetherian society, and Castiel has learned since studying 1-M-7 that it is equally important in Homosapien society as well. He fully understands that it is pertinent to development, managing his own emotions, understanding others’ feelings and needs, and learning to interact with others in a respectful and acceptable way. But he feels like he already has a good grasp on all of that. His lessons provide excellent theory on it, and Naomi has taught him quite a bit on her own. And Castiel has always spent quite a lot of time with her and her co-workers at her place of employment.

He understands, but he is perhaps… bad at it. It is, potentially, the one thing that Castiel has not managed to excel at thus far. The other children in his age group seem to like him well enough. They have never been mean to him, or said anything to indicate that they do not like his presence. He has never been excluded in any sense.

Castiel simply does not feel the need to talk to the others, or reciprocate any attention they give. He will, obviously, because that is the polite thing to do. Yet it seems that those in his age group have come to the consensus that he prefers to remain on his own. Few will approach him beyond the casual greetings and what generally constitutes as ‘small talk’. After that, they leave Castiel to his own devices, as he rarely has anything to offer to the conversations they have.

They still include his sha’ra in the conversations. Castiel listens, but not really.

At least it is not an entire waste of time. Castiel still gets to visit the Atan’eal terrarium and view the flora and fauna. That is always a treat, as he finds that he does not often have the time to go there in between lessons, and certainly not in the last sol cycle since he began observing 1-M-7. There is no time for just doing whatever he would like while he is working on his thesis, or focusing on his lessons.

Though Castiel would never say that out loud, he finds 1-M-7 more interesting than anything else.

“Are you ever gonna talk to me again?” 1-M-7 is pressed up against the quartz glass, his hands, nose, and forehead resting against it. His eyes are fixed on Castiel where he is crouched on the other side of the hall.

He does not look up from his PADD, but he does shake his head slightly. Just enough for 1-M-7 to get an answer, but possibly not enough to be noticed on the cameras.

1-M-7 makes a frustrated noise. “Why not?”

Castiel rolls his shoulders and straightens up enough. He stretches all four of his wings, pretending that is the only reason that he is moving. Pointedly, he looks in both directions up and down the hall, just once each, before meeting 1-M-7’s eyes briefly. Hopefully that will be enough to get an answer across.

After a long moment of silence, 1-M-7 thumps his forehead against the glass. “Coward.”

The word is unfamiliar to Castiel, and he quickly runs it through the translation program on his PADD. He allows a frown to pass over his face when he reads the definition. Castiel lifts his head, eyes narrowed when he looks at 1-M-7 again. He is not a coward, he simply knows the rules. Naomi very pointedly told him that he is not to speak to the specimens. He is not to interfere, which is something that Castiel has already done. To do it again would be… inadvisable. If he were to get caught, he may lose all access to seeing 1-M-7 in person and that is not something he is willing to lose.

1-M-7 grumbles quietly to himself and slides down in the corner of the window and wall. He continues to glare at Castiel for a long while, though the only means of knowing this is that Castiel is watching him on the feed in the top corner of his screen again. The rest of his PADD is set up for his lessons, though he is finding it hard to concentrate in the face of 1-M-7’s attention.

As proof of that, 1-M-7 knocks against the window again. “You guys knew that I was trying to escape again, didn’t you?”

Castiel uses the stylus to scratch at the downy feathers at the base of one of his ear-wings. He uses the gesture to mask a slight nod.

This elicits another drawn out groan and another thump against the glass. “Guess y’guys didn’t stop me this time ‘coz you knew I wouldn’t be able to dig my way out, huh?”

He nods again.

“And now yer gonna fill up the hole I made, aren’t you?”

Castiel taps at his PADD a few times, using the access Naomi has granted him to check the scheduling for the Alpha Sector enclosure. Sure enough, maintenance has a note to sedate the tribe overnight for landscaping. He nearly snorts in amusement at 1-M-7’s escape attempt being categorized as such.

With that as an answer, Castiel nods again.

“Great.” 1-M-7 leans his temple against the glass, and a grin crosses his face. “Looks like I’m just gonna need to think of something else now, aren’t I?”

Though he is not surprised to hear that, Castiel still lifts his head enough to level 1-M-7 with a flat look. His lips stay pressed together tightly. He is not good at mimicking Homosapien expressions, but he hopes that he is coming across with disappointment. Of course, Castiel knows that 1-M-7 is stubborn. Two failed attempts to escape is not enough to break his will. Castiel estimates that it will be at least another few before he eventually breaks.

1-M-7 stares back at him, jaw set defiantly. That is something Castiel admires about him. It has been nearly a full sol cycle that 1-M-7 has been here and still he will not give up. Impressive. It will be very interesting to see how he handles his annual check up with Uriel in twelve days. The check up is usually done when the specimen is conscious, so as to get responses to the computer-read questions. 1-M-7 may be the exception. Castiel is positive that he will not cooperate.

Sighing quietly through his nose, Castiel looks back down at his PADD, intent on returning to his lessons. He really should go home. It is almost impossible to focus on his studies when 1-M-7 is in a calming room. Ever since the first conversation they shared, he has tried numerous times to engage Castiel in answering any of his questions.

True to point, only four minutes fifty-one seconds pass before 1-M-7 knocks on the glass again. “Hey.” He knocks again, harder. “Hey.”

Castiel lifts his head, a flat expression on his face to indicate that he is unhappy with constantly being disturbed. Purely because he is finding it harder and harder to maintain his silence.

1-M-7 remains undeterred. He leans into the glass a little harder, eyes bright. “You got a name?”

Chapter Text

The Vingkäitä child blinks a lot at Dean and his question. Its ear-wings flick once, twice, and three times as the feathers of his other four wings fluff them up to twice their size. The whole reaction is almost kind of cute. Almost.

It opens its mouth and Dean leans forward excitedly, pressing up against the clear wall again. Really, he’s just guessing that Vingkäitä have names. Why wouldn’t they? And they’ve gotta talk to each other somehow, right? Dean has never actually seen them talk to one another, but it has to happen in some way. No race could just… not talk to each other. That would just be too freaky.

Disappointingly, the kid doesn’t actually give Dean an answer. It closes its mouth and looks back down at the flat thing that it’s always holding, and it doesn’t say anything at all. Like a jerk. Because all Vingkäitä are jerks, and Dean hates it. They stole him from his family and everything he knew, and they won’t give him even just this one thing? Totally rude.

With a groan, Dean thumps his head against the clear wall. This isn’t fair. The Vingkäitä child spoke to him before, so why won’t it speak to him now? It’s been so many moons since it said anything, and Dean is getting beyond annoyed.  He glares at the child, even more annoyed that now he’s apparently being ignored. Which… rude.

Grumbling, Dean drops from his knees to his butt and crosses his legs. He crosses his arms too and hunches his shoulders, very unhappy with the current situation. Nothing has worked at getting the kid to talk to him since the whole conversation about seeds and eating. The silence is really starting to get under Dean’s skin, and he’s not even sure why. Boredom? Frustration? Only the spirits know, because he sure as heck doesn’t.

Annoyed, Dean reaches down and plucks at the grass in front of him. He picks a nice long piece and pulls it free. Smoothing it out, he sandwiches it between the sides of both his thumbs, leaving a little gap between them below the knuckle where the blade is. Satisfied, he puts his mouth to the little gap and blows against it to make a really high pitched whistle that warbles through the whole of The Alone Room.

The sound catches the Vingkäitä child off guard. It startles so badly that it drops the flat thing it’s always holding and looks up sharply, ear-wings spread out and eyes wide. The upper set of wings on its back are spread out slightly. Dean snorts a laugh at the look of surprise on the kid’s face. It’s so dumb, and he wants to see it again. He puts his thumbs back to his mouth, and blows three more times, doing his best to change the tone of the whistle for each one.

The child picks up the flat thing and slowly moves over to the other side of the clear wall. Its eyes are wide and eyebrows up, head cocked to the side just a little as it watches Dean’s hands. It gets so close to the wall that it’s practically pressed right up against it, head tilting this way and that, like it’s trying to see or figure out what it is that he’s doing.

Dean grins and blows again, trying not to laugh and ruin the whole thing. The Vingkäitä child’s ear-wings perk up and forward, all the feathers on it puffed out. Does that help it hear better? He has no idea, and he’ll probably never know if the kid doesn’t start talking to him again. Either way, the whole look with the puffy feathers and the head tilt, and the little ‘o’ of its mouth is kinda cute, in a really weird way. And that’s a crazy enough thought to make Dean drop the blade of grass.

He turns around and leans his back up against the clear wall. Normally he doesn’t like putting his back to a Vingkäitä, especially when they’re so close. But, as far as he knows, they can’t get through the clear wall. He’s pretty sure that he’s more or less completely safe in The Alone Room. But now that the child is interested again, it’s Dean’s turn to ignore him, and this is the best way to do it.

 “How did you do that?”

“Hah!” Dean jolts forward and turns around quickly, pointing accusingly at the Vingkäitä child. “You talked!” Man, he should’ve used a grass whistle moons ago, if that’s all it took to get the kid to start talking to him again.

The child doesn’t acknowledge that even a little bit. It nods at the ground, and the grass, probably. “Do that again. Please.”

Dean crosses his arms again. “Gimme a name first.”

That puts the tiniest frown on the Vingkäitä child’s face. It’s barely there to start with. Most of the reaction is in the child’s wings as they lower just a little bit. The child fidgets with the flat thing, adjusting how it holds the stupid thing. It looks around again, lips pressed together just a little bit. Dean can’t hear it on this side of the clear wall, but it kind of looks like the child sighs. It looks a little disappointed, and everything about it just droops.

Instead of giving Dean the answer he wants, the child backs away from the clear wall. It drops back into another stupid crouch on the other side of the passage again, quiet, like a jerk. Dean huffs loudly and crosses his arms, settling in the corner and facing the Vingkäitä so he can glare it down for being so unfair. They’ve already taken everything from him, why can’t the child just give him this? It’s just a stupid name.

There are so many questions that have built up in his time here. Some he’s asked, but none of them have been answered.

After a long stretch of silence, Dean wants to explode. He slams the side of his fist into the clear wall. “Can you give me anything? Not a name, but, like –” Dean struggles to think of something to ask. “I dunno, are you a girl? A boy? Do Vingkäitä even have a difference between boys and girls?”

Now that, finally, gets some kind of reaction. The child snorts and looks up at him, expression flat and unimpressed. So, that’s probably a yes, there is a difference. But, maybe they have two-spirit Vingkäitä like there are two-spirit people in Dean’s tribe. Those that don’t feel like the boy or girl they were born as, or feel like both.

“Well, how am I supposed to know? You guys won’t even talk to me!” Dean throws his arms wide, angry and gesturing everything he says. “You know everything about us, but we know almost nothing about you.” And, maybe, if he knew more, then he could figure out how to get out of this place. “Seriously. What am I gonna do with knowing if you’re a girl–”

He cuts off as the child shakes its head.

Dean pauses, just for a moment. He leans forward slightly. “Or a boy.”

The child nods.

“Or two-spirit?”

The child tilts his head to the side slightly, a little line appearing between his eyebrows. Now, isn’t that interesting? Something they don’t know about his people! Should he explain it? Dean chews his bottom lip for a moment, before deciding – why not? It might get him more information in return. And, if it doesn’t, then he’s learned a lesson and he won’t be doing it again.

As soon as Dean finishes explaining what a two-spirit person is, the child balances the flat thing on his knees, arranges both hands over it, and uses all his fingers to tap at it for an annoyingly long time. Dean frowns and waits. And waits. And waits some more.

Finally, he knocks on the clear wall again. “Are you gonna give me a name or not?”

The child shakes his head and just keeps tap-tap-tapping. First chance Dean gets, he’s going to take that flat thing and break it. Why is the child here if he’s not going to pay attention to him? Or even talk to him? All he does is sit there and stare at the flat thing, and only sometimes does he look up and actually acknowledge that Dean exists.

Mad, frustrated, and definitely unhappy, Dean gets up and starts pacing around The Alone Room. He thinks, and he thinks, and he thinks hard about how he might be able to get the child to pay attention to him. Or, better yet, to give him a name. If he had a name, maybe the child will trust him more, and he can use that to his advantage. It’s not about making friends with a Vingkäitä, it’s about getting out of here and getting home.

Finally, he comes to a stop at the clear wall and presses his hands against it. Dean leans into it and drops his voice into barely a whisper. “What if I told you my name first?”

And that’s a kind of a big thing for him, because he’s been here for so long and he still hasn’t given his name to anyone in the tribe. No one has really asked for it (except for May and Dick) since the first few days that he was here. Everyone else just hangs back and respects Dean’s distance and space. They don’t push him, and that’s probably why he likes them way more than Dick, or May. Though she’s getting better. Dick is still just that. A dick.

Honestly, though, Dean hasn’t wanted to tell anyone anything about him. If he does that, it’ll bring them closer and he doesn’t want to be closer. Of course, Dean doesn’t want to be closer to a Vingkäitä either, but… It could work more in his favour than sharing his name with the tribe.

Offering up his name definitely gets the attention of the child. He goes really still, but his ear-wings perk up the highest that Dean has ever seen them get.  Slowly, very slowly, the child lifts his head. His eyes are wide and his mouth open. He closes it, opens it again, and then looks away. First to the left, and then to right, and back again, like he’s checking the passageway for other Vingkäitä. And then he looks down, fidgeting with the flat thing and the smooth stick that sticks to the side of it.

Dean rests his forehead against the wall, watching, waiting. Even then, the child doesn’t say anything. And that makes Dean think. How do the Vingkäitä refer to him and the others? Do they have names, or do they just go by physical bits and pieces like Dean does? The child is the only one of his size that Dean deals with a lot, so there’s been no reason to differently name any other Vingkäitä child. But, Dean also doesn’t deal with any other Vingkäitä, so he hasn’t figured out anything for them.

“So, you want to know my name, but you won’t give me yours.” Dean drums his fingers against the wall. He tilts his head, trying to catch the child’s eyes again. “Do you make names up for us?”

The kid nods slightly, but just slightly. “Designations.” He speaks more to the flat thing in his lap than to Dean himself, but it’s still an answer. Quiet, though. Dean can barely hear it through the clear wall. “A mixture of letters and numbers to identify what enclosure you are in, your sex, and which number of that sex you are within the enclosure.” He lifts one of his hands to the back of his neck. “We mark you as such so we can easily identify or reference you in our reports.”

“Oh…” Dean reaches back and ghosts his fingers across the back of his neck. He can’t feel the raised lines anymore, but he can picture the same-but-different tattoos on the back of everyone in the tribe. May and Jo have shorter ones than him or the rest of the adults. “What’s my dig-des-degnition?”

Whatever answer the child actually gives him is in something that Dean doesn’t recognize at all. They’re not any letters or numbers that Dean recognizes, and he barely knows his numbers, let alone his letters. His people don’t really have much in writing. He knows some of the other tribes do. He’s seen Rowena use charcoal from the fire to write letters on the sides of her tent. She says they’re lyrics to songs from her childhood, and has sung it for him before, but Dean hasn’t made an effort to learn them.

When he screws his face up in a frown, the kid’s lips thin out again. After a few taps at the flat thing, he looks up at Dean. “1-M-7.”

Okay, so those are more recognizable. The numbers, yes. The letter, Dean isn’t really sure. Sounds familiar, but he can’t honestly say if he knows it or not. Either way… “That’s not my name.”

The child’s lip quirks in one corner of it, just slightly. “I suspected as much.”

And now they’re back at the beginning again, except the kid is actually talking to him. Dean tries really hard not to grin in victory. If he looks too smug, the kid might not answer him. “Does that mean you wanna know it?”

The kid’s lips thin out again, just slightly, and his eyes narrow. He cocks his head to the side and his wings shift against his back a little bit. Dean has no idea how to interpret any of it. What he wants to think is that the Vingkäitä child is interested. But is he suspicious that Dean is trying to lull him into helping him? Do Vingkäitä expressions mean the same as people expressions?

This is all about getting out. Dean hates the kid and the rest of the Vingkäitä for taking him from his home. He’s never going to forgive them, or the kid, for that or for everything they’ve done to him and will probably do to him. But, if Dean can use the kid… Well, he’ll pretend to make nice until he’s out of here. Until he’s home again.

Slowly, the Vingkäitä child nods. Hah! Now Dean’s got him. He grins, big and bright. “Then tell me your name first.”

The barely-there frown is back. “And what if you choose not to reciprocate?”

What is it with the kid and using big words that Dean doesn’t know? He raises an eyebrow and the Vingkäitä child sighs, his nose wrinkling slightly like he’s started to get frustrated. “What if I give you mine, but you do not give me yours?”

Dean shrugs and leans his shoulder into the corner. “Yeah? And what if I give mine first and you don’t? It’s the same thing. I don’t really have any reason to trust you, now do I?” Not that Dean has given them much reason to trust him either, since he’s tried to escape twice now.

He’s still mad about that, by the way. After days and days of digging, and filling covered baskets with dirt to haul back up to sneakily spread it around where they wouldn’t notice, he found that the wall he was following turned into the floor after he went down and down and down, using ladders made of sticks and vines to get back up. When he found that out, he kind of threw a fit and ripped down the tent and had himself a bit of a temper tantrum. That set Dick off, which brought the Vingkäitä in, and now he’s here. Like usual.

The child almost pouts, his bottom lip sticking out just slightly. “I do not lie.” He lifts his head, nose in the air. “It is illogical to lie.”

Oh, he is such a little liar. Dean snorts and rolls his eyes. “Really? Coz’ I’m pretty sure it’s considered lying when you don’t tell anyone else that you and me talk sometimes.”

Now that gets a guilty look. He ducks his head and his upper wings start curving over his shoulders. “Omitting is not lying.” And then he has to explain what omitting means, because Dean gives him his confused face again. Seriously, the kid needs to stop using big words that Dean doesn’t know.

Dean snorts again. “It kinda is.”

“It is not.” The kid hugs the flat thing to his chest.

“Is too.”

His shoulders lift, and he narrows his eyes just a bit. “It is not.”

“It definitely is.” Dean grins, enjoying himself a little too much.

“Castiel.”

Dean opens his mouth to carry on the game, and then snaps it shut again when he realizes the kid just gave him yet another word that he doesn’t understand. It doesn’t sound like something from Dean’s language either. Like the weird numbers and letters that the kid gave to him earlier.

“What?”

“Castiel.” The Vingkäitä child speaks it even slower, and Dean mouths along with him, trying to get a feel for it in his own mouth. “It is my name.”

Oh. Oh! A name. Hah! Dean finally has a name! He repeats it to himself a few times. It’s definitely weird to say, and his tongue doesn’t really want to work right for part of it. He gets the first half right, but the rest comes out wrong. The kid keeps correcting him, but Dean gives up and figures he can stick to the first half for now. Like how Sammy’s full name isn’t Sam, but actually Samuel, named for Äity’s Otehkö.

The more Dean practiced, the closer to the clear wall Cas got. Now he’s standing directly on the other side, eyes big and wide. They’re a startling shade of blue against the black, and Dean can’t look at them for long without a chill going down his spine. They don’t look right. They’re not people eyes. Even the pupil is all wrong, because the longer Dean looks at him, they go from being slitted and narrow to big and wide, swallowing up a lot of the black. It’s not right.

There’s a big part of Dean that doesn’t want to say anything. He didn’t exactly promise to give his name. And why should he? Why should he give Cas this bit of him when he’s part of the reason that Dean lost everything? But… If he wants the kid to trust him, he should probably build some kind of bond with him, so Dean can use him to get out of here if he needs to. Then, maybe he should do it. Not without being a little mean about it first.

It’s not like the Vingkäitä, whether it’s the kid or any of the others, don’t deserve it a little bit.

Cas tilts his head to the side a bit. His frown goes from the line between his eyebrows to the downturn of his lips. Even his ear-wings start to droop. “Please?”

Dean almost wants to laugh, and he doesn’t really know why. Instead, he shakes his head and sits back, propping himself up on his hands.

“Oh…” Cas’s ear-wings drop entirely, followed by his shoulders and all four pairs of wings. He looks disappointed, and Dean has to force himself not to feel bad about it. “You have tricked me.”

“And you guys stole me from my home.” Dean shrugs and looks to the little pond in the other corner. He keeps Cas in sight though, watching him from the corner of his eye.

Cas doesn’t say anything more. His bottom lip sucks in slightly, and he turns away. He crosses back to the other side of the passageway, dropping into the same crouch as before. At this point, Dean has never actually seen him sit properly, and now he’s not sure if Vingkäitä ever do. Maybe it has something to do with their weird bird feet?

Either way, now that he’s squatting against the far wall, Cas doesn’t look at Dean again. His upper wings have folded forward and over his shoulders, kind of like he’s hugging himself. He keeps his face so close to the flat thing, that Dean finally notices that there’s a little bit of light coming off of it. Cas’s face is lit with a bit of a blue glow. Whatever that flat thing is, Dean is positive that he’s never seen something like it before, and he has absolutely no idea why the Vingkäitä all seem to find them so fascinating.

Normally, Cas will glance up at him every now and then. This time, he doesn’t move anything but the hand holding the small stick, tapping at the flat thing every now and then. Oh yeah, he’s definitely sulking after Dean didn’t give him his name. Serves him right. He can stew on that for a bit.

Dean waits, and he watches, and eventually he leans forward to knock on the wall again to get Cas’s attention. He doesn’t even get a twitch of an answer. Apparently he’s being fully ignored now, and isn’t that something?

Fine. Two can play at this game.

Keeping his eyes on Cas, Dean plucks another blade of grass and uses it to whistle again. It gets no reaction this time, but he was kind of expecting that. So, he abandons that piece and stretches out on his belly to reach the grass by the bond. There are thicker, longer reeds there and he picks one of them. It makes a different warbling whistle, but the new sound doesn’t get any reaction out of Cas either.

Annoyed, Dean sighs loudly and rolls over onto his back. He kicks out his legs and spreads his arms out, fingertips in the water. From here, he can see straight up through the hole in the middle of the ceiling to look up at the slice of blue sky above. Dean hums nonsense noises to himself and drums his fingers and heels on the ground.

Huffing, he blows the hair out of his eyes, and realizes that it’s gotten pretty long. Maybe he can ask Ellen to cut it for him, or Rowena. She always seems to like playing with May or Jo’s hair. Dean likes it better when it’s short. He doesn’t like how it tickles the back of his neck, or flops into his eyes when it gets too long. Sammy liked it long. Dean does not.

After a long, too long time, Dean says his name. Just once, though. Out loud, but not too loud. He’s not even sure if Cas is still there, or if he heard him, but he still says it. Because there’s an unsettled kind of feeling in the pit of his stomach, and he doesn’t like feeling this way.

Movement at the edge of his vision makes him turn his head, and then sit up. Cas is standing right on the other side of the clear wall, his ear-wings flicked up high and all his feathers spread, even on his regular wings. He’s smiling. It’s mostly in his eyes, but there’s a little curl to his lips too. He looks happy, and Dean kind of hates the little light feeling in his chest. It’s still nice to make someone else happy, even when that someone else is a Vingkäitä.

Cas is practically glowing with delight. “Hello Dean.”

There are a lot of things that Dean has grown, but some of the bigger gourds grow a lot faster than the rest of them. But they’re all delicious. Most of them, Dean has never seen before. Luckily, though, most of the others have. They might not know them all, but they’ve seen some of them. Everyone from the sea tribe knew a lot of them. Apparently a lot of different gourds grow really well by the sea.

Right now, Dean is scooping out something called a pumpkin. Rowena showed them how to cut them open and scrape out the gross goopy insides. They pick out the seeds, and roasting them over the fire with different seasonings make for a good snack. The meat of the pumpkin can be separated from the skin and used for making a bunch of different things. Dean likes the soups that Donatello has made for them, and this time Lily said she would make them a pie.

Dean loves pies. His äity used to make an amazing meat pie, and different kinds of fruit pies. He loved them all. They were delicious, and nice little hand held sweet pockets. She would fold dough up and over the contents, and bake it in the oven they used to make clay pots. They were amazing, and Dean hopes Rowena’s will be just as good. He could use that little bit of home. It’s been… a long time.

May is sitting next to him, quietly scraping the gunk of the insides of the pumpkin she’s working on. They’re both dropping the gunk in a bowl between them. Behind them, Jo and Bill are picking out the seeds to put in a different bowl. Those will be spread out on a blanket in the sun to dry before they roast them. Dean can’t help wondering what seasonings Rowena will try for them this time, but he’s looking forward to it. He kind of missed eating.

All thoughts of what they might make out of these pumpkins fly out of Dean’s head the moment he hears the telltale hiss-swoosh of the door opening. He freezes, and then looks up sharply. The door is in full view from where he’s sitting in the middle of the camp, a straight line between him and it through two of the tents.

Two Vingkäitä come through the door, and Dean is too far from the trees to run and hide. He doesn’t know what to do, and doesn’t move. All the other grownups stop what they’re doing, and Bill stands up. They just had a supply drop a few days ago, and the Vingkäitä aren’t carrying anything but the flat things that most of them always have in hand. Which can only mean that they’re here to take someone away for a little while.

Every few moons or so, they show up outside of the supply drop to take them one at a time. Dean has always hid in the trees, because he didn’t always spend as much time in the tribe camp as he does now. But he’s too far from their safety right now, and what if they’re here for him? Dear spirits, he hopes they’re not. They’ll have to drag him out of here kicking and screaming.

And then he recognizes Cas as one of the two Vingkäitä.

The height should have tipped Dean off, but Cas is wearing the same outfit that the Vingkäitä always wear when they enter this space. They have the weird clear domes around their heads, and a suit of some kind of white material covering them from the shoulders down. Only their wings are free, and Dean would have recognized Cas from those alone, if he had noticed those first. But all four are folded primly behind Cas’s back and he’s standing painfully straight, walking stiffly next to the much taller one beside him.

“I wonder who they’re here for today.”

Ellen moves over to stand with Bill, speaking barely more than a whisper. Bill picks up Jo, and Ellen takes his free hand. May gets up and runs over to Lily, hiding her face against her thigh. Frank closes the flap over the front of his tent, and the rest of them just stand where they are and stare. Dean holds perfectly still, trying to pretend like if he doesn’t move, they can’t see him. He knows that’s not the case, but it’s the only thing he can think of doing.

Cas is here, and he’s looking right at Dean. He can’t imagine that Cas would be around if they were taking anyone else but him.

The taller Vingkäitä has dark skin like Victor and Rufus. Dean isn’t surprised. He’s looked at a lot of Vingkäitä when they walk on the clear bridge, and he’s definitely noticed that they have a bunch of different skin colours. Nothing crazy like blue, or green, but there are definitely differences.

Bill swears quietly under his breath when Cas points towards them, and it’s pretty obvious that he’s pointing at Dean. “Sorry, Kid.”

Dean doesn’t want to believe that it’s finally his turn.

“I think it’s test time.” Ellen steps away from Bill to crouch down next to Dean. “I know you’re really stubborn, but I wouldn’t fight it if I were you. It goes pretty quick if you don’t fight and just let them do what they need to do.” She touches Dean’s arm lightly, and he almost flinches away from it. “If you fight, they’re going to make you go to sleep until they’re done what they need to do.”

The bigger Vingkäitä takes a few steps closer, away from Cas. It doesn’t say anything, not that Dean expected it too, and he doubts that Cas is going to say anything either. He’s made it clear that he’s not supposed to talk to Dean, like, ever. If he ever gets caught for doing it, he could probably get into a lot of trouble, or so he’s hinted at every time Dean tries to get him to talk.

Big points at Dean, like Cas did, and turns its hand over, finger crooking in that unmistakable gesture to come closer. Dean doesn’t want to. He’s rooted to the spot. He’s scared. He doesn’t want to have tests done to him. Heck, he doesn’t even know what kind of tests they could possibly want to do on him. And he absolutely, most definitely, does not want them to do anything to him when they make him sleep. That’s actually worse.

“It’s not so bad.” Ellen offers him a smile and pats him on the shoulder. “It’s just a few pokes, and lots of them looking at you. And then you’re all done, and they’ll bring you right back here. “Easy-peasy.”

Dean grabs her hand and holds it as tightly as he can. He hasn’t wanted comfort from any of the grownups since he first got here. But right now, with the Vingkäitä here to take him away for something he’s never done before, has him crawling into Ellen’s arms. Dean is shaking, and he hates it, and he can’t take his eyes off Big.

He only looks away from Big when Cas steps up next to him. Cas starts tapping at that stupid flat thing he’s always using. The first thing that Dean is gonna do when he has the chance to do it is grab the dumb thing and break it. See how Cas likes having something taken away from him, for a change.

“It’ll be okay, Kid. I promise.” Ellen hugs him tight, but it doesn’t make Dean feel any better. “We’ll be right here when you get back. Why don’t I roast up some vegetables and potatoes while you’re gone, hm? I can season them with some of those herbs that you grew. That sounds like a nice treat, huh?”

It does, but it’s not enough to make Dean want to go away with two Vingkäitä. He refuses to let go. Ellen sighs softly into his hair and she tucks an arm under him, standing up with him held tightly against her chest. She faces Big and Cas, and Dean hides his face against her shoulder, peeking out only just enough to see them out of the corner of his eye.

“This is his first time.” Ellen talks over his head, and Dean holds on tighter. “He’s scared.”

Part of him wants to object. He’s a big boy and he can take care of himself, just like he’s been taking care of himself since he was stolen. But right now… What’s the point in arguing?

Big and Cas share a look, and then Big nods at them. He holds up two fingers, points at Dean and Ellen, and crooks his finger again. Ellen starts forward, and Dean tightens his grip on her. She hushes him, her hand rubbing over his back. “It’s okay. I’m going to go with you.”

That gets Dean to lift his head. “You are?”

“I’m pretty sure that’s what that means.” Ellen shrugs and gives him a smile. “Either way, you’re not going with them alone. I’ve gone with Jo before, so it’ll be fine. I can hold your hand while they do their tests, if you want. Or you can sit in my lap. Jo likes to sit in my lap.”

Dean looks back over her shoulder. Bill and Jo wave at them, and so do Lily and May. Rowena comes around one of the tents so he can see her wave too. Everyone is smiling, like that’s somehow supposed to make him feel better. It doesn’t, and Dean hugs tighter around Ellen’s neck.

The Vingkäitä lead Ellen into the room with the pile of furs. That’s when Dean starts squirming. “You can put me down.” He’s a big boy. He can walk on his own, but he does keep the tightest grip possible on Ellen’s hand, and he stays as close to her as he can.

Cas’s face is blank, but Dean can tell that he’s practically vibrating. His wings keep twitching behind his back, and there’s a little bounce in his step. He keeps glancing back at Dean, and the only smile is in his eyes. Every time they make eye contact, Dean makes sure to glare at him. Cas must’ve known that this was coming. Why didn’t he tell Dean when he was in The Alone Room a few days ago after another fight with Dick?

Through the door on the other side of the fur room is a passageway. The Vingkäitä continue to lead the way, and Dean finally has a chance to actually see the passageways that they always take. Usually, Dean is made to sleep when he’s brought between the tribe space and The Alone Room. Now that he’s awake, he wants to pay attention to which direction they go, all the turns they take, and how many different doors they pass.

Each door they pass is a circle cut off at the bottom, just like all the doors Dean has seen here. There’s a little square next to each of them, but only some of them have glowing symbols on them. The symbols look a lot like the writing on the back of the necks of everyone in the tribe. What’s behind every door? Other tribes? More Alone Rooms?

Dean presses closer to Ellen, but he tries really hard to remember the path they take. It’s hard to draw a map in his head because he’s never done it before, but he tries. He tries very hard.

Eventually, they reach one of the doors where the big Vingkäitä presses something on the square next to the door. It’s blank at first, but then the weird linked symbols appear and the door opens from the center. It’s so weird and Dean tucks against the back of Ellen’s leg, staring into the room around Cas and Big. It’s all white, and something about it just feels off.

The Vingkäitä lead him in, and Ellen basically drags Dean in after them. He glances around the room, eyeing a shelf of things along one wall. It’s hip-high, for a Vingkäitä, which means that it’s as high as Dean is tall. There are a bunch of things hanging from the ceiling that looks like they’re there for torture, and they’re hanging right above a table in the middle of the room. One of the walls has a clear section in it, like The Alone Room, and there are a couple of other Vingkäitä standing on the other side.

Cas nods at the ones watching, and one of them nods back. Dean kinda feels like he recognizes that one, but he can’t really place where or why. He’s probably seen it around at some point. The wings aren’t anything special, not rainbow black like Cas’s, but white on the underside and mottled brown on top.

“Over here.” Ellen doesn’t even seem to notice that they’re being watched. She’s been here long enough that she’s probably used to it.

She leads him over to the table and scoops Dean up under his armpits to lift him up and sit him on the edge. Dean immediately draws his knees to his chest and hugs them. Ellen hops up to sit next to him, between him and the clear wall, thankfully, and puts an arm around his shoulders. She rubs his arm a little bit, and tucks him against her side.

The big Vingkäitä and Cas head over to the shelf. Cas is still poking at the flat thing in his hands, looking up every so often at whatever it is that Big keeps gesturing at on the shelf. Sometimes Big picks something up and shows it to Cas. Why doesn’t Cas already know what everything is? Has he never been in this room before? Is he here to learn? Cas did say that he’s studying them.

“The first thing they’re going to do is measure you.” Ellen dips her head to whisper into his hair. “All you’re going to have to do is lie flat on the table. You’ll see a bright light for a moment, but I promise that you won’t feel a thing.”

Dean scrunches up his nose, but he doesn’t say anything. He keeps his eyes on Cas and Big. They haven’t said a word between them yet, but it definitely looks like they’re talking to each other somehow. Dean is almost positive, now, that the way they communicate is completely different from anything Dean knows. He doesn’t know how, though.

When they finally turn around, Cas pokes once at the flat thing and holds it out. A strange voice comes out of it, and it isn’t Cas’s voice. It’s hard, and flat, and there’s no inflections or emotion in the voice at all. “Please lie down.”

Ellen slips off the side of the table, leaving Dean on it all alone. He doesn’t move, and just continues to stare at Cas and Big. Something isn’t right about Cas. Normally, he’s more expressive. But now he’s all… colorless. Face blank, wings tucked tight. Nothing is giving away what he’s thinking or feeling.

Cas taps the flat thing again, and the flat voice repeats itself. “Please lie down.”

“It goes faster if you listen.” Ellen touches his arm briefly. “Just do what they ask, and we’ll be out of here in a jiffy.”

Dean chews on his bottom lip slightly. “I don’t wanna…”

One of Cas’s ear-wings flicks, just a bit. A little twitch. He pokes at the flat thing a whole bunch before holding it out again. “If you do not comply, please note that you will be made to sleep until the check-up is completed.”

Ugh. Of course they would threaten that, the jerks. Dean sneers and hunches his shoulders up around his ears. Ellen hushes him and rubs at his back. “Please listen, kiddo. It’s always better to just listen.”

Cas taps again. “Please.”

Dean huffs, glancing up at Big before back down at Cas. Something mean and spiteful makes his chest hurt and he has to fight to keep from smiling. “Talk to me normally, and maybe I’ll listen.”

Now that finally gets a reaction. All of Cas’s wings flick out in surprise and he stands up just a little straighter, eyes widening. Even Big looks a little surprised, though the only part of its face that moves is an eyebrow as it looks down at Cas. Spots of colour appear on Cas’s cheeks, and then disappear just as quickly. He shuffles his wings against his back again, straightens his shoulders, and glances towards the clear wall and the Vingkäitä on the other side.

The longer he looks that way, the more his posture changes. Cas’s upper wings start curling forward over his shoulders and his shoulders drop bit by bit. Eventually, he drops his eyes to the flat thing in his hands. A long time passes before Cas sucks in his bottom lip slightly. Without looking up at anyone, he moves around the room until his back is to the Vingkäitä on the other side of the clear wall.

It takes a while before Cas actually does lift his head. He looks Dean right in the eye, squares his shoulders, takes a deep breath, and opens his mouth. “Please lie down, Dean.”

Ellen looks at Cas sharply, her jaw dropped. “It… it talked.”

“He did.” Dean can’t help grinning, too pleased with himself.

Cas refuses to talk to him most of the time because he’s afraid of getting caught. But now they know, and Cas is probably in trouble, but not enough trouble to keep him from talking in front of the other Vingkäitä. Either this is going to change everything, or it’s going to change nothing. Dean has some kind of power here. He doesn’t know what kind of power, but he does. Otherwise, Cas wouldn’t be talking to him right now.

And then Ellen turns to Dean, eyes wide. “What, it said –”

“My name.” Dean scoots back on the table, flashes Cas another grin, and lays down like he promised he would. “And Cas told me he’s a he.”

“How did he…?”

Dean shrugs. “I told him.” He looks at Ellen instead of paying attention to whatever down from the things hanging above the table. It’s easier to focus on her than the long, thin thing shining a beam of light down at him. She’s making a weird face at him, and Dean gives her his best ‘sorry’ smile. “I was probably gonna tell you too. One day. I just told him so he’d tell me his name.”

The beam of light moves up and down Dean’s body, starting at his feet and swooping up towards his head. Cas makes an unhappy noise and there’s an edge to his voice when he speaks again. “Please be quiet, and do not move during the scan.”

Instead of listening, Dean rocks his head back to look at Cas upside down. “What’s it doing?”

Cas presses his lips into a thin line. “Dean, please lie down and stop moving.”

“Will you answer my question if I do?”

There’s a beat or two of silence before Cas nods, just once. “I will.”

Good enough. Dean lies down, closes his eyes, and holds as still as he possibly can. While he does, Cas sighs and keeps talking; “The light is measuring your height. The table is measuring your weight. Another scanner is reading your blood pressure.”

When Dean opens his eyes, another thing is coming down out of the ceiling. It scans over him once, then pulls back up. Another comes down, smaller and circular. It flashes so brightly that Dean has to blink spots out of his eyes.

“That was an x-ray.”

Ellen glances at Cas, and then at Dean, frowning. “What’s an x-ray?”

“It sees through you to take a picture of your bones and organs.”

She gasps, and even Dean can’t hold still enough not to look at Cas for that response. “It does what?!”

Cas doesn’t seem bothered by their reactions. “It is to make sure that you are healthy. Sometimes bad things can grow in you. We call them tumors. They can hurt you and make you sick, or even kill you. With this, we can find them when they are small, and help you.”

Dean squirms in place and crosses his arms over his stomach. He doesn’t like the idea that things could be inside him that shouldn’t be there, but he definitely doesn’t like that they can see inside of him. It’s so… intrusive. More than anything the Vingkäitä have done yet.

Ellen touches his shoulder again and Dean goes still. He drops his hands and holds still for another flash of light, and then everything draws back up to the ceiling. Dean sits up right away, and Cas doesn’t tell him to lie down again. Ellen must know that’s the last of the lying down bit, because she pulls herself up to sit on the table again.

Cas doesn’t move from where he’s standing while he keeps explaining, but the big Vingkäitä does. “The next part of the check-up requires that we listen to your heart and lungs. We will also ask that you open your mouth and allow us to check your teeth.”

Oh heck no. Dean keeps his mouth firmly shut and he glares up at Big as he comes closer. Or, at least, Dean thinks Big is a he, like Cas. It’s got a flat chest, like Cas, with broad shoulders and a masculine jawline. It’s also bald, and Dean hasn’t met a woman yet who doesn’t like having hair.

The curiosity gets too much and Dean looks up at Big. “Are you a boy too?”

Ellen actually snorts and covers her mouth and nose with a hand. Dean glances at her for a moment, before looking back at Big. Instead, Big just lifts an eyebrow. Of course Big doesn’t answer him. Dean didn’t think he would. So, he looks back at Cas and ignores the rest of the Vingkäitä standing on the other side of the clear wall behind him. Cas doesn’t move or say anything for a long moment, and then he’s eyes shift from Dean to Big, and back again.

Once, slowly, he nods. “Yes, he identifies as male.”

Dean obviously notices that Cas didn’t give him Big’s name. That’s okay, he can get it out of him later whenever they’re both at The Alone Room again. For now, that’s good enough. He sits back on his hands and looks expectantly at Big, ready for whatever thing he’s going to do to him next.

Big still has an eyebrow arched, but his mouth is firmly closed as he puts two small buds into the feathers of his ear-wings. They’re connected by a black thing that comes together under his chin, and hangs down in a long string with a wide flat disk at the end of it. Dean stares at it as Big steps in close and puts it to his chest. Or, rather, he tries to, but Dean leans away again. Never mind. He’s not ready for whatever Big wants to do next.

Now Big’s eyebrows come together just a little bit and he’s actually frowning. He looks at Cas, and Cas’s ears flick upward, and he straightens his shoulders. “Dean, please allow him to listen to your heartbeat, and he would like to listen to you breathe.”

“Okay.” Dean sits forward again. It’s easier to allow it when he knows what he’s doing.

The disk is cold when it touches his skin. Dean shivers slightly and bites his lip, trying to keep himself breathing normally. Big keeps the disk over his heart for a little while, and then he moves around to the side of the table to press the disk to Dean’s back.

“Please take a few deep breaths, Dean.”

His first urge is not to listen. But, the sooner he complies, and sooner he can get out of here, hopefully. Dean sighs, and then takes a few deep breaths. Holding them for a moment before whooshing the air out again. Big must be satisfied with whatever he hears, because he steps away and goes back to the shelf. He puts the listening thing on shelf and looks through some other things while Cas starts poking away at the flat thing.

Dean is busy watching him, so he doesn’t really notice when Big comes closer again – at least not until he grabs Dean by the wrist to start lifting his arm. Of course he doesn’t like that. He jerks away so hard, yanking his wrist out of Big’s grip at the same time, that he ends up falling backwards across the table. The only thing that stops him from hitting it hard is that Ellen catches him around the shoulders and brings him upright again.

Cas looks up sharply, and Big stops to look at him. Neither one of them says anything for a few moments, and Dean wonders if they’re really talking to each other. They must not use their mouths for it, but then how do they talk? It can’t be body language, because both of them are barely moving more than just breathing. That’s another thing that Dean is going to have to ask Cas about later.

Finally, Cas looks to Dean again. “He is sorry for grabbing you unexpectedly.” Cas tilts his head to Big. “He would like to check under your arms. Have you noticed that you have started to develop a body odour? Or hair under your arms, or around your groin?”

Not that he’s noticed. Dean’s nose wrinkles. “No?”

“Thank you.” Cas nods and taps at his flat thing again.

Ellen waits while Big goes back to the shelf, and then she leans into Dean. Her voice is barely bigger than a whisper. “That’s going to happen when you get older.”

And, to prove it, she lifts her arm to show the hair there. But Dean already knew about that. He’s seen all the grownups here naked more than once, same with everyone back home, and they all have hair in those places. Some of the men are hairier than others, and some grow beards better than others. Dean can’t wait until he can grow a beard of his own. His otehkö told him that it won’t start growing until he’s older, but he’s excited for that.

He also knows that sometimes, in the hot sun, people could get pretty stinky. But there’s a plant that grew near the village, and once boiled and mixed with animal fat, and spread in certain places, kept the bad smells down to a minimum. Dean hasn’t paid as much attention to the grownups here, but he’s pretty sure none of them is smelly. But they do take baths a lot more than anyone back home ever did.

The face he’s making must be amusing, because Ellen laughs at it and ruffles his hair. He knocks her hand away and leans around to look at Cas again. “Can I go now?”

“Soon.” Cas looks up from his flat thing for a moment. “We would like to update your immunizations.” As he says that, Big comes back from the shelf with something small and pointy in his hands. “I promise that you will not feel a thing.”

“Oh, I hate this part.” Ellen’s whole face crumples. She takes Dean’s hand that’s closest to her, and squeezes it. “Just look at me, okay? Don’t look at what he’s doing.”

“Why?” Dean looks between Ellen and Big, and then down at the pointy thing. “What’s he gonna do?” He looks at Cas. “What’s that for?”

Cas tilts his head slightly to one side, and Dean would say that he’s almost amused, the jerk. “It is an inoculation. A vaccine.” When Dean just keeps looking at him, Cas sighs and taps at the flat thing, looking at it for a moment. “It is a medicine that will help protect you from getting certain kinds of sicknesses or diseases.”

Dean bites his lip and looks back to the pointy thing. “And… and what’s he gonna do with it?”

“He will poke you briefly in the arm. You will barely feel a thing.”

“Then why can’t I look?” He turns back to Ellen, frowning.

She shrugs and squeezes his hand. “I just never liked getting them, that’s all.”

“What if I don’t want it?” Dean looks back at Big again, chewing on his lip a little harder.

“It is a requirement.” Cas is starting to sound a little frustrating. “You will not be returned to the enclosure until you have received your vaccination.” He pauses, and that frustration passes. “If you resist now, I am afraid that we will need to make you sleep prior to administering the inoculation.”

Dean huffs and crosses his arms, pulling his hand from Ellen’s in the process. He glares at Cas, trying to figure out how he’s going to argue with him about this. But then he feels a pressure against his upper left arm. He looks back quickly to see Big turning away and already going back to the shelf. Dean rubs his arm and looks at Ellen, and her face is pulled into a wince.

“I shouldn’t have looked.”

Wait. “Did… he do it?” He looks to Ellen and Cas again for the answer.

“Yes, he did.” Cas nods and then gestures at Big. “We will now need to check your teeth. Please open your mouth.”

Nope. No way. That is not happening.

Big comes back from the shelf with something small in his hands that Dean has no idea what it’s supposed to do with his mouth. It’s a long, thin stick like thing, like what Cas sometimes uses on the flat thing he always has, but the end of it has another little round disk on the end of it. Dean rolls his lips between his teeth and keeps his mouth firmly shut.

Cas sighs again, very quietly. “Dean, please just cooperate.”

Ellen touches his knee. “I agree. Just do what they want and we can go back and have something to eat, okay? The next part can go really quick if you just listen.”

But Dean doesn’t want to. He also doesn’t want to be made to sleep either. On the bright side, if they do make him sleep because he’s too stubborn for his own damn good (as Dick loves saying), at least Ellen would be here. Dean doesn’t think they would make her sleep too. Would they? What if they did? What if they’re both made to sleep and neither one of them is awake to know what the Vingkäitä do to him? Okay, never mind. That’s scarier than having whatever Big is holding put in his mouth.

He grumbles to himself for a little bit, long enough for Big to start looking like he’s going to get whatever it is that puts him to sleep. Dean sighs heavily, rolls his eyes, and opens his mouth. The flat disk at the end of the stick ends up going into his mouth, but it doesn’t touch anything. Big just crouches down and tilts his head and the stick back and forth to try and get a better look. At what? His teeth? Only the spirits know why that’s so important.

Dean stares really hard at Big. He’s bald, like Victor, but he doesn’t have any facial hair. There are little black spots under his right eye, and his eyes are so dark that the colour of them is almost completely lost to the black-that-should-be-white. It’s really chilling, and he looks away.

Big finishes up whatever it is that he was doing, and he walks back to the shelf. He comes back right away with two arches stuck together with a little flat piece between them that Big is holding on to. The arches look soft and spongy, and Dean gets an uneasy feeling in his stomach. He doesn’t like the look of it, and he turns to Ellen, and then Cas for some kind of explanation.

Ellen puts an arm around his shoulders and squeezes. “You just need to bite into it for a few moments. Nothing else happens. I promise.”

“I don’t wanna.” Dean shakes his head and leans harder into her.

“You must.” Cas takes a few steps forward, and his claws click on the floor. “We cannot return you to the enclosure until your annual check-up has been completed.

Dean groans and leans his head back enough to glare at Cas. “You’re the worst.”

Normally Cas’s wings will drop, or he’ll look away when Dean insults him like that. This time, it doesn’t even get him a flick of the ear-wings. Cas does blink, but the rest of his face and body doesn’t reflect anything. He’s blank. Empty. No expression. Just like Big and the rest of the other Vingkäitä on the other side of the clear wall. Dean doesn’t like it. He prefers it when Cas actually reacts to him.

Ellen gives him a squeeze again, and Dean sighs loudly. He wants them to know that he doesn’t like this, and he’s definitely going to be a brat about it. Big is surprisingly gentle about putting the arches into his mouth. Dean bites down on it, glaring at Big and then at Cas.

It’s really weird. His teeth sink deep into the weird squishy part of the arches. Everything about it makes his whole mouth tingly, and Dean tries poking at the sides with his tongue. That just makes it numb and tingly too. What in the world is this thing?

Finally, after what feels like forever, Cas clears his throat. “You can open your mouth again.”

Dean does, and Big uses two hands to pop them off his teeth. He gets a look at it before the thing is whisked off to the shelf again. There’s a weird foam in the impressions that his teeth left. He can feel the foam in his mouth too, and he rubs his tongue across his teeth. They feel weird, and smooth. Like the foam might have cleaned them.

Why do the Vingkäitä have so many weird things?

Big comes over with a small cup of water and offers it to Dean. Cas clears his throat. “Please use this water to rinse your mouth out.” He pauses and leans forward slightly. “I promise you that it is simply a purified version of what you have in the enclosure. It is clean and has not been tampered with.”

Normally, Dean wouldn’t take anything they give him, but he really doesn’t like having this foamy feeling around his teeth. He takes the cup and swirls the water around in his mouth, rinsing it as best he can. The problem, though, is that Dean doesn’t want to swallow it. He looks at Ellen, cheeks bulging, and frowns. Then he looks at Cas. Cas looks uncertain, and he glances at Big.

Ellen cups a hand around her mouth and drops her voice into a whisper. “I just spit it back into the cup.”

He could do that, or he could… Dean grins. Keeping eye contact with Cas, Dean leans forward and just slowly dribbles the water straight onto the floor. Cas’s nose wrinkles sharply and he looks away, lips pressing into a thin line. All the Vingkäitä behind the glass wall look away too, but Big doesn’t. When Dean looks at him, his upper lip is witching up on one side, like he’s trying not to sneer.

Dean holds the cup out to him. Big only uses two fingers to take the cup back, pinching it carefully by the boom. He takes it to the shelf, taps something on it, and a hole opens in the wall above it. Big tosses the whole thing in there, and the hole closes again. It’s a really small hole, so Dean doubts that he could use that to escape.

“Are we done now?” He looks at Cas again.

For a moment, Cas looks a little sick. He swallows thickly, but he nods and looks down at the flat thing. “Yes. You are still underweight for a child of your age and height, but you are doing well and have improved greatly since…” Now that makes his wings droop slightly. He clears his throat again. “Since we first spoke. We have gathered quite a lot of information from you through simple observation in the enclosure. If we have any further concerns towards your health, we will deal with you and those concerns at that time.”

Great. Dean hops off the table, being careful not to land in the puddle he spat on the floor. Ellen jumps down too and she puts her arm around him again. He presses against her side when Big turns towards them. And Dean immediately steps around her to put her between the two of them. But Big doesn’t even bother to look at him. He just walks to the door and it slides open for him. Instead of going through, he turns back and gestures for them to go through.

Cas tags along behind them as they start walking. “We are returning you to the enclosure first.”

Dean ducks out into the hall first with Ellen behind him. Big and Cas are behind her. Dean looks both ways, remembering which direction they first came from, and then he looks up at Ellen. “I’m really sorry for this.”

She looks down at him, confused. “What?”

He doesn’t explain. Instead, he shoves her as hard as he possibly can. Ellen goes stumbling backwards into Big, who doesn’t move at all except to catch her before she can fall. He’s blocking the door, so Cas can’t get through. Dean takes off immediately before Ellen’s even done her shout of surprise, and he heads off in the opposite direction that they came from. His bare fleet are slapping against the floor, loud and echoing in the passageway.

Cas’s shout of his name echoes right after him, but Dean doesn’t look back.

Chapter Text

Calling after Dean does not so much as even make him hesitate. Castiel should have expected this, and still he is surprised. Dean is always looking for an escape, but up until now they have all been done secretively. He has never been so blatant as to escape in the presence of two Aetherians. This attempt is even more foolish than when he tried to dig his way out.

Where does Dean expect to go? Without an identification chip in his wrist, Dean will not be able to activate any of the doors within the facility. He is, as always, trapped. This time, however, it is in the tunnels rather than the enclosure or an isolation room. Worse yet, he has now brought himself under the fire of Uriel’s ire.

Irritation is radiating from Uriel’s sha’ra. He sighs heavily through his nose and shoves 1-F-1 aside, and nearly right into Castiel. (Return the female to her enclosure. I will handle our wayward child.)

Uriel starts after Dean with long, controlled steps. There is a tranquilizer gun at his hip, and Castiel watches him remove it from the belt of his protective suit. Castiel does feel a little bad for Dean. He will not get far, and his punishment will not be light.

1-F-1 takes a few steps after both Dean and Uriel, but Castiel grabs her wrist. “Please do not.

She looks down at him, her eyebrows drawn together. “But he…”

Castiel shakes his head, the tips of his ear-wings brushing against the domed helmet of his suit. “Dean will be caught shortly, but he will be removed to isolation. I do not know for how long he will be away.” He begins down the hall in the opposite direction, tugging 1-F-1 to follow along with him. “I am to return you to the enclosure now.”

She hesitates at first, but even as an Aetherian child, Castiel is stronger than her. She has no choice but to come along when he pulls her along. After a few steps, 1-F-1 seems willing to follow him of her own will and he drops her wrist, if only because he is well aware that it is not proper decorum for him to touch the specimens; and especially because he is still a student. This was well lectured into him after Dean’s first escape attempt.

One of the doors they approach slides open when they reach it. Castiel very nearly flinches when Naomi herself steps out of the observation hall. Her sha’ra brushes his, impressing upon him a flicker of disappointment. It is not an emotion of hers that Castiel is used to feeling, and he fights himself not to react outwardly. Regardless, his wings still draw in tighter against his back. He does not look at her, and she does not look at him.

Naomi falls into step behind 1-F-1. She is not wearing a protective suit like Castiel and Uriel. Normally that would be considered unacceptable, and one should always wear a suit like this when around a specimen. Or so was the reason she made him dress up before collecting Dean for his tests, even though he would not be a part of actually administering them. Castiel’s presence was strictly for observation purposes and he was never supposed to actually interact with Dean.

He does wish that he could have been allowed to go after Dean with Uriel, or instead of Uriel. It would have delayed having to deal with his mother. Unfortunately, Castiel does not have a means of stopping Dean beyond physically overpowering him. Uriel was the logical choice in all aspects, as much Castiel does not like that. He can only hope that Uriel will not be too mean to Dean, though he would be unconscious and unaware of what is happening.

Dean will awaken shortly in one of the isolation rooms. He has not yet seemed to notice that it is not always the same room. Castiel has noted that the caretakers do tend to put Dean in the same one, if it is available, but not always. According to Aetherian studies, familiarity is good for homo sapiens.

“So…” 1-F-1 clears her throat when they step into the transition room of the enclosure. “You guys can talk, huh? Why haven’t you said anything before?”

Castiel keeps tight lipped, especially now that Naomi is here. He simply shakes his head and steps aside, gesturing with his PADD for 1-F-1 to proceed to the door directly into the enclosure. Naomi issues the command to open the door from her personal PADD. 1-F-1 hesitates, looking between both Naomi and Castiel. She sighs eventually and does as directly. The door slides shut behind her, leaving Castiel alone with his mother and displeasure travelling between their sha’ra.

Naomi’s eyes are fixed on him, and Castiel does not look at her. He tries not to flinch at the purposeful touch of her sha’ra. She is judging him. Silently. Castiel sucks his bottom lip in slightly, keeping his own gaze firmly focused on the floor. He waits, but apparently Naomi is waiting too. She does not move from her position by the door for several long minutes, probing at his sha’ra without saying anything at all.

And then, quite suddenly, she turns and leaves the room. Castiel sighs, his wings drooping considerably, and shuffles after her. There is an unspoken demand that he follow her, and he dare not disobey her now. It will only exacerbate the situation.

Unsurprisingly, Naomi leads Castiel to one of the decontamination rooms. She waits off to the side, her attention on her PADD while he carefully strips out of his suit. It is the only layer of clothing that he is wearing, and every part of it is dumped into the recycler, except for the helmet. It will not fit into the opening of the recycler, so Castiel opts to leave it remaining on a shelf next to it. Someone will deal with it, or Naomi will tell him what to do.

With his PADD in hand, Castiel steps into the decontamination shower. He spreads all his wings and closes his eyes, accepting the sonics and the sanitizing spray that cleanses him. The suit protects him well, but the legs are open ended, and his hands were uncovered. In which case, Castiel thinks that only his hands and talons should need to be decontaminated. But if this is what the procedure is, he will not question it.

Castiel shakes his feathers out after the sanitizing spray has finished, and he steps back out into the room. The domed helmet of his suit is missing, and Naomi has a change of clothes ready for him. She still has not said anything, and she remains stubbornly silent as he gets dressed. It is more than enough for Castiel to know that he is in immeasurable amounts of trouble.

He has always strived to be a model son. Aside from Dean’s first escape attempt, Castiel had never been reprimanded by his mother before. As far as he knows, Naomi has never had a complaint to make about him. He has been under the impression that she highly praises him to her co-workers, if only because they make it a point to say as much when he has the chance to speak with them. Naomi has always been pleased with what he says, what he does, with his scores in his lessons, and how far along he is in them.

The only time that Naomi has been even vaguely disappointed with him is when she learned that his thesis relies slightly on psychology. She considered it odd, but is otherwise always very enthusiastic about everything else that he does. Except for this. Apparently she draws a hard line at speaking with the specimens, and Castiel is sure he can hazard a guess as to why.

Without a word, or stopping to speak to any of her co-workers, Naomi leads Castiel out of the building and they wing back home in silence. Castiel is terrified by the time they land on the platform outside their living unit. He resists the urge to take off again and fly anywhere but here. He fidgets with the edge of his PADD as he enters the room, shuffling after her.

Naomi stops halfway through the living space, and turns to face him. She crosses her arms and there is an actual frown creasing her features. That might be more frightening than anything. Naomi rarely ever makes any kind of facial expression, and certainly never one so severe. Castiel feels very small and he quickly looks away, staring down at his talons.

(You are aware that I am displeased.) If her thoughts were not enough to get that across, the obvious emotion shared between their sha’ra would be enough.

Castiel nods slowly. (Yes, Naomi.)

She takes a deep, audible breath through her nose. (Due to my position, I have been able to grant you certain permissions beyond what any student would have received when interested in focusing on one of our specimens as part of their thesis.)

He shuffles his wings against his back and straightens his shoulders, trying his best to look her in the eye and failing. The best Castiel manages is to look over her shoulder. (And I am most grateful.)

(And yet you have communicated with a specimen well beyond the parameters allowed even to employees.) Naomi’s thoughts turn colder, harder. (Need I remind you that you are not an employee?)

Castiel shakes his head lightly. His upper wings begin curling over his shoulders. (I am sorry, Mother.)

As expected, Naomi does not react to the endearment now. Instead, she simply sighs heavily and shakes her head. (While it is true that I did not explicitly tell you that you were not allowed to speak to the specimen, it was wrong of me to assume that despite your understanding and proficiency with the Alpha Sector language, that you would not think to engage in conversation with any of the specimens. That blame falls on me.)

Naomi brings up a hand to pinch lightly at the bridge of her nose, her eyes closed. (However, my coworkers and superiors will view us both in a negative light due to this event. Communication with specimens changes the parameters of our observational experiments. You have thrown into question all of our observations of 1-M-7 thus far. You have influenced a specimen, Castiel. Do you understand the significance of this?)

He clutches his PADD tightly to his chest as a curious tingling starts high in his nose. Castiel lips away the feeling and does his best to hold the tremble of his bottom lip in place. Yes, he knew it was wrong, but he was so very curious. He wanted to learn, but now he has caused so many problems for himself. No, worse. For Naomi.

After several moments of silence, Naomi points at Castiel’s desk. (You are going to write a report for me, Castiel. You will not leave your desk until you have documented every instance where you spoke to1-M-7 and everything that was said between you two. It will need to be entered into his file so we may review our observations and adjust based on that.)

Castiel clenches his teeth, but he was expecting this. (Yes, Naomi.) He puts his PADD aside and settles on the perch of his desk. His fingers are shaking just slightly as he calls up a blank document and starts typing without another word.

Naomi crosses the room to stand just behind him, her arms crossed. She watches and reads as Castiel puts his eidetic memory to good use, creating a transcript of their conversations. They were not long, and they were few and far between.

Halfway through his cataloguing, Naomi walks away. (As for your punishment, you are grounded.)

Now that brings a pause to his typing. He glances at her, noting that she is heading for the door. It is likely that she must return to work and deal with the fallout of Castiel’s actions.

She pauses before the door will pick up on her proximity to open for her, but she does not turn around to look at him. (You will be permitted to attend the social engagement I scheduled for you. Otherwise, you are not to leave our living unit. You will focus on your studies and begin your thesis. I will decide when you are free to leave again. Until then, you will follow what rules I lay out for you.)

The consequences are beginning to feel like they outweigh his actual crimes. But Castiel would rather have his wings plucked than point that out. He simply ducks his head with a nod. (Yes, Mother.)

She takes a step and the iris of the door slides open. (You are also hereby banned from attending my place of employment.)

Castiel stands up sharply, turning to face her as a breeze sweeps through their living space. (But –!)

Naomi cuts off his thoughts with a flare of her wings, and she holds up her PADD. (That is at the request of my superiors.) She looks back at him, her expression once more schooled into careful neutrality. Her sha’ra, however, continues to pulse disappointment against Castiel’s own. (You have affected our studies. This is not to be taken lightly. What you have done may even affect your chances of working for my department once you have completed your lessons. At this point in time, I cannot guarantee that they will even allow you to visit as a member of the public again.)

At that, she turns away again and steps through the doorway. (Interfering with the specimens beyond maintaining their health and our normal observations goes against many of our policies. Your punishment will not be taken lightly simply because of your age.)

Castiel drops back into his usual crouch on his perch and his hands form fists against his knees. He looks down at his desk and the words he has typed blur together under his eyes. (I understand.) Though he does not feel like the punishment fits the crime. Aside from one conversation with Dean regarding their names, all Castiel has done has been to help him.

(Finish that report, Castiel, and send it directly to my PADD when you are done.)

He places his hands on the touch-screen of his desk, already beginning to type again. (May I include my reasoning as to why I spoke with Dean?)

Naomi hesitates before stepping out onto the landing pad. She turns to face him, her lips pressed into a thin line. (You may, though I will make no promises that it will help your case. However, it would certainly not hurt it.)

The door winks closed behind her, but Castiel’s frustrations do not ebb. He presses a little harder on the screen than necessary as he types, claws clicking across the screen. Castiel chews on his bottom lip as he works, consulting his own extensive notes to provide times and dates for the conversations and any interactions he had with Dean.

It seems prudent that he attach the camera logs as part of his report, but attempting to access them proves futile. Castiel stares at the screen, his wings drooping to the floor as he discovers that the extra access Naomi had gotten for him has been revoked. Even attempting to access the files that he had previously been graciously allowed to view is denied. He would be displeased with this if it was not his own fault for being in this situation in the first place.

Castiel knows that he should never have spoken to Dean. He did it anyway, if only to satisfy no one but himself. Having his access cut off like this will make completing his thesis harder. It will not be impossible, but if he wants access to any further information about Dean, he will need to go through the proper channels. He will need to submit requests for logs and observations from the archives instead. It will slow him down, but at least he will not be completely cut off.

Thankfully, it does not take long for Castiel to finish transcribing the conversations and completing the report. He even includes everything that was said to Dean today. Castiel takes extra time to outline and acknowledge his mistakes. He gives his reasoning for why he did it, such as his concerns for Dean’s declining health. It also means including his failing in that he was weak and he wanted to speak to a specimen to learn more about him that would not be available from simple observation.

He concludes the report by giving his word that he would not do it again.

Before he sends it to Naomi, he makes sure to read it over carefully. A word or two needs to be tweaked here or there, but it is otherwise as good as it is going to get. Still, Castiel hesitates before sending it off to Naomi. A heavy weight rests in his stomach and he stares blankly at his desk once he has sent it.

With that done, there is not much else for Castiel to do but get started on his lessons. It is barely midday, and he has no appetite to even consider getting something to eat. Castiel sighs and opens his lessons, projecting another screen from the top of his desk to assist in multitasking. On one screen he can begin his thesis, and the other he can have his lesson.

Perhaps, if he makes himself busy enough, he will not have the time to think about everything he ruined today for himself, his mother, and for Dean.

Castiel stands at the edge of the internal bubble at the center of the terrarium; the hub to which the observation tunnels are connected. A kha’wil is currently making its slow way across the surface of the bubble. It gives Castiel a perfect view of each of its seventy-two suckered feet adhere to the quartz glass in a rippling, undulating pattern.

It has been a long time since his lessons about Atan’eal and the various creatures that once lived upon it, but Castiel remembers everything he learned. Eidetic memories have that effect. Though he was not present for the blight that ravaged the Aetherian home world, he knows that they lost an untold number of species. When they left the planet, they saved as many as they could to keep in the terrariums of their three cities; Ra’haya, Ta’thani, and Ba’thali.

Some day, Castiel should really take a chance to count all that they have lost. He knows it was devastating, but maybe, one day, they might return to Atan’eal. Perhaps their absence has allowed the planet to return to status quo. Maybe what they lost to the blight may have recovered. They could have a second chance, then. They could do better and leave Har’adid to the homo sapiens as it always should have been. Without an Aetherian presence, they could evolve across the planet like they were always meant to.

A brush to his sha’ra precedes movement to his side. Castiel glances over to find another of the Aetherians in his age group. He nods a greeting. (Balthazar.)

(Castiel.) Balthazar has looser body language than most Aetherians that Castiel knows. He nods and leans his shoulder against the bubble wall. (Is it true? Did you really talk with one of the homo sapien specimens at the zoo?)

He should have expected that he would be questioned about that. It has been a few days since the incident, and the amount of trouble that he is in has not lessened. Naomi has barely spoken to him, and most certainly nothing about what is happening at the zoo, or if her superiors will be allowing Castiel back, or even if he will be banned from applying to work there in the future.

The most that he knows is that Dean did not make it very far in the halls. Uriel caught him before Castiel or 1-F-1 were even half-way to the enclosure. Dean was taken straight to isolation and kept there the rest of the day, and returned to the enclosure the next morning because this was his least annoying attempt at escaping. Castiel only knows because it is on public record. That is all he is able to access about Dean now.

Of course, Castiel is still mentally berating himself for not expecting it and being better prepared that Dean would not only attempt an escape outside of the enclosure, but that he would also insist on being spoken to verbally should Castiel be present for the annual check-up. With all the studying and observation he has done on Dean, Castiel thought he knew him well enough. Clearly, he was mistaken.

Balthazar raises an eyebrow, curiosity brushing against Castiel’s sha’ra at his hesitation in answering. His lips thin out and Castiel nods, just once, before looking back out at the vibrant red and violet foliage of a circular leafed plant at the base of what accounts for a tree from Atan’ael, though its make-up is more similar to the minerals found in stones on Har’adid than the xylem and phloem of plant life.

Excitement vibrates against his sha’ra and Balthazar’s golden wings, speckled with shots of white, shuffle against his back. (Can you really speak their language?)

Castiel’s lips press into a thin line and he stifles a sigh. (I can.) He did not think that it would be strange to study it, especially given the career track that he is planning on following. And yet his mother and her co-workers seemed quite surprised.

(Can I hear it?) Balthazar leans in even closer, his grey-blue eyes against black wide and bright.

Surprised, Castiel glances back at him. (It is a vocal language.)

At that, Balthazar simply shrugs, though his nose does wrinkle slightly. It is the only indication of his disgust at the thought of actually speaking a language. (Just cover your mouth so I don’t have to see the movements of it.)

Castiel just barely resists frowning. Balthazar is one of the only Aetherians that he knows who uses contractions. It is unsettling, as most consider it to be lazy and inappropriate. The only time Castiel ever hears them is here at the social events when it is just students of their age group. Balthazar never uses it in front of the adults, or even in the communications sent between their age group, or the professors that run their lessons.

Of course, Castiel has not been on the same lesson schedule as Balthazar for a long while. By his estimates, he is well ahead of all the other students gathered here today. In fact, he is completely unsure if Balthazar is even following the same lesson plan. He is not interested in following a career under the Biology Department.

(Please?)

Balthazar’s bottom lip juts out slightly in a very homo sapien pout. His eyes are wide and pleading in a show of emotion that Castiel is unused to seeing on an Aetherian face, despite how he has put the same expression to use against Naomi on occasion. It makes him uncomfortable in the pit of his stomach, and Castiel wonders if perhaps that is why Naomi always gives in when he uses it against her.

And yet, when Dean used that expression previously, Castiel did not find himself feeling this way either. It is odd that he prefers the expressions on Dean’s face than to one of his own people.

With another heavy sigh through his nose, Castiel covers his mouth with both hands. “How much of this language must I speak for you to be satisfied?”

(Amazing!) Balthazar’s ear-wings flick straight upright and his feathers fluffy, doubling the size of all four of his wings. (I have no idea what you said, but it certainly sounds like what the sapiens speak.)

Another touch to his sha’ra draws Castiel’s attention to two more students approaching them. He recognizes the touch and looks over to find Anna, a red-headed and auburn-winged female, and a younger male. Their age group is anyone within a five-sol cycle period, and Samandriel is the youngest amongst them.

Castiel is one of the oldest. There are only six in their age group; Gabriel, Balthazar, Castiel, Anna, Hannah, and Samandriel. At the moment, Gabriel and Hannah are engrossed in a conversation on the other side of the bubble. It is a small blessing, as Gabriel can be very sharp with his words. He gives off the same air of laziness as Balthazar, but Castiel does not for a second believe that he is not one of the smartest among them.

Samandriel’s eyes are wider than Balthazar’s. (It is very impressive that you can speak their languages! I have just recently started learning it.)

(I can only speak the Alpha Sector language.) Castiel turns to face them fully, his hands held carefully behind his back. (I am currently working on learning the Beta Sector’s language and its various dialects. I believe that it will be beneficial to learn about all the different Sectors for when I work with the Biology Department.) If his transgressions will be forgiven, of course.

As if she heard his own private thought, Anna tilts her head. (If you work there. My parents indicated that you are in quite a bit of trouble. Speaking with a specimen has altered the course of observation. You made it worse by doing so in secret. It has thrown all of their studies on 1-M-7 into question.)

He does not pick up any malicious intent in her words through their sha’ra. Anna is merely stating facts and bringing everyone else up to date on the situation in its full regard. Even still, Castiel tightens his grip around his wrist, squeezing until he can feel the bones grinding in his hold. He forcibly keeps his expression neutral and his wings still as he stares Anna down. (I am aware.)

(That sucks.) Balthazar shakes his head. (If you’re lucky-) At that, Anna actually snorts. Aetherians do not believe in luck. (- maybe it won’t affect your chances of being accepted into the Biology Department. I know you want to work in the Zoo.)

Castiel turns away again, monitoring the kha’wil as it reaches the bottom of the bubble and is transitioning to the loamy blue soil of the terrarium. (I have a contingency plan if I am not allowed to work in the Zoo.)

(Such as?) Anna presses curiosity against his sha’ra, and both Samandriel and Balthazar mirror the sentiment too.

The chances of what he says here getting back to Naomi is highly likely, as the adults do ask for reports of the meeting. Nothing he says here is in confidence. Naomi will find out eventually, though. Either through gossip or from Castiel himself. (Psychology department of the Social Sciences Division.)

Samandriel’s sha’ra grows excited. (I am entering that field as well! If the Biology Department passes over your application, you should know that it would be an honour to get to work with one as driven as yourself.)

That does make Castiel feel better to hear that, and to know that he would not be alone if he does have to take that route.

Balthazar, on the other hand, snorts loudly. (You sure you don’t want to go into Chemistry with me?) He reaches out to nudge Castiel’s shoulder, which is in and of itself an odd gesture. Aetherians do not often touch others without reason. (You’ve definitely got the brain for the Physics Division.)

Castiel shakes his head, though he does appreciate knowing that he is wanted elsewhere. (Unfortunately, I have my heart set on working with the specimens we have in the Zoo. Directly, if I am allowed. They have so much potential, and I wish to be a part of observing them grow.)

He wants to work with them in whatever capacity allowed to him. It is understandable that may no longer be an option given his mistake of speaking with Dean, and of the topics they spoke about. Castiel is still waiting to learn of the fallout from Naomi, but she refuses to speak of anything related to her work with him, and he has not dared to ask for more.

Not having full access to Dean’s most current information has been difficult, if only because Castiel was used to having it in the first place. Granted, he already has more than enough information about Dean to do his thesis. There is not much else that he needs aside from casual observations to monitor Dean’s growth during his time here. And that is all information that he can get from public record.

It is… disappointing, to say the least. Castiel enjoyed observing Dean closely. He is quite the character, and was rather entertaining. The way Dean’s mind works is so very different from an Aetherian’s. Castiel was just fascinated to see how smart he actually is, and everything that he does in attempts to solve his problems – the problem of captivity, as it is.

Anna scoffs, quietly, to herself at Castiel’s admission and his desires. Balthazar, however, actually laughs deep in his throat. Even Castiel looks at him in surprise, his eyebrows raised. Aetherians do not laugh. Not like that. Not like homo sapiens.

Balthazar smiles back at him, closed lipped and eyes shining. (It feels good to laugh. You should really try it sometime.)

Disgust flutters briefly against Castiel’s sha’ra, though it is not directed at him. Anna sighs heavily through her nose, shakes her head slightly, and walks away to join Gabriel and Hannah. Her talons click across the hard flooring of the bubble. Samandriel remains, staring at Balthazar with wide eyes and a slightly open mouth. Not enough to be considered unacceptable, but certainly indicates his shock.

Samandriel is flustered through their sha’ra and the fluff to his wings shows it as well. (Do you not find it distasteful to verbalize an expression of amusement as such?)

(It’s freeing.) Balthazar shrugs, shoulder leaning against the bubble wall again. (Seriously, you should try it sometime. We Aetherians may be a race that adheres to logic and science, but that doesn’t mean we can’t be fun about it.)

Castiel silently agrees, but he also disagrees. He enjoys learning, filling his head with knowledge is fun for him. Homo sapiens are a fascinating ever changing and always growing puzzle that he looks forward to studying for the rest of his life.

(I admit myself to be curious why you did not enter the arts if you value fun.) Castiel tilts his head slightly, regarding Balthazar and easily being able to see him being an artist.

While it is not considered a desirable career, Aetherians do have artists. The Science District of Ra’haya has a small museum set aside from the main hub of science buildings. It is dedicated to the different artwork created by those who have decided that science is not their calling, and even those who did.

There are also those who create non-scientific literature. Fiction is still a strange thing to Castiel. He has not attempted to read it, if only because it does not make sense to him. Why would he read something that is not based in fact? Though Castiel does find that he enjoys music. Sometimes, when Naomi is not home, Castiel will listen to it. He has never looked too closely as to why he hides it from his mother, but he does.

Once, she did return outside of her schedule. Castiel had immediately pulled up a file of homo sapiens and their recorded music of drums, stringed instruments, woodwinds, and singing. Naomi had been surprised, and Castiel claimed that he was comparing the two and cataloging which of the Aetherian instruments were developed based on what the homo sapiens have. Since Castiel is not a liar, he did end up writing a paper on it.

No Aetherian will ever admit that they have copied anything beyond genetics from homo sapiens, but it is obvious in how certain sounds were not introduced into the Aetherian music librarian prior to arriving on this planet and beginning their observations of it and the species upon it. Sometimes, Aetherians can be ridiculous, though Castiel would obviously never admit to thinking that.

Balthazar laughs again. (Perhaps I’ll take up painting. Would you like a portrait? Pose for me and I’ll make you one.)

Castiel shakes his head. (Do not trouble yourself.) If he wants a picture of himself, his PADD has a camera function, though he rarely uses it.

That gets a big smile from Balthazar, bordering on baring his teeth in a grin. His eyes crinkle in delight at the tentative touch of Samandriel’s shy sha’ra.

(I have been practicing an instrument…)

Now that is interesting, and Castiel turns to him. (Do tell.)

The attention has Samandriel practically glowing with delight. He catches himself a moment later, schooling his expressions and drawing his emotions back into check. Regardless, there is still a heavy hint of happiness in his sha’ra as he starts talking about the ala’ria he is currently learning. It is a stringed instrument with two sides that form an inward facing vee in front of the player, allowing each side to be played by the corresponding hand. One side is larger than the other, and each side hooks over the player’s shoulders. Another piece braces it against the player’s stomach so that it is not uncomfortable to hold. The two sides produce different notes, and it is quite lovely to listen to.

Samandriel explains how he took the ala’ria up as a hobby, but has found it to be an interesting way to relax at the end of his day. Castiel listens attentively. He has not felt the need to learn an instrument himself, but it is nice to hear about it. Samandriel’s enthusiasm is to be admired, as well.

Oddly, a small part in the back of Castiel’s mind cannot help but wonder if Dean knows any instruments. He has not been observed partaking in anything the tribe has built as of yet, but it is possible that one day he may take it upon himself to learn. Castiel hopes he will be allowed to observe him more closely if he ever does.

Naomi is not home when Castiel returns from the social gathering. She will likely ask him about it when she gets back from work. In the meantime, Castiel is glad to be home and have some time to himself. He needs it after being forced to socialize for the last few hours. Although it was exhausting, he does have to admit that he did enjoy this gathering more than he has before.

Settling back down at his desk, Castiel picks up his PADD and taps at it to wake it from its sleep mode. At the same time, he wakes the screen of his desk, ready to return to his lessons. He pauses as he notices that the communications app has a notification. It must be from Naomi. There is no reason anyone else, not even one of his instructors, should be messaging him at the moment.

To his surprise, the message is from Anna. He stares at the looping symbols of her name, confused. Why would she be contacting him? With a tap and a flick of his finger, he opens her messages and the application fills the screen of his PADD.

Hello Castiel. I would like to further discuss your interest in working directly with homo sapiens.

He worries at his bottom lip and glances around, worried that Naomi may suddenly materialize out of nowhere to read over his shoulder. While there are some Aetherians working on instant matter transportation, they are still far off from success.

Satisfied that he is alone, he quickly types out a reply. Such as?

The messaging application indicates that Anna is typing a reply, and he is briefly surprised that she is responding so promptly. His heart starts pounding in his chest when her messages finally comes in. You were quite passionate about homo sapiens and their potential. It appears that you do not believe them to be animals like the rest of the creatures on this planet.

Anna is not asking a question. Castiel stares at the message, not quite sure why he feels a pending sense of fear building behind his ribs. She is still typing and Castiel flinches, almost dropping his PADD, when he receives her next message.

You are a Sapien Sympathizer.

Despite his best attempts to control his body and his emotions, Castiel can feel the colour drain from his face. His grip on his PADD goes white knuckled.

And then another message arrives. Me too.

Castiel sucks in a sharp breath. His hands shake slightly as he lays the PADD on his desk and types out a response. He has to delete and reword it a few times before he is satisfied that his position is not implicating himself as a social pariah. Being passionate in regards to learning about a species we still do not know everything about does not make me a sympathizer for them. Though it can be argued that he does sympathize for the ones in their care, particularly homo sapiens like Dean.

Lying is illogical, Castiel. Anna’s message carries as much derision in it as he would expect to feel from her if their sha’ra were touching. As a Sapien Sympathizer myself, I can see all the hallmarks of it within you. Do not be afraid to admit it to me, as I will not share this information with anyone else.

That does not sound promising. He frowns down at his PADD and glances around once more before replying. You seemed quite scornful of my interest in homo sapiens at the social gathering.

As I must be in public. For the same reasons as to why you are trying to reject the truth now. Castiel can picture it perfectly how Anna must be shaking her head at the moment. I assure you, Castiel, that you are not alone in the thoughts you have regarding the wellbeing of the homo sapiens.

Aetherians do not lie. They are capable of it, but Castiel has not yet met one who does. He may bend the truth, but he does not outright lie. Anna herself said that it would be illogical to lie. Should he believe her then? Castiel has barely admitted to himself that he is a Sapien Sympathizer. He agrees with what little information he has dared to look up on them and their cause, but he has gone no further for fear that Naomi might catch him. It is impossible to predict how she would react, but Castiel is reasonably certain that she would never allow him to become a Zoologist if she knew that he was a Sympathizer.

His silence must be telling. Anna sends another message in the time that he stares blankly at his PADD.

I have frightened you. I understand. I was frightened at first too. It is hard to accept that your thoughts align with a minority that is frowned upon by the rest of your people, especially given your mother’s position within the Zoological Department. I can understand your unwillingness to admit such a stance in light of that. I will not push you further regarding this.

Castiel breaths a quiet sigh of relief. Should he erase their conversation? He is confident in his technological skills to remove them from the network entirely so that no one, not even Naomi, would be able to find them if they went looking. While his main focus has been zoology with a slight branch into psychology, Castiel has also dabbled a bit in computer sciences.

Another message beeps through.

If you are interested, I am forwarding further reading on the Sympathizer movement. It is encrypted, but you are quite bright. I trust that you will be able to figure out how to open it.

As promised, an encrypted file comes in a moment later. Castiel stares at it for a long while, unsure how to answer Anna, or whether he should attempt opening the file. To open it would be to admit his interest in Sapien Sympathizers. To open it…

He transfers the file directly to his desk and accesses it through a decryption program. The key is easily decipherable and the program takes care of it without issue. Castiel is still faced with a password request once the file is fully decrypted and he frowns at that for a few moments. Is it really necessary to protect the file to this degree? He cannot imagine that it contains any different information than what he could find with a general search through Ra’haya’s civilian accessible databases.

Anna said that this would be something he could figure out. Which means that the password is likely related to him. As such, Castiel attempts his own name as the first password. Unsurprisingly, it does not work. On the off chance, he tries Anna’s name, and then Naomi’s. Neither works, and the error chime grates on his nerves with each additional attempt. He tries Sapien Sympathizer, hoping that it might just be that simple, only to be disappointed when that fails as well.

A rumble of frustration vibrates in his chest and Castiel drums his fingers against the edge of his desk. He shuffles his wings, and his ear-wings flicker in annoyance. Should he message Anna for a hint? His pride does not want him to, but if she wants him to read the file, then why did she protect it to this extent?

Finally, Castiel makes one last attempt. He types in 1-M-7, not truly expecting it to work. He is pleasantly surprised that the file opens, and then immediately disappointed in his decryption program. It should have at least informed him of the number of characters needed for the password. As an afterthought, he checks if the program needs any upgrades, and chastises himself when he finds that it does. A civilian’s decryption program does not have the same depth of access as their technology possesses, but Castiel still thought he had something better.

With the file now open, he transfers it back to his PADD. With a few quick keystrokes on the touchpad, he removes any logging about the file or his messages with Anna. Naomi has full access to his desk and he does not wish for her to find anything regarding Sapien Sympathizers should she ever go looking. She tends to respect his privacy, but in light of his current situation… It is not unlikely that she might restrict him in further ways.

At that, Castiel retires to his private roost with his PADD. He has some reading to do.

Chapter Text

The dark-skinned Vingkäitä had a tight grip and Dean’s arm still hurts from where he grabbed him. Dean really expected to be put to sleep before being brought to the Alone Room. He was really surprised when the Vingkäitä caught up to him stupidly fast (seriously, who knew Vingkäitä could be so fast on their weird bird feet?), grabbed his arm, and lifted him off his feet. It didn’t hurt, really. Not at first. But it was really surprising. And then he was kinda drag-carried all the way here, and the Vingkäitä wasn’t nice about shoving him into the Alone Room.

Dean huffs and rubs at his arm while they’re crossed over his chest. He’s sitting in the corner across from the pond, shoulder against the clear wall, and waiting. Cas is probably going to show up soon, and he’s gonna be so mad at Dean. His wings will get all puffy and he’s round face will probably go red. Dean is kind of looking forward to it. He spends his time waiting for Cas by plotting out the argument, and figuring out all the questions that he wants to ask.

Like, why was Cas all blank faced the whole time during the tests the bigger Vingkäitä was giving him? Yeah, sure, he’s usually pretty blank faced when he’s watching Dean here, but at least he has some expressions. Like, his ear-wings will twitch, or his eyebrows will pinch together. He’s even smiled a couple of times, and his eyes get all wide when he’s excited. But he didn’t move a muscle while he was talking during the tests.

It gets weirder the more Dean thinks about it. Why did Cas have to stand with his back to the clear wall where all the other Vingkäitä were? He didn’t start out in the room like that, and only moved when he had to start talking. And Dean wants to ask Cas about how the Vingkäitä talk to each other. Obviously he was communicating with the others even when his mouth wasn’t moving, but how? Dean is burning to know the answer to that.

And the flat thing! How did Cas make it talk? Why did he use it to speak at first instead of talking normally? He knows how to speak. He didn’t need it. So why use it? It doesn’t make any sense to Dean, and he adds it to the list of things he wants to ask Cas.

Cas better not make him wait for too long, otherwise he’s going to have too many questions to count. It’s the only thing he can do to keep himself busy while he waits. And waits. And waits some more.

The square of light from the hole in the middle of the ceiling shifts across the grass, and that’s the only way Dean has of knowing how long he’s been in here. He watches the square for a long time before getting up. He moves under the hole and looks up, shading his eyes. It’s just a short empty space that opens to clear blue above it.

A thought occurs to him, and Dean reaches up to try and touch the edge. His fingers don’t reach, though. He’s still too short, and the room is too tall. It’s tall enough for grown ups, and he’s still just a kid. But, that’s certainly interesting, isn’t it? Dean makes a mental note to try escaping this way in the future, if he can ever reach it. If he can get up there, all he would have to do is brace himself against opposite sides and then shimmy up and out the top.

That would probably require a lot of strength, huh? Dean should probably start working out. He could put his time in the Alone Room to good use and do some push ups, maybe a couple squats, or run in place until he’s worked up a sweat. Dean has done a few workouts before, mimicking what Victor and Dick do to keep in shape. They’re arguably the most fit back at the camp. Sometimes they wrestle to keep fit, but they have to do it in a friendly kind of way, or the Vingkäitä will interrupt.

Dean wouldn’t mind wrestling someone, but he doesn’t have anyone his size to wrestle with. May doesn’t seem like the type who would do that, and she’s pretty annoying. Jo isn’t big enough yet, either. She’s only seen four winters, so she’s still pretty young. As young as Sammy would be, actually. But Dean tries not to think about his parents and Sam a lot. It makes his chest feel tight and painful. He doesn’t want to forget them, but it hurts too much to think about how much he misses them.

Maybe, one day, he’ll be able to wrestle with the grown ups. He’s not big enough right now, but one day he will be. But he probably shouldn’t wrestle with Dick, because he would probably try and figure out some way to hurt Dean during it. And then the Vingkäitä would interrupt because they’re fighting, and both of them would get taken away again. They’re big jerks like that.

Jerks who are running late. Why hasn’t Cas showed up yet? Where the heck is he?

Dean goes back to the clear wall and presses his face against it, looking left and then right to try and see down both sides of the passageway. There’s no one, and there hasn’t been since the dark-skinned Vingkäitä brought him here. No Cas, no nothing.

Is he not coming?

Why not?

Cas is always here when Dean is here. This is different, and different things in this place probably doesn’t mean anything good. Something isn’t right, and Dean has a queasy feeling starting to fill the bottom of his stomach.

He frowns and starts pacing back and forth in the Alone Room. Every so often, he glances at the clear wall to see if Cas is here yet. Sometimes he just appears when Dean isn’t looking, and it always catches him by surprise to see the kid standing there, staring at him.

But Cas doesn’t show up.

Dean kicks at the grass a few times before dropping down at the edge of the pond. He soaks his feet in the water and stares at the corner. It’s not quite staring at the clear wall, but he can still see it out of the corner of his eye. That way, if Cas shows up, Dean will know right away and he can start yelling at him for making him wait.

And wait.

And wait.

“Hey, Dean!” Bill ruffles his hair and drops into place next to him. “How’s it going?”

With a huff, Dean runs a hand through his hair to fix it before fixing Bill with a squinty pout. Of course Ellen went and told everyone his name before he was brought back from the Alone Room a few days ago. He doesn’t mind that too much, but now everyone keeps saying it every time they talk to him. It’s a little weird, especially as he kinda got used to everyone calling him ‘Kid’. Now they’re all being… really… personable. Which is basically everything that Dean has been trying to avoid having with everyone since he got here. Now he can’t avoid it.

Bill just grins at him, eyebrows raised. Dean mutters quietly to himself and turns back to what he was doing; using the sharp edge of a rock to peel thin strips of bark from a branch, and then splitting the strips as thin as he can. After the fibers are separated, they use them to make a rope. He doesn’t know what anyone needs it for right now, but Donatello asked him to do it, and Dean didn’t have anything better to do.

“You seem a little grumpy this morning, kiddo.” Bill reaches for a pile of the strips that Dean has next to him. He takes a handful and lays them out in front of him, lining up the edges so he can knot them and start on the braiding process. “Got a bug in your britches?”

“No.” Dean shrugs and rolls his shoulders. He’s young, but even kids get stiff after doing the same motions over and over again.

He rocks his head side to side and then back and forward. As he leans back, Dean looks up at the clear bridge. There’s only a handful of Vingkäitä spread along it. They’re all moving, and most of them are the bigger adults. Dean doesn’t look for a child-sized one on purpose, but he can’t help noticing that there isn’t one crouched above them.

Frowning, he shakes his head and looks back down at his work.

Bill is only quiet for so long. Eventually, he sighs, though it ends in a little laugh. “You’ve got some balls, Dean. Y’know that? It’s been a long time since any of us tried to run after whatever it is that they’re doing when we’re in that room.”

Did Ellen not tell them about everything Cas said? Dean knows that she told them about Cas talking to them, but maybe there was just too much going on for her to remember it all? Either way, he wishes she would have said something. Then he wouldn’t be needed to have this conversation, no matter how much he actually does like Bill.

“Testing.” Dean shrugs and puts aside another strip. “They’re testing us to check our health and stuff. They wanna make sure we’re not sick, and that we’re growing right.”

Bill hums a little note under his breath. “Is that what your little friend told you?”

Dean snorts and shakes his head. “Cas isn’t my friend.”

“He hasn’t been around since then, huh?” When Dean looks at Bill again, it’s to find him looking up at the bridge. “I think the Cas you talk about is the one that’s up there all the time, right? We’ve all noticed him, and Frank wasn’t too happy about it at first. He really doesn’t like it when a Vingkäs is hanging out above us all the time.”

He pauses with his words, but his fingers keep going. “Well, I don’t think any of us like that, but Frank especially doesn’t. And none of them ever used to hang around until you got here. And I hear that it spoke to you?”

Ugh, of course it was going to come back to that. Dean groans and drops his head. “Do we gotta talk about this? I know it’s weird. I know you’ve never had a Vingkäitä talk to anybody except with those things they’re always carrying. But I don’t wanna make a whole thing about it, okay?”

But Ellen already made it a thing by telling everyone, and it was the first thing most of them wanted to talk about when he was brought back the next day. Thankfully, Dick hasn’t made a big deal about it yet. He’s mostly just been giving Dean dirty looks since he got back. It’s probably just a matter of time (Dean gives it, at most, two more days) before Dick snaps and starts demanding his own answers.

May has been using Dean’s name almost nonstop since Ellen told them what it was. She’s been a smug little jerk about it too. All she’s wanted from him, besides pestering him to play with her all the time, has been to give her his name. Luckily, she hasn’t said anything that would make him want to fight with her. Mostly, Dean has been trying to ignore her. She tends to lose interest pretty quickly if he doesn’t engage, but she still uses his name the whole time.

Bill looks at Dean steadily, one hand coming up to scratch idly at his beard. Eventually, he shrugs and looks down at the braiding again. “Yeah, okay. We don’t have to talk about it right now. But, if you do want to later on, I’m here for you, okay? A lot of us are here for you, if you need us.”

Dean grunts in reply. He doesn’t have to think really hard to figure out who he could turn to if he needs help. Frank and Donatello might listen to him, eventually, but they’d be annoyed about it. Dick and Lily more or less want nothing to do with him. For Lily, that’s about the same for everyone. She’s pretty grumpy and mostly keeps to herself and May. But Dean just hasn’t spent as much time with them as much as he has everyone else. Bill, Ellen, Rowena, Rufus, and Victor have all been a lot more friendly and open with him.

If his hands weren’t busy right now, Dean gets the feeling that Bill would try and ruffle his hair again. He’s definitely looking at him like that’s what he wants to do. Dean ducks his head and tries to stay focused on finishing up with shredding the stick into enough fibers to work with.

Eventually, Rowena comes to join them in their little corner of the camp. She has a clay pot with her, and a tool in hand that she uses to start scraping a pattern into the clay. It would work better if it wasn’t already hardened, but she’s doing alright with just lightly scraping the same spot over and over until she’s cut enough of a groove in for her liking.

Dean glances up at her when she arrives, and keeps right on looking up until he’s staring at the bridge again. It takes him a bit too long to realize what he’s doing, and when he does, he quickly looks back down, annoyed with himself.

Why does he keep looking? It’s not like the spirits are going to make Cas magically appear or something. And Dean doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about any of the Vingkäitä, and especially not about Cas.

A whole full moon has come and gone, and Cas hasn’t come back to the bridge since the day Dean was taken for his testing. It’s not like Dean has been looking for him every day or anything, because he hasn’t. He doesn’t care about Cas. As Rufus would say it: Dean doesn’t give a damn. Really, he doesn’t.

But a whole moon cycle goes by and Cas hasn’t come back.

And it’s a whole moon cycle before Dick finally breaks down. He corners Dean at his private camp in the back of the trees, and it’s way  too early to hear his voice first thing in the morning. Dean is even less happy that it’s because he’s being berated for talking to a Vingkäitä. He doesn’t even pay a whole lot of attention to wait Dick is saying, but he gets the gist of it, and it’s annoying.

Rowena always tells him that he should ignore Dick, so he does his best to do just that. It doesn’t stop Dick from ranting at him as he heads through the trees, or from following him almost all the way to camp. Dean really does try and ignore it, though, but he’s just so not in the mood. He’s never in the mood, but this time, he’s really not. There’s something that’s had him on edge since his test, and he doesn’t know what exactly, but his patience sure is shorter than usual.

It’s his short patience that Dean blames for what happens next.

Dick is mid-rant when Dean stops before he reaches the main camp. He turns on his heel without a word and sucker punches Dick right in the dick as hard as he can. It’s too quick and unexpected for Dick to react, especially when he’s in the middle of gesturing all over the place about how Dean is a bad influence for the rest of the camp, and how he’s going to get them in all kinds of trouble with the Vingkäitä with all the disruptions he causes.

With one punch, Dick goes down with a curse that sounds more like a squeal. It’s maybe a lot more satisfying than it probably should be, and Dean doesn’t feel even a little bit bad about it.

“Find something better to do than botherin’ me all the time.” Dean kicks dirt at him while Dick is curled up on the ground, groaning and swearing at him.

Now that he’s hit Dick (in the dick, heh), there’s only one thing that’s going to happen, and Dean knows it really well. He’s kinda mad that his morning plans have been ruined. When he woke up, he first wanted to take a swim before helping with breakfast. Instead, Dean walks over to wait by the door for the Vingkäitä to take him away, because that always happens anytime Dick hits him or he hits first.

Honestly, though? Kinda worth it.

The door opens before any of the other grownups manage to get to him. The Vingkäitä on the other side has its head tilted, like it’s surprised that he’s waiting. They’re always watching, so he doubts that it’s actually surprised. Maybe it’s just confused why he’s waiting and not trying to hide? That’s usually his go to when he knows he’s in trouble.

This time, Dean just walks right by. “I didn’t feel like being put to sleep again.”

He half expects to be put to sleep before they reach the passageways anyway, but he’s not. The Vingkäitä just puts a hand on his head and guides him, wide awake, all the way to the Alone Room again. That’s new. The only time they’ve ever brought him to the Alone Room while he’s awake was… the last time he saw Cas.

Now that leaves a bitter flavour on the back of his tongue. His stomach grumbles and Dean realizes that he’s probably going to be pretty hungry today. The Vingkäitä always bring him something to eat around general mealtimes, but it’s not something that he grew or caught on his own, so he tends not to eat it. Luckily, Dean comes here enough to be prepared for that. The pouch he wears at his hip is full of dried berries. They’re good for a snack, so he’ll have to ration them out for the day.

For now, he could stand not to eat. Instead, he sits down in his corner where the clear wall meets a normal one. Sitting here, he can keep a good eye down the passageway in at least one direction. It’s not like he’s waiting, or anything, but there’s really not much else for him to do here.

Maybe… maybe Cas will come this time? Cas coming to watch him every time Dean is in the Alone Room has been one of the few constants about this nightmare place. So, why isn’t he coming now? Dean doesn’t understand why Cas just… stopped. Did he do something wrong at the test that makes Cas not want to see him anymore? What made him go away?

Dean sighs and rests his head against the clear wall. He draws his knees up to his chest, hugs them, and he waits.

And waits.

This is probably his ninth winter now, if Dean has been counting the moons right. He can’t really be sure, because there’s no real change in the seasons here, but he’s mostly sure. Pretty sure. Just shy of being absolutely positive. Maybe. The scratches he makes on the wall behind his camp are way too many for him to be able to count, but he makes a circle around each mark for when the moon is full.

But the fact that it doesn’t change seasons really helps his garden. It just grows and grows and grows. Dean figures at some point he’s going to take over half the field, especially because the grown-ups keep telling him to plant more of certain kinds. Corn especially takes up a lot of room, and he has to be careful that the pumpkins and other vine plants don’t choke out everything else. They grow like crazy, and he ends up with a lot of them by the time they’re ready for harvest.

Dean is pretty happy with it all, actually. At this point, the Vingkäitä don’t have to bring them a lot of supplies anymore. They have their own, and it tastes way better. Fruits, vegetables, herbs… Dean has it all covered. The Vingkäitä still give them meat, and the big containers of fat, and other random supplies, but the amount of food they give has definitely changed.

And the garden really does keep Dean pretty busy. He’s always pulling up dead plants, gathering seeds, planting new ones, watering, pruning, and the spirits only know what else. Rufus helps him a lot. He’s the most knowledgeable in tending to plants in the tribe here, and Dean really appreciates having him help out. They don’t really talk much between them, but Rufus sings songs to himself while he works, and Dean is slowly learning those too.

Thanks to all the food he grows and really enjoys eating, Dean has actually gained back all the weight that he lost before. And then some! He’s definitely grown, and he’s gonna keep growing with all this good food. Maybe one day he’ll be taller than Dick and all it will take is one good fight to finally put that jerk in his place.

Except… that would mean being here long enough to grow that big, and Dean absolutely does not want that. He’s going to do his best to make sure it never happens. But he just can’t deny that he’s growing. Even here, kneeling in his garden and pulling weeds, he can tell that his loincloth is getting pretty uncomfortable. It’s adjustable, and he keeps letting it out around the waist, but there’s only so much strap that he has to spare. And the fabric that he weaves over the strap and between his legs is getting worn a little thin.

It’s probably about time that he gives in and asks Rowena to show him how to make himself a new one. He hasn’t updated any of his clothing since he got here, and it’s kinda becoming a bit of a problem. If possible, Dean would like something in the loincloth style that Victor and Rufus wear.

For them, it’s one big piece with a long string that goes around the waist, and from that the fabric angles out and tapers into a long flap. They tie it around their waist from behind so that part of the hips are covered. The long flap comes up between the legs and gets folded over the strap around the waist and then hangs just a little in front.

Dean just thinks it looks neat, and he’d like to give it a try. It’s not like it would be impossible for him to return to using the kind of loincloth from his own tribe. It’s literally just a strap used as a belt, and a very long strip of fabric (or leather) that he folds over the front and back to cover all the vulnerable bits. Sammy used to hate it and run around naked, and that was acceptable as a child, but Dean is too old for that. If he wants to swim naked, that’s fine, but wandering around naked is… frowned upon. It’s allowed, but Lily got upset about it the one time Dean did it. Apparently her tribe is a lot more strict about clothing than his.

Cool water splashes his leg and Dean sits back on his heels. He wipes sweat from his forehead and frowns over at May. She’s been watering the plants for him after he’s weeded them. Jo has been helping her, but she dumped the jug a little too close to where Dean is sitting. She grins at him before May takes her hand to lead her back to the pool to fill up the jugs again. Dean doesn’t mind, really. The water is cool and he’s pretty warm.

Sighing to himself, Dean tilts his head back and looks up at the sky. There are rarely any clouds here. Just wisps that float far above. And Dean can’t remember what a proper breeze feels like. There’s something here that blows the air around, but it’s not a real wind. It’s wrong, just like everything else about this place, and he’s getting way too used to it for his own liking.

Out of habit more than anything else, Dean turns his head to scan the bridge for how many Vingkäitä are watching them now. It’s just a few; nothing unusual. Cas never did come back, but Dean tells himself every time he looks that he was never looking there just for Cas. He’s doing it because he likes to keep track of the Vingkäitä. Even if Cas is the only one he really ever recognized.

All he takes is a glance and then he looks back down to what he’s doing. Dean pulls out two more weeds before he stops and looks back up again, not sure if he actually saw what he thinks he did. He stares at the Vingkäitä crouched out of the way on the clear bridge, almost in the exact same spot that Dean was used to seeing. Same dark wings with their hidden colours, same dark feathered feet, dark hair, and white clothes as before.

In all his time here, Dean has only ever seen one Vingkäitä stay crouched over their camp like this. He can’t see the Vingkäitä’s face from here, but he’s almost positive that it’s Cas.

For a moment, Dean almost feels excited. He hasn’t seen Cas in too many moons, and now he’s back! The next time he’s in the Alone Room, he’ll finally be able to yell at Cas for being a complete dick for leaving for so long without saying anything. Sure, he’s probably got his own weird Vingkäitä life outside of this place, but it’s still rude no matter how you look at it. You don’t just make yourself the only known Vingkäitä to a kid and then up and leave on him for no reason whatsoever.

Dean’s hand starts coming up, as if he’s actually going to wave at Cas or something, but he catches himself before he can. Is he crazy? Has he finally lost his mind in this nightmare place? There’s no way that Dean is happy to see a Vingkäitä. It doesn’t matter that Cas is the only one whose name he actually knows, or that he’s obviously only a child, like Dean is. That doesn’t mean anything. He’s still just as dangerous and alien as the rest of the Vingkäitä.

Jeeze, Dean really is starting to lose it here, isn’t he?

Instead of waving, he lifts just his middle finger and holds that up in Cas’s direction. Victor taught him that it’s an offensive gesture, and that it’s just like swearing at someone. Dean has also learned a few colourful words from some of the grown-ups. Frank, in particular, had some really good ones to learn. Rufus always shushes Frank when he uses them while the kids are near enough to hear him. Dean doesn’t really understand why. It’s not like any of them know what the words actually mean.

Once, Dean used one of the words that Frank had said because he cut his finger while working on a project Bill had given to him to do. It made Rowena, Dick, and Victor laugh. Lily was really angry at him for it, and she dragged May away for the rest of the day. Bill and Ellen took Dean aside afterwards and gave him a stern talking to about how some words aren’t appropriate to say in good company. Except that Frank says them a lot of the time, especially when he’s muttering about the Vingkäitä to himself or to Donatello. And Dean has definitely heard some of the other grown-ups mutter the bad words under their breath when they think he can’t hear them. If it’s okay for them to use the ‘bad words’, then why can’t he?

As far as Dean can tell, Cas doesn’t have any kind of reaction to the middle finger. Dean isn’t even sure if Cas saw him make the gesture, or if he even knows what it is. Either way, he’s satisfied with himself for having done it.

Now he can go back to work and ignore Cas like Cas has been ignoring him since his test. Dean goes back to weeding with a little hum in the back of his throat. He tries really hard to ignore Cas while he works, but it’s… not easy. Now that he’s aware that Cas is up there, after every few handfuls of weeds that he pulls, Dean can’t help looking up to make sure that Cas is still there.

Every new glance up has Dean getting more and more angrier with himself. It’s dumb. He hates Cas, like he hates all the Vingkäitä for bringing him here, so why does he care that Cas is still there? And why in the world is he relieved that Cas is back?

Makes no damn sense at all.

Cas isn’t with the Vingkäitä that comes to collect Dean for this second test. And it’s not the same dark-skinned Vingkäitä as last time either. Dean thinks this one is supposed to be a girl. She kind of looks a little familiar, but he doesn’t know where he’s seen her before. But she’s really stern looking, and glares down at Dean like he’s something gross that she stepped in. Dean would probably be dead if she did step on him. She’s way taller than any of the grown-ups, and she’s got some wicked looking talons poking out the coverings she’s wearing over her whole body.

Dean immediately doesn’t like her. He’s been better behaved lately, and hasn’t been going to the Alone Room as often, so why is she glaring at him like that? You’d think they’d be nicer to him now that he’s not as big a pain in the ass, or that he hasn’t tried to escape in a while. He can’t, even if he wants to. He needs to be stronger before he can attempt it, so he’s been working out a lot. Pushing himself to get better, all so he can get out of this place.

Jo makes a quiet noise where she’s clinging to Ellen, staring up at the big Vingkäitä. She flinches a little when the Vingkäitä lifts her hand. Jo doesn’t cry when it’s her turn for the tests, but she definitely doesn’t like them and spends the rest of the day hiding in her tent when she comes back. Ellen or Bill always goes with her, but she’s clinging so hard to Ellen today that Dean doesn’t think he can ask her to come with him.

He doesn’t want to go alone. Not yet, at least. Maybe for his next test he’ll feel comfortable enough to go on his own, but he won’t be here for that time. Hopefully. If he hasn’t managed to escape by then, he’ll be really mad at himself.

The next person closest to him at the moment is Rowena. Dean likes her well enough, and he doesn’t think twice about walking over and grabbing her hand. She looks at him, a bit surprised, and then she smiles and he knows that she understands.

Rowena stands up and uses her other hand to dust off the embroidered skirt she’s wearing. “You want lil ol’ me to go with you?” She squeezes his hand. “I’m honoured.”

Even though Dean is the one who picked her, as if he was ready to go without any issues, Rowena still has to sorta drag him after the Vingkäitä. He doesn’t really want to go, but he knows that they’ll just put him to sleep if he gives them too much trouble. That doesn’t mean that he has to make it easy on anyone, even himself.

Dean doesn’t stop dragging his feet until they get to the door. Just before they go through it into the room with the furs and the window with the not-Ellen, he glances back up the bridge. Why? He has no idea. It’s not like he cares whether or not Cas is there, or that he has been almost every day since Dean first noticed that he was back, and that was more than a moon ago. It’s not going to make a difference knowing that Cas is up there and not down here, taking him to the test like he did last time.

But Cas isn’t up there today, and Dean doesn’t know if that means anything. Cas could just not be here today at all. Or, it’s possible that he’s waiting in the test room to talk again. Dean has already decided that he’s not going to let them do anything to him unless they talk to him. Maybe he can demand for Cas to come and help again? That would probably put a bug in their butts, and it might annoy Cas a whole heck of a lot. Dean almost misses that little look of frustration that Cas would get.

Since he doesn’t like to make things easy on the Vingkäitä, Dean scuffs his heels as they head through the passageways, slowing them down some. The big Vingkäitä lady leading them today keeps glancing back at him, and the line between her eyebrows gets more and more pronounced the further they go and the longer it takes them to get there.

Rowena doesn’t say anything, but she’s got a little smile on her red lips. The grip she has on Dean’s hand is pretty tight too. Even though she’s more fun than some of the other grownups, it’s pretty obvious that she’s not going to give him the chance to run on her like he did on Ellen the last time. That’s a shame. Dean kinda thought she might be someone who would try and run with him, if he made another escape attempt through the passageways.

Eventually, they do make it to the testing room. Dean isn’t really sure if it’s the same one as last time. It’s been too long and he doesn’t remember the route, even though he remembers how hard he tried to memorize it on the walk there. The room looks the same, but this place is so big that they could have many more rooms that look just like it and Dean would never know – unless he memorized the route and how many different doors they pass.

Cas isn’t in the room when they walk in. He’s not disappointed (he’s not), but Dean does sulk a little about it. Mostly at the lost chance of getting to bug the Vingkäitä kid again. He’s stubborn about doing what they want him to do, and he crosses his arms and glares up at the big Vingkäitä lady when she steps aside and stares down at him. The flat thing in her hand hasn’t said anything yet. Even though he knows he’s supposed to sit on the table, he’s not going to until they say something to him.

Too bad that he didn’t account for Rowena. She scoops him up under his armpits and puts him on the big flat table in the middle of the room. When he gives her what he hopes is a properly outraged look, she shrugs and hops up to sit next to him.

“Best we do what they want, child. Listen and follow the rules, and we’ll be back with the others quick as we can.” She taps him on the nose and Dean swats her hand away. “It’s nicer back with the tribe, isn’t it? Better than these hard white walls.”

He agrees, obviously, but he’s not going to give anyone the satisfaction of saying that. Dean huffs and looks away from her, turning to check out how many Vingkäitä are going to be watching them from the clear wall this time. It’s super unlikely that he’s going to be able to recognize any of them from the last time, but it doesn’t hurt to know how many are here to watch the show of the poor people’s child getting poked and prodded for the sake of Vingkäitä curiosity. And his health, but that’s not something he wanted them to track for him. It’s still all for them.

At this point in his stay here, there are probably only two Vingkäitä that Dean is able to recognize. One of them is the dark-skinned Vingkäitä that gave him his test last time. He was big, bald, and had black spots on his cheeks that kinda set him aside from all the others. The other is Cas, obviously, and that’s just because he’s interesting and actually talks to him. Well, talked to him. Cas probably won’t ever talk to him again, since it’s been so long since the last time. Dean should be happy about that, but it just leaves a sick heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach.

There’s no one that he recognizes on the other side of the clear wall. A bunch of different alien faces with their big hooped horns over their heads, more wings than any creature really needs, and those strange dark eyes with their spots of colour. The dark-skinned Vingkäitä isn’t there, and neither is Cas. It’s just a bunch of strange faces and Dean turns around again.

The Vingkäitä lady comes away from the table at the wall with things in her hands. The flat thing is left behind, but it starts speaking the instructions. Dean opens his mouth to argue, and then stops. Nothing comes out, and he just… allows the Vingkäitä to do what she wants – what the flat thing is telling him they’re going to do. He glares at her the whole time, but he doesn’t put up a fight. What’s the point? Cas isn’t here to bother, and they’ll just put him to sleep if they find him too annoying to deal with.

It’s boring, and Dean just wants to go back to the tribe. He kicks his feet and listens to the instructions. Rowena chats idly between them, like she’s trying to distract him. It works, somewhat. Mostly because what she tells him is kind of a little bit horrifying.

“You’re lucky you’re a boy, you know.” Rowena leans back on her hands and watches as the Vingkäitä taps Dean on the knees, making him kick. “When you’re a girl, the tests they do can get way more invasive. Do you know what that word means?” And when he doesn’t, she explains what she means and Dean is suddenly very thankful that he’s a boy. The last thing he would ever want is a Vingkäitä to put anything inside of him.

That thought alone is enough to make him cringe, and he shuffles to sit closer to Rowena. It’s more for her comfort than it is his, after all.

Without Cas around to be a distraction, the test goes pretty quick. The worst part is the thing he has to bite down on that leaves a kind of foamy texture to his teeth afterwards. But then they’re done and Dean hops off the table, ready to get away from white walls and staring eyes. He doesn’t get more than a few steps away before Rowena is suddenly at his side and grabbing his hand.

“I’m not going to give you the chance to run off like you did last time.”

Dean’s bottom lip juts out in a pout. “I wasn’t gonna do anything.” And there’s no point. The last Vingkäitä caught him way too quickly, and Dean isn’t looking to be chased through the passageways again. Not right now, at least. He doesn’t think he’s fast enough yet.

Not to mention that he’s had a long time to think about the last time he tried to run away after the test. Dean has realized now that the passageways are really long, and he has no idea how to open the doors if the Vingkäitä don’t open them for him. Vingkäitä are also way faster than he thought they were. Even with all the training he’s put himself through since his last test, he’s pretty sure that he wouldn’t be able to outrun one… yet. They have long legs and it’s easy to catch up on his shorter ones.

He’ll have to start racing May back and forth across the field to train up on his speed. He’s been working on his strength by lifting himself with just his arms on the tree branches, but Dean needs to make himself fast too. One day he’ll be so fast that no Vingkäitä will ever be able to catch him again.

“No, child, I won’t make any more clothes for you.” Rowena shakes her head, but her hands don’t stop weaving on the loom. “You’ll outgrow anything fitted to you. For now, just wear the strip like Bill showed you.”

Dean groans as he walks away. He doesn’t like wearing it the way Bill showed him. The loincloth they’re having him wear now is just a long strip of fabric hooked over the front and back of a knotted belt. It’s not that different from what he used to wear back with his tribe, and what he wore for a lot of his time here before he outgrew it, but he still doesn’t like it. At least it keeps all his bits where they’re supposed to be, tucked safe and out of the way.

The problem is that Dean is just growing too fast for anything she makes that is meant for more long term use. Usually it’s things in the style of the people from Rowena’s tribe, which are pretty comfortable, but she’s made him at least three different loincloths over the last several moons.

It’s like Dean is getting bigger by the day. Rowena sure seems convinced of it. Everyone seems to think so too. Dick seems to hate it, though. He keeps measuring Dean’s height with his hand and making annoyed faces about it. Dean always tries to stand his tallest when he’s around Dick, just to mess with him because it’s fun, and it’s not something Dick can really call him out on without the other grownups rolling their eyes and telling him to stop being an idiot.

Dean isn’t the only one growing like a weed. May and Jo are getting bigger too. Often, May runs around in the same kind of loincloth that Dean does. Or she wears shapeless dresses of fabric that are stiched simply together in a way that can be undone and adjusted to be bigger as she grows. Jo is wearing hand-me-downs that May has outgrown, and she is loving it. She’s always babbling on about spending time with May, and calling her a handrä. Jo tried calling Dean hëmdrë once, but he shut that down immediately. He’s only hëmdrë to one person, and Sam isn’t here.

The most annoying thing about all of them growing, besides the sometimes pains that Dean gets in his legs, is that May is just barely taller than him. You can’t tell when they’re doing most things, but when they’re standing by each other, it’s obvious. May doesn’t let him forget it. She rubs it in his face a lot, using the same kind of snide comments that Dick uses. Which means that Dean has gone back to ignoring her a lot when she gets really annoying about it.

As he heads back to his own camp, planning on taking a short nap before he starts his strength training again, Dean glances up at the clear bridge. Cas is there again. He’s there most days now, but he still hasn’t shown up at the Alone Room since Dean’s first test. Dean goes to the Alone Room a lot less often than he used to, if only because it’s especially boring to go there now when Cas isn’t around to bug.

That means that Dean has been on his best behaviour, more or less. Sure, every few moons or so his patience with Dick or May or anything about this place runs out. Things reach some kind of breaking point, and Dean will end up in the Alone Room. It’s like how Äity used to make him go to his room in the home tree if he ever acted up. The Alone Room is a punishment, and Dean is really ashamed of how long it took him to realize that. Here he thought it was just a place they put him so he wouldn’t hurt anyone, or be hurt by them (like Dick).

Honestly, Dick isn’t that much of a bother anymore either. He’s mostly given up on bothering Dean, aside from checking his height now and then. Dean just doesn’t react to most of the things that Dick says or does anymore. What’s the point? All it does is end him up in the Alone Room where he’s bored and stuck with his own thoughts for the rest of the day and overnight.

Now that Dean is in his tenth winter, as he thinks from the tracking of the days and moons on the back wall, he’s practically an adult! If he was back with his tribe, Dean would be only three winters away from the tribe celebration where he would be given his totem. They would hold a ceremony for all the people coming of age and each of them would be assigned their spirit animal that would be their guide throughout their lives.

Dean doesn’t know if this mishmash of other tribes has a totem ceremony like his does, and he’s too afraid to ask. Three winters is a long time away, and he doesn’t plan on being here by then, so there’s no point in asking.

The garden keeps growing. Rufus calls it a farm now. It’s the same word that Cas used so long ago, and Dean is pretty sure that Cas must have gotten it from the Plains Tribe somehow. Probably the same way he got all the other words that Dean knows so that they could talk together. Dean thinks he probably learned it from the flat thing he’s always carrying. That thing can speak to Dean in his language, so it just makes sense.

The tribe wants to have more corn, so that’s what Dean decided to do today. He’s digging up the dirt and pulling out the grass to make room for more rows of corn. Thankfully, he’s not the only one doing it. Victor and Bill are helping out too, using big sticks to break up the dirt while Dean follows along behind pulling out the grass clumps and making neat rows of the dirt for the planting.

They’re singing songs to pass the time, but Dean is busy thinking. Sometimes it feels like thinking is all he does. Thinking about his home and the family he misses, or the few friends he had managed to make before he was taken. He thinks about the river and its slow current, and how great it felt to float in it and drift. The waterfall makes the water churn slightly where it falls into the pool, but there’s no real movement like what he remembers of the river.

Today, Dean isn’t thinking about any of that. Today, he’s busy mentally plotting out what tools he might need to try and climb the waterfall. At this point, he’s pretty sure the waterfall is the only other way out. Unless something else changes, the waterfall is his last chance. All the other ways out have been done already, or he’s not fast enough to attempt through the passageways yet.

As far as he can tell, the tops of the walls on either side of this space are still blocked by something that he can’t see. But Dean knows that something is there because when he tries throwing rocks over the walls, they bounce back and the air sends rippling blue shimmers out in all directions. He has no idea what it is, because it seems different from the clear wall and the clear bridge, but it’s there. It doesn’t seem to be touching the top of the wall exactly, because ekravä are still able to scurry back and forth between here and the big space on the other side. The space doesn’t seem big enough for him, if the rippling shimmers are anything to go by.

The day is half done, and there are a few more rows ready for corn to be planted when Dean hears the sound of the doors opening. Victor and Bill stop singing, but Dean continues working. He doesn’t want to acknowledge what he knows is probably about to happen. His marks on the back wall tell him that it’s coming to the time of the season when the Vingkäitä come and take him for his test. He figured that they were going to come for him any day now, but he still wants to pretend that it’s not happening.

“Dean.” Bill says his name really quietly, but it’s still loud enough for him to hear.

With a groan and a loud sigh, Dean stands up from his squat and claps his hands together to knock the dirt for them. “Yeah, yeah, I know.”

When he turns around, the dark-skinned Vingkäitä is standing by the door, staring and pointing at him. At this distance, Dean can’t tell if it’s the same one from his first test or not, but he thinks it might be. The Vingkäitä gestures at the door and points at him again.

Dean sighs and starts towards him.

Rowena and Ellen step out from between the tents. Jo is next to Ellen, holding her hand and clinging to her skirt. She doesn’t look like she wants to let go of her äity any time soon.

Ellen looks at Dean, and then at the Vingkäitä, and then back to Dean. “Do you want one of us to go with you?”

That’s… a good question. Dean worries at his bottom lip and fidgets with the tie of the belt around his waist. He glances around, happy to find that he can’t see Dick at the moment. If he was around, he’d probably tease Dean for wanting the comfort of company during his tests. Dick always goes to his tests alone, but he’s a grownup. There’s a difference. Dean is growing up quickly, but he’s still a kid, and Dick has been here a lot longer than him. He’s had the time to get used to tests. Dean hasn’t.

But he’s also not a little kid like Jo is. Ellen or Bill always go with her, and Lily won’t let May go anywhere without her. May is just about the same age as Dean is, but she’s bigger than Dean and he hates it. At least Lily still treats her like a kid. If May was treated more like a grown up than Dean, he’d be a lot angrier with May than he’s ever been.

Slowly, he nods and looks down at the ground. Dean scuffs his foot in the dirt, waiting for Rowena to come to him so they can follow the waiting Vingkäitä. She takes a moment to say something to Ellen that’s too quiet for Dean to hear from where he’s standing. Her skirt rustles when she walks, and soon she’s standing at Dean’s shoulder and she holds out her hand.

“It’s alright, child. I can go with you.”

Dean doesn’t mind it when Rowena calls him child. It’s more of a term of endearment with her, and she’s never said it like she’s using it as an insult. Not like Dick does.

He takes her hand and squeezes it in thanks.

On their way out of the field and into the small room with the pile of furs, Dean checks the bridge. Cas had been there earlier, crouched off to the side like usual. He’s not there now, though, and Dean can’t help wondering if that means Cas will be in the room for the test again.

The dark-skinned Vingkäitä leads them through the route that’s almost becoming familiar to Dean. Maybe he might have it fully memorized when they walk back. For the walk to the testing room, he keeps himself entertained by trying to remember and predict which turn they’re going to take, or what door it is that they’ll stop at. That second one is a little harder, if only because all the doors look the exact same – except, maybe, for those little squares next to them that sometimes have weird glowing symbols on them.

Sure enough, the dark-skinned Vingkäitä stops at a door that looks no different than any of the others. The square is blank until he touches it. Then it lights up with the symbols again just before the door itself swings open. Dean can’t remember if they’ve done that before, or if the door will just open for anyone without the symbols on the square thing.

The room is empty when they walk in, and Dean definitely isn’t disappointed that Cas isn’t here. He also definitely doesn’t pout, or glance at the clear wall just to make sure that Cas isn’t here. Of course he does do it, and he’s still pretty surprised to see the shortest Vingkäitä he’s ever met standing on the other side of the clear wall. Cas’s colouring is pretty distinctive too. As soon as he recognizes Cas, Dean goes from not-disappointed to angry.

“Dean?”

Rowena sounds confused when he lets go of her hand and goes straight over to the clear wall. Dean ignores her and slams his hand against the clear wall. “Where the hell have you been!?”

Cas’s head wings flick slightly, and the little fluffy feathers at the top of his wings puff out just a little bit, but his face doesn’t move. Not even a little bit. The big Vingkäitä lady next to him puts a hand on Cas’s shoulder, but neither one of them moves after that. Not even a twitch.

Behind him, Rowena mutters something about Dean learning bad language. It’s true, though, and he won’t deny it. Sometimes the other grownups swear in words that Dean doesn’t know from his own tribe, and some that he does. He’s picked up a few of them, and they really emphasise his anger when he uses them.

Dean ignores her and continues to bang on the clear wall. “Why are you avoiding me?”

He doesn’t get an answer. Instead, Cas looks down at the flat thing in his hand. Dean has always hated when he does that, because it’s like Cas is ignoring him, and Dean hates being ignored.

“Stop looking at that stupid thing!” Dean hits the wall harder. “Answer me!”

Rather than answering him, Cas looks up at the big Vingkäitä lady next to him. Now that they’re standing so close together, Dean thinks that Cas might have gotten taller. They’ve only stood in the same room together once, and other than that he’s always been in the Alone Room where the ground is higher than the passageway that Cas is always standing in. Now that they’re standing here on even footing with just the clear wall separating them, Dean hates that even Cas is growing taller than him. Everyone, except Jo, is growing bigger than him and it only makes him angrier now.

There’s nothing else for Dean to do but keep banging on the clear wall. He wants Cas to answer him, to pay attention to him again like he used to. What changed that made Cas not want to talk to him anymore? He’s the only Vingkäitä that was interesting; the only one that ever seemed to care even in just the slightest. Dean can’t grasp why he doesn’t anymore.

Without a single expression, or even looking at Dean again, Cas just turns and walks away. Dean doesn’t like the stab of hurt in his chest. He’s not used to feeling that. Cas was always all sorts of excited to interact with him before, and now he’s not? Dean isn’t used to dealing with rejection, and this stings. It stings a lot, and the fact that it does has him seeing red. He shouldn’t care about what a Vingkäitä thinks of him.

Furious with himself, and more so with Cas, Dean starts swearing. He yells every bad word that he’s ever heard after Cas, beating at the clear wall until his fists hurt. At some point, Rowena is at his side and trying to pull him away to bring him over to the table in the middle of the room, but Dean fights out from under her hands. He wants Cas to answer him. To tell him why he doesn’t seem to care anymore.

Dean fights and shouts, and barely notices the slight prick in the back of his neck. The strength goes out of him a moment later and a fog starts to settle in his head. It becomes impossible to keep his eyes open, and everything goes dark.

He wakes up in the Alone Room with a taste on his tongue of the foaming stuff they make him bite into at the end of every test.

Cas doesn’t come visit him again.

Chapter Text

It would be really great if everyone would just shut up. They’re making this way harder than it needs to be. Yelling at him is only going to make things worse, and it’s not like Dean can even hear them anyways. Water is drumming a beat against the top of his head that drowns out basically everything else. He can only hear them when he manages to break through the spray of the waterfall.

This is a lot harder in practice than it was in theory. The waterfall always looked like such a soft and gentle flow whenever he stood at the edge of the pool. Even when he was swimming underneath it, he never thought the water fell that hard. It’s a little different from this perspective, when he’s halfway up the rock wall behind the water and struggling to haul himself up.

The muscles in Dean’s arms are trembling, and his toes and fingers ache where he’s gripping the rocks. He’s colder than he’s ever been since he came to this place, but it’s not enough to get him to stop. This is his last chance. If it fails, and if he can’t think of any other ways out, then he’s stuck here. And Dean refuses to accept that.

Rowena has been teaching the kids their numbers. He’s learned how to count a lot higher now, and knows how the bigger numbers work. He spent a lot of time counting all the marks he’s made, and still makes, on the walls.

Eleven summers. Dean has been alive for eleven summers, and four of them have come and gone since he was brought here. That’s too long for his liking. If he did his math right, then it’s just another four summers before he will have been in this place longer than he spent back home. He can’t allow that to happen. He has to get home before then somehow.

Dean misses his family so much more whenever he realizes how much time has passed. He never thought so much about time back in the tribe. They paid a whole lot of attention to the passing of the seasons, because that was an important way to avoid the Vingkäitä, track the growth of plants, and keep an eye on the movement of the herds through the forest. Time only mattered when it came to the Vingkäitä and food. Here, it barely matters at all – except when it’s about how long he’s been here.

Sammy must be so big now. Four summers makes a big difference. If Dean isn’t evidence of that, then Jo is. Would Sam be taller than she is? Does he cut his hair like Dean does, like their otehkö did, or does he wear it long like their äity? Is he a quiet kid, or did he grow into that curious and fearless personality he used to have?

There’s also the matter about whether or not Sam is going to be willing to step up and take on the role of taafër. He was so young the last time Dean saw him, that he honestly doesn’t know whether or not Sam would ever have wanted to lead their tribe. He never said anything, but maybe he was too young to understand or even be interested in being taafër. Getting to travel and see all the other tribes used to be Dean’s dream, and he likes to think that that might be Sam’s favourite part of the position.

Dean has no idea what kind of person Sam is growing up to be, and it’s killing him a little bit every day.

Sometimes, Dean has nightmares. There are so many different and dangerous things that could have happened to his family while he was gone. If a storm happened and an angry bolt of sky-light hit a tree, a fire could have spread in the forest. For all he knows, his entire tribe might have been forced to up and leave. Or one of the bridges could have collapsed, or a ladder snapped, or the river overflowed while they were standing too close.

The nightmares put all kinds of worries into his head, and sometimes it’s really hard for Dean to stop thinking about it. But the worst nightmares are the ones where no one misses him; the ones where no one cares that he’s gone, and his parents just replaced him with another child.

Dean grits his teeth against the thoughts that always tend to bubble up when he’s trying to escape. He reaches up, arm shaking, and stabs the knife that he stole from Frank’s tent in between the rocks. Frank was sleeping at the time, and he didn’t seem to notice. None of the grown-ups did. The only one who noticed was May.

She cornered him while he was gardening to question him about it. She thought he was going to do something bad with it, like use it in his next fight with Dick. As much as Dean doesn’t like him, he wouldn’t use a weapon against him. Not unless Dick did something really bad to him or one of the others in the tribe. She told him it was a stupid idea to try using it as an escape, and he told her to shut up and leave him alone.

May listens to him more often now when he tells her to go away. Sometimes, they’re almost friends. She’s still kind of annoying from time to time, but nowhere near as annoying as when he first got here. At some point, she did learn to respect his boundaries, in some sense. It’s better than nothing, and it’s not bad having friends his own age here.

His toes hurt, and his hands hurt, but Dean still drags himself up against the push of the water. He figures he’s probably about halfway up the rock wall at the moment. This part seemed to have the least amount of water falling down it, but it doesn’t feel that way right now. Dean shakes the water out of his eyes and tests his grip on the rocks with his free hand and his feet. When he’s sure he’s got a good grip, he pulls the knife free and stabs it between a few rocks even higher up.

If he doesn’t get a move on now, the Vingkäitä are going to figure out what he’s up to before he can make it over the top of the waterfall. Dean spent a while throwing rocks when he was sure no one was looking late at night, trying to make sure that there wasn’t one of the same barriers he can’t see like what is above the wall he went over once. As far as he can tell, there’s nothing blocking his way.

There’s something on the other side of this wall, and he’ll deal with what it is when he gets there. The Vingkäitä might stop him then, but at least he’ll know. Not trying is worse than not knowing, and he’ll never forgive himself if he doesn’t use all the escape options that he has.

And, again, this would be a lot easier if all the grown-ups weren’t yelling at him and drawing attention to what he’s doing. It’s the middle of the night and no one is supposed to be awake right now. There are rarely any Vingkäitä on the clear bridge at night, which made this the perfect time to take this route. It’s out in the open and easy to spot, so he had to be really sneaky about it.

Dick is being louder than most of the other grown-ups. He’s screaming about how stupid Dean is, and how angry the Vingkäitä are going to be with him for this. Dick seems to think that anything Dean does to get himself in trouble makes the whole tribe look bad. But the only time Dick ever gets put in an alone room is when he fights with Dean and things get physical.

Dean has tried to stop caring about anything Dick has to say, but sometimes something gets under his skin and he just… He can’t not react to it. He’s working on being so reactive, though. Because, honestly, Dean hates how boring the alone room has gotten now that Cas doesn’t show up. That still bothers him too, no matter how much he tries not to be bothered by it. There are too many unanswered questions where Cas is concerned, and it’s an itch at the back of Dean’s mind that he can’t get any answers.

So, escape it is! If no one else is going to put any effort into getting out of here, then he’s going to do it all on his own. It’s kind of unfair that they’re yelling at him and ruining his chances of getting out of here. They were all supposed to be sleeping right now. If he gets caught by the Vingkäitä because of them, he’s gonna be so mad. Especially if it turns out that May is the one who woke them all up and ruined this for him.

When the shouting stops, Dean starts swearing inside his head. He bites his lip and squeezes his eyes shut, pressing himself as close to the rocks as he can get without losing his grip. Maybe, if he holds still, the water will be able to hide him and the Vingkäitä won’t see him. But then the light starts getting bright on the other side of his eyelids, and Dean knows he’s been found. The Vingkäitä have a fake sun that they bring out during the night when they need to. He remembers it from his first escape attempt, and he knows that’s what they’ve got out now.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

No, he can’t stop here. Dean grunts and pushes himself to keep going. Either the Vingkäitä will shoot him with the thing that makes him sleep, and he’ll fall into the pool, or they’ll be forced to wait until he gets to the top. For all he knows, the Vingkäitä won’t let any of the tribe save him and he’ll drown in the pool. That’s really unlikely to happen, but he wouldn’t put it past them. Vingkäitä are jerks like that.

There’s not much Dean can hear over the drum of water against his head. The shouting was mostly muffled by it, but now there’s a high pitched humming whine that breaks through it all. It’s a sound that Dean hasn’t heard in a very long time. Even though he’s already been captured by them, Dean’s blood still runs cold at the sound of the flying metal thing that came with the Vingkäitä that caught him.

He barely even has the time to picture it in his head before its grasping hands are closing around his back and yanking him away from the wall. The knife stays stuck between some of the rocks, and Dean loses sight of it quickly behind all the water. It’s the last thing he cares about right now, because now he’s dangling in the middle of the air underneath the smooth silver thing that stole him from his family. Its pincer hands are wrapped around his shoulders and digging into his armpits, and that’s the only thing keeping him from falling down, down, down.

Even though the pool isn’t that far below, the flying thing is moving backwards and bringing him out over hard ground. Dean’s heart is hammering behind his throat and he grabs at the arms of the flying thing. He holds on as tightly as he can and closes his eyes to stop his stomach from swooping. Heights. Why do half his escape attempts have to involve heights? It took Dean so many nights to psyche himself up enough to be able to go over that first wall, and then even longer to get enough courage to try climbing the rock wall. And then he had to train to build up the strength to climb against the water, and now he’s just…  failed. Again.

Thankfully, the flying thing doesn’t just drop him. It brings him all the way down to the ground and doesn’t let him go until his feet are touching dirt. Dean doesn’t breathe until that happens, and by then Ellen is already rushing up to him.

“Are you okay?” She grabs his face and turns him this way and that, pushing his wet hair back while she checks him over. When she’s satisfied that he’s not hurt beyond a few scrapes and bruises, she steps back and slaps him upside the head. Lightly. Dean barely even flinches at it. “Why would you ever think that you could climb the waterfall?!”

Dean doesn’t say anything. He just stares at his feet and tries not to pout at failing. Again.

It’s not long before Vingkäitä feet enter his field of view. Ellen backs away really quickly at that point, and Dean looks up to find the whole tribe gathered together, even Frank. The Vingkäitä glaring down at him isn’t one that Dean recognizes, and it points at the door with one hand while the other rests on the tool at its hip that Dean has come to recognize as the one that they use to put him to sleep.

Guess it’s time to go back to the Alone Room. Dean sighs and drags his feet as he shuffles off. He very pointedly doesn’t look up at the clear bridge to see if Cas is here and watching him. Normally he’s not when it’s night time, but who knows why Cas chooses to be where he wants to be. Besides, Dean has been training himself to ignore Cas completely. Two can play at that stupid game.

Cas is just another stupid Vingkäitä that lost interest in him. Dean probably wasn’t being fascinating enough for him. So fuck it. He doesn’t care anymore what Cas does or where he goes.

‘Fuck’ is another one of the words that he’s learned from Rufus. Dean kinda likes this one. It’s multipurpose. ‘Shit’ is a pretty satisfying one to use too, but ‘fuck’ makes some of the grown-ups in the group frown at him when he uses it, so he thinks that one is probably worse. Rufus probably shouldn’t have taught him bad words, but Dean was bound to learn them at some point by someone.

May’s voice reaches him from across the field just before he reaches the door into the fur-pile room. “I told you that was a stupid idea!”

Dean rolls his eyes and shouts back over his shoulder. “You’re the stupid idea!”

Her laughter echoes across the field and only stops when the door shuts behind him.

Dean scratches a line into the wall to mark another day. He frowns at it and all the other marks, most of which are hidden by growing moss and hanging vines now. It’s officially his twelfth summer. Twelve summers old, and next summer he would receive his totem. There still hasn’t been any mention of it within the rest of the tribe, but he still doesn’t even know if any of them realize that he’s almost that age.

That’s okay, though. Dean wants to celebrate his coming-of-age with his family and his home tribe. It doesn’t matter that he’s come to like (most) of the people here. They’re not his family. They’re not his tribe. They’re people that he’s trapped her with. At most, they’re friends, if only because he actually has come to like a lot of them. He tolerates the rest, though some just barely. But this isn’t his home. It will never be his home.

The test the Vingkäitä take him for every summer has already come and gone. Dean figures this will be the last time that he takes one of the grown-ups with him. Ellen was happy to go with him this time, which was nice of her, but Dean will go alone next summer. If he’s still here, of course, and if it’s up to him, he sure as hell won’t be. And, after he escapes, he’s pretty sure Rufus and Victor will take care of his garden for him.

Those two spend a lot of time helping him. Everyone all has jobs in the camp that they seem to gravitate towards. Rowena likes to make and decorate the clothing. Ellen and Bill generally take care of cooking and tending to Jo. Frank mostly stays inside his tent and sorts things, or works on making whatever people give him. If someone wants a fish scaled, they’ll give it to Frank to do. He’s an extra set of hands as long as it’s something that can be done inside his tent.

As for Lily, Dick, and Donatello, they tend to do their own things. Dean more or less considers them as tribe helpers. They’re always available for putting up a new tent, organizing items, darning clothes, making new fishing lines, washing things in the pool, digging more to the latrine, and whatever else he can think of. Rufus and Victor used to be like that too, but now they’re really focused on Dean’s garden with him. He really appreciates the help, especially as the garden grows with every new season and the changing requirements of the tribe.

Dean figures that it’s only going to be a matter of time before the whole field is filled with corn. They use it in a lot of their foods, and can prepare it in multiple ways. The stalks come down after every harvest, and they replant after turning the soil again. There isn’t a cold season in this place that keeps them from being able to grow. It’s just constantly a cycle of planting, growing, harvesting, and replanting. And they’re getting so much food from the garden that sometimes Dean wonders if they’ll even be able to eat it all.

That never seems to be a problem, though. Everyone has full bellies at the end of the day, and Dean seems to eat twice what they do. Rowena says it’s because he’s a growing boy, and he’ll have a bottomless stomach until he’s all grown. It sure feels that way. Dean has never been as hungry as he was when he first came here and refused to eat anything that the Vingkäitä were giving him, but sometimes it feels like he just can’t eat enough.

May almost matches him in how much she eats, if not more. That’s probably why she’s taller than him right now. Dick keeps teasing him about how he’s so short, but Dean knows he’s not actually short. She’s just taller than him for now. Rowena is sure that Dean has another growth spurt coming, and he sure hopes so. May gloats every time she looks down at him, even though she’s not that much taller than him. It gets on his nerves and he can’t wait until he’s tall enough to look Dick in the eye and tell him how much of a dick he really is.

Maybe he’ll be taller by his thirteenth summer and his next test with the Vingkäitä. The only time Cas was at his test, he said that they check how tall he is and how much he weighs. Cas only observes from the other side of the clear wall now, and Dean snubs him every time. He refuses to look at Cas, or even acknowledge that he’s there. Because Cas is just as much of a jerk as Dick, if not more. No, he’s definitely more, because he’s a Vingkäitä and Dean is never going to forgive them for stealing him away from everything he knew.

Dean doesn’t know what the Vingkäitä use to measure him, because it’s just a shining light that washes over him, but he will admit to himself (and only himself) that he’s curious to know what’s changed about himself. What’s the difference in how much he weighed when he was brought in, and how much he weighs now? How much taller is he? Can they tell him that in hand widths? But that’s not a reliable method of measurement, really. Because Dean’s hands are changing size the more he grows.

Back home, they used to have a stick in his home tree that had measurements carved into it. The measurements were based on his otehkö’s hand length, and they used it for everything except clothing. Äity used a long, supple stretch of leather to take their measurements. It was the easiest way, and Rowena even does the same here.

Dean feels a slight throb of nostalgia, and a yearning for his home, when he walks into the camp to see Rowena doing just that. She uses the strip to measure around Ellen’s waist. In that moment, all he sees is his äity, and it hurts. He looks away, only nodding when they call out their morning greetings to him.

For the first time in a long time, Dean doesn’t really have any actual plans for himself. Obviously, he’ll work on his garden at some point, but there isn’t much of a rush. With three of them devoted to the garden, it’s well taken care of and he doesn’t need to obsess over it anymore.

“Hey, kid.”

Frank talks so little to him, that Dean sometimes doesn’t recognize his voice. It’s gruff and low, and Frank rarely talks loud enough to be heard at any point in the camp. You have to be passing in front of his tent to actually be able to hear him. Lucky for Dean, because that’s exactly where he is at the moment.

He stops and crouches down to see Frank properly through the opening of his tent. One of the flaps is folded back and pinned out of the way. “Yeah?”

There’s a really big pile of sticks shoved off to one side of the entrance of Frank’s tent. Someone must have collected them for him, because Frank would never leave his tent long enough to gather up all of that from what falls from the trees in the sad excuse for a forest this place has.

Frank gestures at all the sticks. “Think you could lend a hand? I don’t have enough space in here to sort them all.”

Part of Dean would rather do anything else, because stick sorting is probably one of the most boring things you can do in the camp. But he’s also got nothing better to do. No excuses are coming up, and he sighs heavily. “Yeah, I guess so.”

To start, Dean takes the other flap from Frank’s tent and pulls that back. There’s a string attached to the corner that he uses to tie to a loop in the side of the tent. Frank usually hates having it fully open like this, but it has to be like that right now, or Dean is only seeing half of what they’re needing to do. When he’s done, he drops down to sit cross-legged in front of the tent.

“What do you want me to do?”

Frank pushes the pile to sit between them. “Pull out all the shit for kindling. I’ll pull the ones that we can use for tools or something.”

Easy enough. Easy and boring. Dean just barely stops himself from groaning and rolling his eyes. It’s still a job that needs to be done, and everyone in the tribe has to do their part, even when he doesn’t really consider himself a part of this tribe. He only has one tribe, and that’s the one at home. And this place will never be home to him.

Dick and Donatello are with May and Jo in the pool. They’re standing in the shallows, washing fabrics and hides that the Vingkäitä gave them during the supply drop from a few days ago. May and Jo are swimming around, laughing wildly. Jo took to water like a fish, but Ellen and Bill still keep a close eye on her, even while they’re working on preparing all the vegetables and other ingredients going into the stew everyone will be having tonight.

Rowena is working on upgrading one of Ellen’s dresses, from what Dean can see. Lily isn’t in sight, and Dean figures she’s probably in her tent or at the latrine. He doesn’t really bother with keeping track of her. She’s got a prickly personality, though he’s seen her be really soft with May. Dean wouldn’t be surprised if she admitted that May is the only person here that she actually likes. The rest of them she tolerates, and some more than others.

Rufus and Victor are doing their morning comb through of the garden to double check on all the plants, which means Dean doesn’t have to do it. The most he’s going to have to do is help water everything later on in the day, and maybe do a walk-through of his own to see if anything might be ready for harvest. The strawberries were looking pretty ripe the last time he checked on them, so he could do that and the tribe could have jams to eat on the hard hunks of bread that they bake in the ground oven next to the fire pit.

Since Frank isn’t really one for conversation, Dean spends his time sorting while thinking about the strawberries. The fruits he grows are sweet and he finds himself liking them a lot. There’s a lot that they never had back in his tribe, and Dean is going to miss them when he finally manages to escape and get back home. Though he’s probably looking forward the most to having fresh meat that is fish. Dean sometimes can stomach the meat given to them by a Vingkäitä, but sometimes he feels sick to his stomach and the food goes to waste when it doesn’t sit right.

Dean is so wrapped up in his thoughts, that he almost misses the sound of the door whooshing open on the other side of the field. He glances up briefly, almost brushing it off, until he notices how wide Frank’s eyes have gotten.

Frank shrinks away from the front of his tent. “This can’t be good.”

He’s definitely got a point there. Everyone in the tribe has had their tests done by this time of the season, and the Vingkäitä brought their supplies just a few days ago. There shouldn’t be any reason for them coming back right now. This is out of the ordinary, and Dean jumps to his feet. Out of the ordinary is not a good thing here, and his heart is pounding almost painfully in his chest.

What do the others think about this? Dean fights against his gut reaction that wants him to run back to under the cover of the trees where he can hide out in the safe space of his own personal camp. Instead, he looks around, checking to see if anyone else is as freaked out as both him and Frank.

From where he’s standing, Dean can see almost everyone. Rowena, Bill, and Ellen have dropped what they’re doing and are standing now, staring between the tents towards the direction of the door. Donatello and Dick are doing the same from the pool, and Victor and Rufus from the garden. May and Jo are still playing, apparently not having noticed the very obvious change in the air around the camp.

Ellen takes a small step towards the door. She looks more curious than concerned. “You don’t think...?”

Briefly, she looks at Dean, and he realizes in that moment what must be happening. The fear bleeds out of him and he steps around Frank’s tent to see the open door. It’s almost fully hidden by the hanging vines that grow wildly along the walls. Is this how the tribe reacted when he arrived? It doesn’t look like any Vingkäitä are going to be coming through the doors any time soon. Does that mean a new person is hiding out in the room on the other side of that wall?

“May!” Lily rushes out of her tent towards the pool. “Come here right now!”

There’s that hard edge to her voice that Dean remembers from his own äity. It’s the kind of tone that no child would ever disregard, and May is no different. She drags Jo back into the shallows, and Ellen rushes over there to collect her too.

Everyone else starts making their way towards the door. Even Frank eventually crawls out of his tent. He squints at the door, and then up at the clear bridge high above them. Dean can’t help but look up too, though this time it’s not to check to see if Cas is still watching them. Yeah, Cas is up there, but it takes Dean a while to pick him out because there’s a whole lot of other Vingkäitä hanging out up there. He hasn’t seen that many Vingkäitä in one place since the time when he was first brought here.

Curiosity far outweighs any fear he has right now, and Dean jogs to catch up with the rest of the grown-ups. He falls into step between Victor and Rufus. “Is it a new person?”

“Could be.” Rufus puts a hand on Dean’s shoulder to keep him back when they come to a stop a bit of a ways from the door. “Don’t go rushing in on your own. You’ve gotta give them a chance to come out on their own first.”

Victor ruffles Dean’s hair. “Remember what it was like when you got here?”

Yeah, of course Dean remembers. He’s pretty sure he’s never going to ever forget it, even when he dies of old age in countless seasons from now. Still, part of him is excited to see who it could be. Even though he would never wish this place on anyone, not even his worst enemies (though the closest thing he has to that is Dick), but it would still be nice to see a familiar face.

No one comes out. The door remains open, and no one from the camp really moves. Frank is a bit shifty, probably because he’s uncomfortable being out of his tent and out in the open so much. Jo is around eight summers old, more or less, and she’s never been good at holding still. She’s restless on her feet, but focused on the door. May is standing between Lily and Victor’s; holding both their hands as she leans forward and back. They hold her weight well, letting her swing back and forth without a problem.

Dean fidgets a bit with the pouch he wears at his waist, full of safety snacks in case he gets sent to the Alone Room. He’s basically the same age as May, but he still thinks that she acts a lot like a child. The two of them are practically adults now, and next summer would be time for their totem ceremonies. Back in Dean’s home tribe, that would mean they would be adults and expected to fully contribute to the rest of the tribe.

But this is something that he’s scared to bring up here. Dean doesn’t want to think about the chance that he might still be here next summer. But it’s becoming more and more likely, because he’s running out of ways to try and escape. He did try to go up the waterfall a second time, also at night while everyone was sleeping. That time, no one started yelling, but the Vingkäitä must always be watching him now. He didn’t even make it all the way up to where the knife was left the last time before they caught him with their flying silver thing.

Waterfall attempt number two landed Dean in the Alone Room for two days. He was really hungry by the time he was brought back to camp, and lonely. Even though one of the walls of the Alone Room is clear and looks out into the passageway, no one walked down it. Cas never came to see him, and it was… not good. Dean felt like he was going crazy in there, and as much as he tries not to care about Cas not visiting anymore, Dean kinda missed him at that point. Now that he’s back in the camp, he hates that he ever thought that.

He’s almost on the verge of looking up to glare at Cas again when a dark hand peeks through the vines. Dean is almost disappointed that it’s not someone from his tribe. At the same time, he’s happy that his people are still safe. This has to be someone from the plains tribe, like Victor and Rufus. It’s really rare for someone to move between different tribes permanently.

The ivy pushes apart a little and Dean’s heart jumps right into his throat. He feels Rufus’s grip on his shoulder go tight as a girl around the same height as Dean, probably around his age too, slowly steps out of the room.  Her curly dark is like a cloud around her head, just as dark as her skin. The girl’s chest is covered in a single strip of cloth that is tied in the center of her chest with a fancy looking knot. Other than that, she’s wearing a simple drawstring skirt that goes down to her knees, but it doesn’t have anything fancy to it.

She’s hunched over and hugging herself, and her dark eyes are wide and full of tears. Dean remembers that feeling. Fear, uncertainty, probably a little anger at the whole situation and most definitely at the Vingkäitä. Sympathy is a sharp pang in his chest, and Dean almost steps forward to try comforting her, even though he has no idea how he could even start to do it.

Turns out that it’s not even necessary. The moment the girl sees Victor and Rufus, both people who are obviously from her tribe, she starts sobbing. She runs straight into Rufus’s arms. He looks surprised by it, even a little uncomfortable with it, but he doesn’t push her away. Rufus is nicer than that, even when he likes to pretend that he’s a crotchety old guy. He picks the girl up and awkwardly pats her back while she wraps her arms around his shoulders and cries heavily into the curve of his neck.

Dean wants to say something, say anything that might make this better, but there’s nothing to say. There’s nothing he can do to help her. She’s just like him. Terrified at being faced with a bunch of strangers the moment she came out of the room. And that room was scary enough on its own, especially because of the not-Ellen in the wall. At least the girl didn’t run and hide like Dean did. She’s got that going for her at least.

It took him ages to get comfortable with most of the people here, and he still won’t stay in the camp overnight. His camp has a few more tents now for storage of all the things he’s made over the seasons. Tools, supplies, food storage. He takes his share and the rest of the tribe takes theirs. Though his main tent, the one that he sleeps in, needs to be redone. Dean has definitely grown since he got here, and he needs more space to sleep. He hasn’t resized his personal tent since he first put it up.

There’s a quiet whoosh as the door slides shut behind the vines, and Dean flinches slightly at the sound. No one else pays any attention to it because they’re all gathered around the new girl. Dean had briefly considered walking into the fur pile room, but decided against it. There’s nowhere to go from there, because the other door would be closed. And beyond that door is just a bunch of passageways that barely make sense to him, and he has no idea how to open the doors or where they might lead.

Unfortunately, Dean has come to the understanding that the only way he’s going to get out of here is through those doors. He just needs to figure out a way to open the doors, and what lies behind them. That’s going to require a lot of watching the Vingkäitä. Too bad that he only really gets two opportunities for that, and it’s only once a summer. He’s usually unconscious when they take him to the Alone Room, and sometimes when they bring him back too.

Rufus turns around and starts walking towards the camp, probably to settle her down by the fire with a blanket and some food to try and help calm her down. That’s what they did for Dean. She’s crying loud enough to hear across the whole field, and Dean’s chest goes tight. He almost wants to cover his ears, because the girl starts crying for her family and wanting to go home. Dean remembers that part too, and it’s a feeling that hasn’t changed.

Once they get the new girl settled down on one of the logs by the fire, Ellen drapes a blanket around her shoulders and Bill prepares her a bowl of the stew simmering over the fire. It’s probably still missing a few things from it, but it’s still good. They were in the middle of preparing more vegetables to throw in when the door opened and interrupted everyone’s whole day. Trays of half chopped veggies are still off to the side.

When the girl calms down from crying to sniffling, May scuttles closer. She stays low, like she’s trying not to look threatening, and gets close enough (despite Lily’s warning) to pat the girl on the knee. “It’s gonna be okay. We’ll take really good care of you, and we’ll be your family now.”

If anything, that brings the tears back in full force. Dean rolls his eyes, but he bites his tongue from saying anything. May just doesn’t get it, and he doubts she ever will. This whole nightmare situation is normal for her. Living in a world with one field, four walls, and never seeing or knowing what’s beyond that. New people just showing up to join the tribe every now and then. Totally normal. That’s all May knows and she never seems to care about learning anything else beyond that.

Dean actually feels a little bad for her. May has absolutely no idea what it’s like to live on the outside. She always just stares at him blankly whenever he tries to explain how much better it is out there. When he talks about rivers that actually flow and go on and on to the end of the world. Or how there’s an ocean so big that you can’t see where it ends. Rowena came from across the big water, and she talks about her homeland excitedly whenever she gets the chance, but May doesn’t care. She has no curiosity to her. No sense of wonder. Her world is this place and she’s… she’s content with that.

The new girl has a death grip on Rufus’s hand, and he stays sitting next to her. Victor sits on her other side and rubs her back every now and then. It must be some kind of comforting to her, because she does start to calm down a lot faster than Dean remembers he did. Dean will have to ask if they all knew each other from before. Or maybe the girl was too young to remember when Victor and Rufus were still a part of the plains tribe. They’ve been here a lot longer than Dean has, after all.

He gets it, though. Ellen and Bill have a very parental feel to them, thanks to Jo. Even though they aren’t his äity or his otehkö, and they never will be, they still were a place of calm for Dean when he was freaking out during his first day here. He’s never going to let anyone replace his parents, but Ellen and Bill are really the closest thing he’s going to get to having parents here. Maybe Rowena too, a bit. Sorta. She’s more like a sibling to a parent. A tänti.

Dean never had a tänti back home. Neither of his parents had any siblings. So having a tänti like Rowena is a new, interesting experience. Sometimes he thinks she’s more like a handrä, but he didn’t have one of those either, so it’s hard to tell the difference between them.

It’s probably going to take the new girl a while to calm down enough to talk. Dean doesn’t really feel like just sitting around and waiting. Frank went back into his tent, and it’s about time they get back to work. The new girl will talk when she’s ready, but that doesn’t mean the rest of them need to stay idle while she gets settled.

With that in mind, Dean does move to sit back down in front of Frank’s tent. This time, though, he arranges himself so he can easily see the new girl and everyone else. He doesn’t want to miss anything that happens, especially since this is the first time that someone has arrived since he got here.

Dean’s mind keeps going and going and going while his hands stay busy, pulling out the too twisted or knotted sticks so they can use them for kindling. None of them are really long enough to be used for framework for new tents, but they’ll find a use for the straighter ones somewhere in the camp. Heck, now that they have a new member of the tribe, they’re going to need to get her a new set of useful tools, and she’ll probably need a new tent too.

Although, it’s very possible that she might end up being just as much a loner as Dean is. She might decide to set up her own camp away from everyone else, just like he did. Or maybe she won’t want her own tent at all, and she’ll end up sharing with someone else. Out of everyone, Dean figures it’ll probably be Rowena. Lily would never allow someone else in her tent with may. It would surprise Dean a lot if even another little girl still wouldn’t be allowed.

Victor and Rufus already share a tent, and Donatello seems too grumpy to want to share his with someone so much younger than him. Dean would offer the new girl his own camp before he ever let her share a tent with Dick. He’s a jerk and Dean doesn’t want to even think about what kind of poison he might spread to her about Dean or anyone else in the camp that Dick might not like. He’s never said anything outright, but he definitely seems the type to Dean, at least.

It takes a while, but not nearly as long as Dean would’ve thought, for the new girl’s tears to stop. She even starts sipping at the stew in the bowl Bill gave her, though it’s probably cold by now. Dean is impressed. It took him a lot longer to be able to stomach anything.

She hiccups quietly to herself, and accepts a bowl filled with water that Rowena brings over. The new girl sniffs a lot and rubs at her face, trying to scrub away the tears and dripping nose. If she’s anything like Dean, she’ll probably cry a bunch over the next several days. He remembers being curled up between the tree roots, crying himself to sleep whenever he thought about his home and how much he missed his family. It’s not something he would wish on anyone.

Dean keeps his distance, if only because this is the first time that someone new has been brought in since he was brought here. Parts of that day are still clear and bright in his mind, but a lot of it is just hazy memories. He doesn’t really remember how things went, or how long they waited. Even though he’s not the most patient of people, Dean doesn’t want to step on any toes by asking questions or pushing for anything. The last thing he needs is for Dick to start yelling at him in front of the new girl.

Once the sticks are sorted, Dean takes all the kindling to the piles they keep behind the camp and against the wall he once managed to escape over. They don’t like to keep kindling in the camp itself, because it’s a fire hazard. Donatello is very critical of anything that could be a fire hazard. None of the tents are close enough to the pit to catch fire, and even the heavy logs they have for sitting on have to be a certain distance away. Dean gets it, though. He’s paranoid about that kind of thing too.

Frank gets started on the rest of the sticks, stripping the bark and whittling some of the points. Donatello settles down to help him with it. Dean doesn’t have anything more to do. He wants to go check out his garden, but he doesn’t really want to leave the camp or the new girl. Everyone who isn’t sitting close enough to comfort her are all trying to go about their business.

Rowena is sitting close, but working on sewing beads into some new piece of clothing. Lily has all but dragged May away to the pool, getting back to work washing and hanging furs, leathers, and other clothing. Jo is trying to help them, but she gets distracted easily, wandering off and back again when it pleases her.

Dean finds it very suspicious that Dick is so quiet. He’s sitting alone between two tents, watching everyone while working on cleaning and putting together new tools. When he catches Dean’s eye, Dick’s nose wrinkles before he smiles. It’s too wide and toothy for Dean’s liking, and it only makes him more suspicious. The skin on his arms pebbles and the hair on the back of his neck stands on end. He doesn’t like the feeling and turns away.

Aside from Victor, Rufus, Bill, and Ellen, everyone else is trying to act like they’re not focused on the new girl. But, just like Dean, they’re all watching. Everyone is waiting for her to say something. Since she’s so young, it’s unlikely that she’ll have any news about the other tribes. It’s possible she might have heard something from those who attend the annual taväiling for her tribe. They hold it at a point between all four tribes, and maybe… maybe the new girl will have information about Dean’s otehkö.

That has his heart skipping a beat. Dean clenches his fists and chews lightly on his bottom lip. He can’t ask her about that right now. He might not even be able to ask her about that today. It might take her days to calm down. She might be like he was, and not speak for even longer after that.

The new girl proves Dean’s anxious thoughts wrong not long after he has them. She sniffles loudly and straightens her shoulders, shaking her head to knock the blanket off of it. She lifts her chin and scrutinizes each of them in turn.

When she speaks, there’s only a little waver in her voice. “Where am I?”

Now that’s a question that Dean still hasn’t quite figured out yet. He hasn’t told anyone about this, because he doesn’t want them to laugh at him or for Dick to insult him, but he’s pretty sure that they’re moving. It  took him way too long to notice it, but Dean eventually picked up on the low hum that this place has. It’s low, and deep, and barely there, and he can only pick it out in the dead of night when everything else goes quiet. He can only pick it out really when he concentrates really hard.

It might all be in his head, but Dean is also sure that he can feel a very slight vibration in the ground and the walls. He has to press against them pretty hard to be able to feel it, but it’s more noticeable in the Alone Room. Dean is pretty sure that it’s because there’s way more dirt between his feet and the hard white floor all the way down under their field than there is in the Alone Room.

The vibrations and the hum are things that Dean had stored away in his head to ask Cas about whenever they had a chance to be alone again. Since that’s never going to happen, Dean is just doomed to be tormented by unanswered questions. Maybe he might be able to figure it out himself one day, but he’s not so sure. The Vingkäitä have so many things that he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to understand. Like the doors! How do they move? Why do they only move sometimes and not always? How did they get a small-Ellen to fit in the wall? Why do the flat things in their hands talk for them when they’re fully capable of talking themselves?

And what about the sun? Dean has been tracking it. He just barely remembers how it would move across the sky when he watched it from the river bank. The sun always came from more or less the same direction, depending on the season. Here, it’s… different. It took him a while to figure out which direction was North, but once he did, he realized the sun was just not in the right position. It still moves East to West, but it’s too far to one side of the sky.

He doesn’t want to believe it’s true, but Dean thinks that this place is nowhere near his home anymore. If that’s true, then it really sucks. How is he supposed to get home if he’s so far away from it? That realization really put a damper on his escape plans when he figured that out. It’s been a few moon cycles since, and he’s still trying to figure out how he’s going to do it.

Dean zones out and doesn’t really pay that much attention while Ellen sits down in front of the new girl and explains to her about how this place works and what the Vingkäitä do for them. She talks slowly, pausing whenever the girl has a question for her.

When they’re done, Ellen smiles and puts a hand to her own chest. “And I’m Ellen. You saw the small me in the wall when you were in the other room, right?”

The girl nods and turns a suspicious look back towards the closed fur room. Dean doesn’t fault her for that. He still doesn’t trust how they were able to take Ellen, make her small, and have her say all the things that she claims she said a long time ago. It’s like they found a way to capture memories and watch them over and over again. Or it’s just magic. Dean wouldn’t put it past the Vingkäitä to have figured out how to do magic. They’re giant weird bird people, after all.

Ellen moves on to introducing everyone from the tribe one by one, giving their names and what tribe they’re from. Jo, even from the edge of the pool, shouts back to correct her when Ellen points her out as JoAnna Beth. She hates her full name, and refuses to answer to it if Bill or Ellen call her by it. Dean kinda likes it. Jo has really developed quite the little personality as she’s grown up. She’s a spitfire that can rival him any day of the week, and Dean thinks it’s hilarious.

He tries really hard not to wonder about whether or not Sammy would be the same.

It’s a little weird being the only person from the forest tribe here, but Dean is also a little proud of the fact. From what he’s heard, it seems like his tribe is the best hidden out of everyone. The sea tribe lives on the edge of open water; the mountain tribe lives at the base of a mountain; and the plains tribe crosses back and forth over a never ending field. Vingkäitä hunt from the sky, so of course it’s easier to grab the people who don’t have the protection of a thick forest. If everyone lived in trees like Dean’s tribe, they probably wouldn’t be grabbed as often.

Once everyone has been introduced, the girl shakes her hair out of her face. It’s all loose black curls spilling around her head. Dean thinks it’s really pretty, and not even just because it’s different from the hair of everyone else here.

She sniffs one last time, straightens her shoulders, and looks at each of them in turn. “I’m Cassie, of the plains tribe.”

Ellen reaches out to pat her lightly on the knee. “Well, hello, Cassie. Welcome to our tribe.” She gives a big smile, though it stays soft. “I know it’s going to be hard to adjust to it at first, but we’re all here for you. We’re no different than the tribe you had back home.”

Cassie rolls her lips together into a thin line, and her nod is really stiff. Dean is honestly impressed. She’s much more accepting of the situation than he was. He thinks differently a moment later when she looks around the camp again. They happen to catch each other’s eyes, and there’s a fire there that Dean hasn’t seen in anyone else here. He almost grins as he recognizes in her that same stubborn refusal to just accept this place for what it is.

Maybe he won’t be alone when he tries to escape now.

Chapter Text

When one of the circular doors opens, it makes a barely noticeable hissing sound while it slides through the space. It is something that Castiel rarely notices. The sound of it today catches his attention and he looks up from his work station, glancing briefly in the direction of the door to see who will be joining him. This is a shared space and there are nine other stations spaced evenly throughout the room.

Hael strides in, her talons clicking on the floor. She is one of the smaller females of Castiel’s age group, with featherless feet and narrower wings than most. Her gray feathers are accented with brown and darker gray spots over many of them. It is an attractive pattern, and Castiel finds them aesthetically pleasing. Some of Hael’s facial feathers have come in; particularly two dark ones just above her eyebrows that make her constantly look like an upset homo sapien regardless of the general neutrality of her expression.

With barely more than a nod to him, despite Castiel looking directly at her, Hael heads straight to his work station. There is a clear bowl attached to the top corner of his desk on the side closest to the door. It only rises two centimeters above the surface of the desk and has a diameter of approximately ten centimeters. Though it is not labeled, it is common knowledge throughout the entire facility – and likely throughout the entire city – that this bowl is for data chips that have to be processed.

Three data chips are dropped into the bowl before Hael turns away, taking the rest with her to another workstation. Castiel does not let his annoyance show and he sections the emotion off from his sha’ra so Hael will not be able to feel it either. Common courtesy would have been to at least acknowledge each other with a nod, but Hael has been particularly cold with him since it came to light that Castiel had been talking with Dean. Prior to that, she had been rather friendly with him during the social gatherings for their age group.

Castiel breathes out a little heavier through his nose. His wings shuffle slightly against his back and he stills the physical manifestation of his emotions immediately. He turns his attention back to the report he had been working on before Hael arrived, allowing that to distract him from wanting to analyze why his body has persistently been attempting to exhibit emotional reactions despite the control that has been instilled in him since birth.

The swirling circles and lines of the Aetherian language flow left to right across the projected space above his work station. Staring at it for too long makes it feel like he is going cross-eyed. He has been working on this report for approximately fifty-three minutes and, though he is close to finishing, he would like to rip the data chip out of the access port and throw it off the edge of the city. It was originally written by Zachariah, and Castiel is just editing it for him, but he has a penchant for composing very dry and incredibly boring reports.

Due to Naomi being his mother, Castiel has been coming here since he was very young. He is well aware that working at the Zoo does not mean that he would be working directly with the specimens. The vast majority of one’s time is spent monitoring the specimens, ensuring that their enclosures are properly maintained, compiling data, and putting together reports on said data.

Castiel is well within his rights to study the specimens in his free time, and is more than welcome to write any manner of research documents to share. But this… This is not what he wanted. He cannot say that he had hoped for more, because Aetherians do not hope. That is a concept from the homo sapiens language and their cultures. It has its merits, however, and Castiel likes it.

Though working for the Zoological annex may not be everything he wanted, Castiel is very satisfied with what he has achieved thus far. He does feel a sense of longing for the time when he used to sit above the Alpha Sector enclosure and observe the specimens while he studied. Though he is not able to do that as frequently anymore, at least he has full access to the archives and he can get what information he wishes whenever he chooses.

Thirteen lunar cycles have passed since Castiel’s application to the Zoological annex was accepted. One lunar cycle longer than a sol cycle. While impossible, it feels the sol cycle went by in no time at all. In that time, Castiel has spent no time working directly with any specimen, and he understands why. Some days, it feels like all of Ra’haya is aware of his transgressions with specimen 1-M-7. He broke exactly forty-two rules and regulations by speaking to Dean.

It was extremely fortunate that Castiel’s application to work here was still accepted in spite of all that. Granted, he did have to sign an affidavit that he would never act outside of what he is explicitly told to do again. The only unfortunate side effect of that is now he feels micromanaged compared to the rest of his colleagues. He also finds himself disappointed in the limited range of what he is allowed to do.

But that is why Castiel chooses to remain extra busy in his spare time. When he is not giving in to the habit of observing the Alpha enclosure (a habit that he is not particularly keen on breaking), he has been devoting many hours to preparing a proposal for the heads of the Life Sciences division. They oversee not only the Biology department in which the Zoo is an annex of, but also the Functional Biology and Cellular Biology departments.

Proposals are not often submitted to the heads of a division, but Castiel has determined that they are the best ones to give his to. The heads of the Life Sciences division will be able to confer with the heads of the Social Sciences division better than anyone else, and their decisions will have more weight than those in charge of his specific department. Some might see it as bypassing his immediate superiors. Castiel sees it as being efficient, especially given the secondary speciality that he took throughout the latter half of his studies.

Unlike the majority of his colleagues, Castiel also carries a degree in psychology. Preparing a proposal is simply his way of going through the proper channels to get the approval needed to continue speaking with Dean. It can be argued (and his proposal relies heavily on this) that any observations from the point when Castiel first started communicating with Dean have been ‘tainted’. He interfered and changed the experiment by doing so. Obviously. But Castiel’s proposal focuses on using this as a learning opportunity, and one that should not be overlooked.

Homo sapiens are a varied species with different cultures between regions and tribes that goes far deeper than what simple observation can determine. There is so much more about them that could be learned if Aetherians were to just speak with them.

There needs to be changes made. If not now, then someday. And Castiel wants to be the herald of that change. He does understand the stigma that could, and likely will, come of this. Sapien Sympathizers are still, as always, frowned upon. The differences in how they are treated are not subtle. If Castiel outs himself as one, he is putting the entire trajectory of his career at risk – more so than his previous transgressions already have. Which is why he needs to frame his proposal around science and study. In no way, shape, or form should it come across that he feels pity for homo sapiens, or that he wants to make their lives better in the Zoo.

In a perfect world, this species would not be kept in captivity at all. Castiel is unsure that he will be capable of instigating such a change in his lifetime. If he dedicates himself to it, he may be able to bring about some change if he lives to the highest end of the average age expectancy for Aetherians.  Approximately two-hundred sol cycles should be plenty of time to make a difference. Will it be enough, though? Will he be able to help homo sapiens?

Castiel has privately, and carefully, read through all the documents that Anna shared with him. She continues to send him documents every few lunar cycles. They have a private, highly encrypted conversation dissecting the information she receives from her sources. Castiel has not branched out beyond Anna in terms of Sapien Sympathizers. It is not something he wishes to risk, given not only his career objectives, but also his mother’s position.

Thus, Castiel must be subtle.

His proposal’s focus is on his previous rapport with Dean. He has spent hours upon hours of what little personal time he gets detailing the benefits actually speaking to Dean could give to the study of homo sapiens. Every bit of his proposal has been done alone in his room where no one, not even his mother, could look over his shoulder.

At this point in his life, Castiel is considered a young adult by Aetherian standards. Few his age will have moved out of their parents’ home unit. He has no desire to add his name to the list for those who want one of the spare living units. Regardless, he is still highly independent.

Castiel had expected that his relationship with his mother would have shifted into something more professional. They are colleagues now, and she is one of his superiors. That appears to not be the case. Naomi is as strict with him as ever, and he believes he knows why.

Aetherians like to believe that they do not have pride. Castiel knows this is not true, simply from his own feelings that he is supposed to suppress. He is certain that his mother’s ego took a severe hit when it was determined (incorrectly) that he had intentionally sabotaged several lunar cycles of observations with Dean. For that, Castiel does feel bad. It was never his intention to damage Naomi’s reputation, nor his own.

Despite doing his best to be a model son since then, things between him and Naomi have never truly recovered.

With a barely audible sigh through his nose, Castiel saves the document he had been editing prior to Hael’s arrival. It has been fully edited and he is certain even Zachariah’s high standards will be satisfied with his suggestions.

He ejects the data chip from the port on the side of his work station and snags it as he stands. Castiel bites back a groan as he stretches his arms above his head, twisting at his core to add an extra burn to the motion. All four of his wings flare out behind him, barely a rustle in their movement. Hael does not turn to investigate, but he still quickly rights himself on his way across the room.

The back wall of the work space is filled with several slots. They each have a small, glowing label beneath them indicating where they should go. Castiel deposits his data chip into the receptacle that will whisk it off through the city to the data reconciliation department. They will verify the documents before adding them to the city’s main database. From there, all citizens will be able to access it.

Only drafts of reports are kept on data chips. In the incredibly rare case of data corruption, there are back-up copies saved on the private interdepartmental network. Those reports are not available for public viewing and will remain on the network even after they have been officially published on the city-wide network.

Castiel feels the very un-Aetherian urge to yawn. He stifles it and chooses instead to roll his shoulders on his way back to his work station, fluffing the downy feathers that have begun to grow there. It will be another sol cycle at the least before the remainder of his feathers will have grown in on his shoulders. According to Naomi and the genetic design she requested, the smattering of down on his cheek bones should grow and spread into the hair at his temples and the feathers at the base of his ear-wings. He will also have feathers in abundance on his shoulders and thinning out as they spread down his arms to his knuckles.

Aetherians mature mentally and emotionally faster than their bodies do. Despite being a young adult and all the growing he has done over the last few sol cycles, Castiel still has a ways to go. At this point in time, he is currently one hundred and eighty-two point six-seven centimeters in height. Naomi has informed him he was designed to be taller than her, and she has long since reached her maximum height of two hundred and thirty four point six-nine-six centimeters. He estimates that he will be of an approximately equal height with her in a sol cycle’s time.

In comparison to homo sapiens, though not Dean specifically (but, perhaps, yes Dean specifically), Castiel has grown much more than the specimens they have in the various sector enclosures. Dean is estimated to be approximately thirteen sol cycles in age now, and was last measured to be one hundred and sixty-one point five-four-four centimeters at his last physical exam.

It is sometimes shocking how slowly homo sapiens grow. Privately, Castiel has had the occasional thought that it is… cute. An abhorrent descriptor for any Aetherian to use, certainly, but it is what he finds to best fit his feelings on the matter.

Whenever he is present for Dean’s physical exam, Castiel gets a better visual understanding of the differences between them. Certainly, it is well within his abilities to extrapolate simply from the measurements he knows, but the difference never truly occurs to him until they are standing on equal footing. And there is… something… about it that Castiel likes. He cannot place why, and it baffles him the longer he tries to sort it out in his head, but he likes the difference in their sizes.

Strangely, it appeals to something in him, and –

Castiel shakes his head slightly as he returns to crouching on the roost at his workstation. He takes a centering breath and firmly collects those thoughts to put them away. When he is home again, he can further analyse them. His work place is not an acceptable location, even if he has no issues with multitasking.

Even after all these sol cycles, too much of his attention is centered on Dean. It should be worrisome. It should be troubling. But it is not. Neither is it surprising. Dean is truly fascinating. He has been a resident of the Zoo Annex for approximately six point two-four sol cycles and he still continues to go against what previous studies have indicated would be normal behaviours for homo sapiens in his situation.

Six point two-four sol cycles and Dean continues to attempt to escape. He still sneers at Aetherians during his exam, though he has made it a point to ignore Castiel’s presence after his first and last outburst. Dean is stubborn, regardless of the punishments that have been put in place to curb his behaviours. No other specimen has spent as much time in the isolation rooms as Dean has.

A part of Castiel greatly admires that about him.

Dean may never accept his placement here. Castiel would prefer that he never does. There is fury in Dean’s eyes – a fire that burns so brightly – whenever he looks at an Aetherian. It inexplicably draws Castiel to him, and it would not be incorrect to say that solving the reason why may play a part in why he is working so ardently on his proposal.

Castiel wishes that there was something he could do that would make Dean hate both him and his species a little less. He is all too aware that it is unlikely to ever happen, but he can… hope.

Sighing quietly through his nose once again, Castiel plugs a new data chip into his work station. New documents with lines and lines of text flicker into realization in the space above his desk. They appear to be supporting documentation for the main report. The screen under his fingertips fills with what he is supposed to be editing. The number of documents far outweighs anything Castiel would think necessary, and he checks the name.

Ah, Ezekiel. He is always incredibly thorough with reports.

One of Castiel’s ear-wings flickers in annoyance before he puts a stop to it. Even if he is mildly annoyed at all the pre-research he needs to go through before he can review the actual report, he should not visibly show that. It would be improper, and he is lucky that Hael is not facing him to have seen it. Though it does take effort not to roll his eyes as he leans forward to get to work.

He should be concerned about how much he has been studying homo sapiens if he is also taking on some of their mannerisms. But he is not.

(Castiel.)

The touch to his sha’ra was expected the moment he heard the pneumatic hiss of the door, and he does not react to it other than to look up from his task. This is the closest he has come so far to getting to work with the specimens again; double checking the inventory on the carts of supplies that were prepared earlier to be delivered to the enclosures today. He has done this task many times, and it is fairly boring, but he puts no less effort into it than anything else that he does.

If it was not the scent of her when she entered the room, then it would have been the familiar touch of his mother’s sha’ra that indicated it was Naomi. She stands at the entrance to the room, not far enough within for the door sensors to close behind her. Her hands are folded neatly in the small of her back and she stands straight and rigid, surveying the neatly lined carts with a hint of disinterest.

Castiel mimics her posture and nods in greeting, ear-wings flicking back and down in deference to her superior position to his own. (Naomi.)

(I have another task for you.) She strides forward, her raptor talons sharp clacks against the hard floor, and holds out her hand for the PADD that Castiel is currently using to track the inventory. He hands it to her without question, but he does take a moment to touch her sha’ra with a pulse of curiosity. A question without fully formed thoughts or words.

Naomi glances briefly at the PADD before meeting his eyes, and it feels like she is staring straight through him. Castiel steels himself against the desire to cringe away from her.

Whatever she sees must be good enough for her. Naomi steps to one side and tilts her head towards the door. (1-M-7 is due to be returned to his enclosure. You are instructed to escort him from isolation room A-113.)

To his great shame, Castiel cannot contain his surprise. The feathers on all his wings spread, doubling them in size. His ear-wings flick upwards and he blinks at her, not quite processing the gift that he is being given.

One of Naomi’s eyebrows arches just slightly, and amusement whispers across Castiel’s sha’ra for but a moment. (I realize that this may be unexpected, but you have performed admirably and we are willing to lift some of the restrictions that have been levied against you regarding your past indiscretions where 1-M-7 is concerned.)

Castiel composes himself quickly, shoulders straightening and chin lifting. (This is a test.)

(Affirmative.) Naomi steps past him to pick up inventory where he left off. (Do not fail it.)

An unfamiliar churning sensation fills his stomach. Castiel swallows thickly and takes a step that feels shaky to him, though he knows it is as strong as usual. (I will not.)

Beneath the wave of unfounded nerves, he feels an excitement he has not felt in too long a time. Half of his mind is devoted to hiding any aspect of that as he heads through the halls to the section reserved for the isolation rooms. Dean is always placed in the same room now. Amusingly enough, Castiel is not the only one who has unofficially dubbed the room as belonging to Dean.

Castiel is tempted to go through the observation hall first to check on him through the window. It is easy to resist, and any disappointment in himself is quickly and ruthlessly quashed. This is a test, and it is one that he intends to pass. It would only lend credence to his proposal, which is nearing its completion. He should be ready to submit it to the heads of the Life Sciences division in approximately one point seven-two lunar cycles.

At the door marked A-113, Castiel scans the identification chip in his wrist. The sign next to the door acknowledges his presence and connects immediately with his designated personal PADD. With a few quick taps, he turns off the ‘occupied’ notice and erases the 1-M-7 listed beneath that. Castiel does hesitate, for just a moment, before tapping the button to open the door.

It slides open, almost silent save for the faint hiss of movement. Something tugs behind Castiel’s ribs as he takes in the quiet scene before him.

Dean is lying next to the small pond within the room. It has been observed that many homo sapiens find a water feature to be soothing, so they were added to every isolation room. Currently, Dean is kicking his feet lightly in the shallows at its edge. He has a blade of grass held between his thumbs and he’s blowing against it to make the warbling whistle that he is so fond of doing here.

For a moment, there is no reaction to his presence. But then Dean turns his head, catching sight of the open door. He sits up sharply, barely even looking at Castiel at all as he huffs. “About fucking time!”

Castiel’s eyebrows twitch together briefly, and he glances down at his PADD. He runs the translation program on the one word Dean used that he does not know. Ah, a vulgar term used as an exclamation to express annoyance, contempt, or impatience. Castiel is amused that this is how Dean’s vocabulary has been expanding. He wonders which of the members of his tribe have taught him to use foul language.

It is one of the many questions that Castiel files away to ask another time, should he ever get the chance to speak with Dean directly again. Now is not the time to do that, and he taps through the translation program to make it speak for him:

Please come with me.

Dean rolls his eyes dramatically and lopes out of the room. He shoves past Castiel, not even sparing him a glance. Castiel cannot help but notice how much Dean has grown. More than that, he realizes that his extrapolation was wrong. Logically, he knows that there is only a fifteen point two-four centimeters difference between their last measured heights. Now, as Dean walks by, Castiel finds that the difference between them is not as stark as he first thought it would be.

When they first met, they were approximately the same height. They could look each other in the eye easily. Now, even if Dean grew to be one hundred and eighty-two centimeters, roughly, they would never be the same height again. Castiel is expected to grow at least another forty-five point seven-two centimeters.

This is… amusing. In fact, he might almost say it is pleasing. There is something inside of Castiel, something nameless and buried beneath so much Aetherian teaching and control, that likes that he is bigger than Dean. For the life of him, he does not quite understand why. It is a simple fact that Aetherians are bigger than homo sapiens in all matters.

In all their sol cycles of observing this species, very few have ever been found that have been the same height as an Aetherian. Even then, they appeared somewhat gangly. Their proportions were off just enough to make them look odd compared to their average counterparts. Aetherians are designed to be perfect, and they are adequately proportioned in all their aspects.

As Castiel often says about homo sapiens, and Dean in particular, they are simply fascinating.

Dean is already walking in the direction that leads back to the enclosure. Castiel follows close behind, his eyes focused on Dean while his mind turns over all that had been brought to light in those few seconds at the door to the isolation room. Absolutely no guidance is required to get Dean back to the enclosure, as it appears that he has memorized the route on his own, but Castiel is on edge just enough to be prepared should he attempt to run. Again.

Twenty-two. Dean has bolted for his chance at freedom in these halls twenty-two times since he was first collected. The route is never the same. Yes, he may head North, but he will take the Western branch one day, and the Eastern the next. Or he will follow what routes he can down one branch before attempting the other.

Castiel is positive, without a shadow of a doubt, that Dean is building a mental map of the layout of the halls. It is admirable of him, though this is not the method that will lead to his freedom. Without an identification chip in his wrist, no door will open for him. The halls are limited. One day, and likely someday soon, he will find their end.

It is an impressive feat for a homo sapien. Dean will be the only one of his kind in the Zoo Annex to have figured this out. Castiel should be impressed by that. He is, in some way, but that is not what he finds himself thinking about now. Instead, he is distracted by the fact that Dean insists on going around shirtless. Not all male members of the Alpha enclosure do that, but Dean does. Is it particular to Dean, or his specific tribe?

Another question to the ever growing list.

Castiel finds himself watching the flex of muscles in Dean’s back as he walks. He has extensively studied the homo sapien anatomy of both sexes for as long as he can remember. Given his eidetic memory, that is almost his entire existence. Regardless, he still finds it weird to see a back devoid. Weird, but not displeasing. It is simply… different. A difference that he, once again, finds himself liking.

Realizing that this is an inappropriate line of thought, Castiel averts his eyes. He keeps his gaze focused forward at a point above Dean’s head and forcefully keeps his mind clear.

When they reach the entry to the enclosure, Castiel uses his PADD to open the door into the transition room. Dean walks through without issue, thankfully. He does stop halfway through the room, though, and looks back over his shoulder with a glare. He sticks his tongue out before turning away again with a huff. Castiel says nothing in response, but he is amused. He is almost always amused by Dean’s antics.

It is common practice to wait until the specimen has gone through the main door before closing both. Castiel is waiting, his finger just above the button on his PADD screen that will open the main door. But Dean does not take another step towards it. He turns around sharply again, eyes wide and mouth open, set in an expression that Castiel is certain means surprise.

Castiel switches to the translation program again and quickly types into it. Is there something further I can assist you with?

Dean looks him up and down, the surprise falling into a scrutinizing squint. His focus seems to center on Castiel’s wings and his face. When he finally speaks again, he sounds confused. “Cas?”

It takes an extreme amount of effort to not react in surprise. Castiel keeps himself contained and simply nods in response. Apparently, that was not the correct response. Dean’s frown only deepens. He huffs loudly, lip curling in a sneer, and turns on his heel. His steps to the inner door are heavy, and he hammers his fist against it several times.

Confused, Castiel quickly keys the inner door open. He tilts his head slightly, watching as Dean slaps the foliage out of the way before disappearing through into the enclosure. Castiel blinks one, twice, thrice, before closing both of the doors. What an interesting reaction. Before returning to Naomi, he takes a moment to log the interaction in Dean’s file.

Naomi has finished the task by the time he gets back to the room. It is not a long task, and she is both quick and efficient. Castiel is not surprised that she is done and still waiting for him.

She hands the PADD back to him and touches his sha’ra with a hint of curiosity. (How did it go?)

(Satisfactorily.) Castiel tucks his personal PADD away and reviews her confirmations on the PADD she gave him. (I only communicated with 1-M-7 through the PADD. It became apparent when I was letting him into the enclosure that he did not recognize me up until that point.)

One of Naomi’s eyebrows twitches up. She looks him over, less scrutinizing than Dean did. (I am not surprised that he did not recognize you at first. You have certainly grown in the sol cycles since you last interacted with him, and 1-M-7 is a very dismissive specimen of everything Aetherian.)

Castiel hesitates momentarily before answering. He does not like going against her, but this could lend in his favour when it comes time to submit his proposal. (I disagree.) He braces himself when her other eyebrow goes up too. (1-M-7 is remarkably observant of his surroundings.)

To emphasise his point, Castiel pulls up a recording from Dean’s file on the PADD in his hand. He passes it back to her for review. (I have noticed that at least once per lunar cycle, 1-M-7 will check to see if the restrictive barrier is still in place above the walls of his enclosure. And I believe that he is mapping the hallways. Today’s lapse in recognition is merely due to the fact that he did not look directly at me until we had reached the enclosure.)

Naomi watches the clip that he had selected for her. It is one of Dean crouched on a tree branch near the wall and throwing stones at the top of it. One of her ear-wings twitches slightly in thought before she hands him the PADD again. (In any case, it is fortunate that today went well. I will make you no promises, but it is under consideration to grant you more time with the specimens. It will be contingent on your ability to maintain your high levels of performance.)

Castiel’s heart lurches slightly in his chest. Though he is standing within a building far from the sky, he experiences a somewhat giddy feeling reminiscent of free falling. As an Aetherian, he does not believe in hope, nor luck of any sort. But being told this does make him feel… hopeful.

Of course he does not let any of that show. Instead, Castiel nods his head and lowers his ear-wings slightly in an Aetherian bow. Normally he would not bow to his mother like this, but at the moment she is not his mother. She is his superior at work, and he must show her the required respect for it.

(Thank you, Naomi. I look forward to continuing to earn further responsibilities.)

She returns the nod, but does not lower her ear-wings in a bow as well. Without another word, she leaves the room. Castiel takes a few moments to breathe and find his calm center again. This is not something he had been anticipating to happen today, but it is a good thing. Not only for the fact that he got to see Dean again.

With inventory finished, Castiel sends notice to those in charge of delivery. He submits the report into the system and heads off to take care of his next task of the day.

The waiting room, like everything Aetherian, is simple and stark in its design. One wall is entirely composed of windows. Castiel does have to give it credit, the view is spectacular as this building is situated towards the edge of Ra’haya. He can see out beyond the raised city edge, and only a fraction of the view is obscured by one of Ra’haya’s rings.

Another wall of the room has a fairly large painting of Atan’ael and what it once looked like in all its glory. The painting takes up the majority of the wall. Art is not rare in Aetherian culture, but it is frowned upon to use it as one’s only contribution to society. Science, the pursuit of knowledge, and continuing to advance their species is considered most desirable. Art, music, and anything else creative is only acceptable as a hobby.

There are two perches beneath the painting. A replicator and its corresponding chute stands between the roosts. If he so desired, Castiel could get himself a beverage or snack through the replicator. He is not sure he could possibly stomach it. It feels like every organ in his body has relocated itself to his throat, despite every discipline he attempts to calm the rapid beat of his heart. Aetherians are not supposed to get nervous.

Castiel stands in front of the windows with his hands held in the small of his back. He stares out at the clouds beyond the city’s edge, but does not truly see anything. His shoulders are rigid and his wings folded tight; every muscle held tense to the point that he would be trembling if he was not purposely holding himself still. He tries to keep his mind blank so he does not focus and fret over what is taking place in the room to his left.

Occasionally, Castiel can feel the brush of other sha’ra against his own. Always it is simply another Aetherian passing within range; either on another floor, outside, or in the hall to his right. No one reaches out to him. No one has entered this room since the heads of the Life Sciences Division went into what accounts for their council chambers. Naomi, as one of the managers of the Biology department, and a few other of Castiel’s supervisors went in with them, and that was approximately two hours and twelve minutes ago.

He is too nervous to even crouch comfortably on one of the available perches. If he did not have such tight control of himself, he would be tapping his talons against the floor. Worse yet, he could even be pacing. Energy is building up within him, and all he can do is hold it back and wait.

Proposal reviews always take time. Some require multiple meetings. Some are approved the same day as the heads convene. This is nothing out of the ordinary, but Castiel still cannot help but think that they may be taking this long because they are refuting every point he had in his proposal. They may be formulating a rejection right now, and his stomach tightens at the thought of it.

Aetherians do not get nervous.

Castiel closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths. He forces his body to relax, focusing on each muscle cluster until he has loosened up somewhat. The feeling still persists in the pit of his stomach, no matter how much he tries to analyze it in an attempt to make it stop. He has never been this anxious before, not even when awaiting the punishment after it had first been revealed that he had spoken with Dean.

It was two days ago when Castiel had submitted his proposal. It was a hefty document arguing why they should capitalize on Dean being compromised. Additional experiments and psychological exams could be conducted to further expand their knowledge on this species. Further discussion with Dean could only advance scientific understanding of homo sapiens. Dean is utterly homo sapien in every way; a perfect example of humanity that Castiel believes could only benefit Aetherians in the study of his people if only they were given the chance to metaphorically pick his brain.

Admittedly, Castiel is fairly biased about this, but he could not identify a downside to his proposal. The only part of his proposal they make take issue with is that he has asked that he be the one to conduct the interviews with Dean. But, again, he had excellent arguments for that. While Dean might be antagonistic with all Aetherians, himself included, Castiel is the only one with whom Dean has willingly interacted with.

Castiel is strangely proud of this fact, though he has never pointed it out prior to his proposal.

After two days of agonizing about it, the heads of the department summoned him to their meeting chamber early this morning. Castiel spent what feels like ages but was only approximately one hour and seven minutes defending his proposal to the question they put forth. It is a common practice for all proposals, and he was perfectly calm and composed during the question and answer period. But it has been more than an additional two hours since he stepped out of the room and the waiting is becoming unbearable. Is it like this for everyone?

He has helped Naomi prepare for defending her own proposals in the past, so it was nothing new to him. The only difference is, perhaps, that Castiel did not have her return the favour for his first official proposal. Naomi was surprised to learn that he had submitted one of his own. Castiel did not want to ask her to assist him with it, if only because he was not entirely certain that she would not attempt to argue with him about the necessity of it.

Would he still be this anxious if he had prepared with her prior to today? This is not an emotion that he is familiar with, and part of him wishes to start pacing or find another outlet for the building energy with him. Nervous ticks are often observed in homo sapiens, but it is not something that Aetherians do. Castiel is Aetherian, and he finds that he needs to remind himself of that more often than he should.

Perhaps it is because he watches the specimens so often. Dean has a particular fondness for pacing when he is exhibiting anxious behaviours. His temper also shortens considerably and he is more likely to pick a fight with those of his enclosure that he clashes with the most. Specifically specimen 1-M-5.

Castiel is aware that he spends a considerable amount of time focusing on a single specimen. It is improper, somewhat, that he finds his thoughts often drifting to Dean. Or, on occasion, Castiel will find himself associating whatever task is at hand to Dean; thinking about how he might approach a problem, or how he, as a homo sapien, would even react to the various aspects of Aetherian society.

It is an obsession. An infatuation. It is unbecoming of both an Aetherian and one of his position.

And yet, Castiel has no desire to change this.

This may be something that he can never let anyone know. Not even Anna, who has become the closest to a confidant that Castiel has ever had, if only because of their shared Sapien Sympathizer ideals. All that he can do to hide his fascination with Dean is to frame everything in science, as is the Aetherian way. It is the easiest way to think of him.

Castiel wants to know everything about Dean. What makes him do all that he does? What was his life like before he was collected? Why is he so friendly with the most recent addition to his enclosure, but not with the other young female of approximately the same age? Why does he –

Any further cataloguing of all the things he wants to ask Dean some day is interrupted by the soft hiss of the door opening to his left. Castiel turns quickly to face the door. Of the five heads of the Life Sciences division, only two step out of the conference chamber now; Lucifer and Abaddon, and Naomi is with them. Castiel almost wishes that it was anyone else who came out of that room with his mother. He finds both Lucifer and Abaddon to be particularly intimidating.

Abaddon is a red haired and feathered female with sharp, calculating eyes and a penchant for wearing decorative jewelry draped and wrapped around her halo. Like Castiel, she has feathered feet from which her talons poke out. And, for some reason that he has yet to determine, Abaddon prefers to wear black outfits. She is, for lack of a better word, terrifying, and the jewelry and colour of her clothing does nothing to temper that. If anything, it somehow adds to it.

Lucifer is equally terrifying. There is nothing particularly impressive about the colouring of his hair, a common sandy blonde, but his facial feathers are more numerous than most Aetherians. They’re spread in an odd mottled pattern of red and black across his cheek bones. His wings match his facial feathers in colour, and are fairly large compared to most Aetherians. It is not any of his physical descriptors that sets Castiel’s feathers on edge. There is something about him that is simply unsettling. Lucifer is loose and relaxed like Balthazar, but not at all in a similar fashion.

Strangely, Castiel’s mouth goes dry. He tries very hard not to move beyond giving them all a polite bow. No fidgeting, no trembling, no movement beyond what would be expected of him. Both Abaddon and Lucifer nod in return, though they do not flick their ear-wings in a bow. Neither one does more than gently touch his sha’ra in acknowledgement of him. There is, however, almost a curling in the corner of Abaddon’s mouth, but she turns away with Lucifer and they leave through the other door together.

Castiel swallows thickly around a lump in his throat. His heart is pounding hard in his chest and he turns to face his mother fully. She touches his sha’ra and Castiel almost starts in surprise at the pride he feels radiating from her. It staggers him. He has not felt that from her since before he shamed them both with his actions regarding Dean.

Naomi strides forward and leans down to press her forehead against his. (Congratulations, Castiel. Your argument was nearly flawless and your proposal has been accepted.)

Chapter Text

The Alone Room doesn’t get any better over the seasons. Dean kicks his feet in the little pond, angled so he can stare up through the hole in the ceiling and see the sky. It’s boring, and half the time he ends up here is because Dick is a gigantic asshole. At least Dick also gets dragged off to another room of his own whenever they fight, but it’s not half as satisfying as it used to be. In any case, Dean really hopes that Dick’s room is smaller and more boring than this one. Yeah, that would make him happy.

They had another fist fight today. Dean feels like it was completely justified because Dick made some really inappropriate comments about Cassie and the friendship Dean has with her. He only said it loud enough for Dean to hear, thankfully, and totally deserved losing a tooth over that. Though Vingkäitä will probably just fix it for him before they bring him back. Stupid Vingkäitä. They should just let Dick suffer the consequences of being a jerk.

But Ellen and Bill were giving Dean their disappointed face as he was being taken away. Do they always do that? He can’t remember, mostly because the Vingkäitä knock him out first the majority of the time that he’s taken away for the Alone Room. Dean gets a sick, queasy kind of feeling in his stomach when any of the other adults get disappointed with him. He doesn’t like it, and he might have to apologize to them when he gets back. Cassie tells him all the time that it’s good to communicate, and that’s something she’s getting him to work on.

It’s really hard, though. The older he gets (and Dean will be entering his fourteenth year soon this coming summer), the more he dislikes Dick. He doesn’t understand how any of the others can put up with him. Dick is always making snide comments that skirt the line of being insulting, and they’re not just about Dean. He makes them about everyone in the tribe, and they all just… put up with it. Dean doesn’t. He refuses.

Otehkö used to have a saying about that. He called it ‘rocking the boat’. Dick rocks the boat and knows that everyone else won’t fight him because they want to keep the boat steady. Dean won’t have it though. Let the damn boat tip. Maybe it’ll get Dick out of their camp for good. Because Dean didn’t let Dick walk all over him when he was kid, and he’d rather go with the spirits than let it happen now that he’s technically an adult.

Sorta.

By his own tribe’s standards, Dean would be an adult. But this isn’t his tribe, and they never did a totem ceremony, so it’s very likely that he’ll never be truly seen as an adult. Not in the eyes of their guiding spirits, at least. He might not even end up in the correct afterlife if he’s not an adult and doesn’t have a totem to guide his spirit when he dies. Not to mention not having a guide through the rest of his life.

The ceremony should have happened this last summer. Dean waited, and waited, but no one ever mentioned it happening. He didn’t want to bring it up, only to be told that it’s not something they do here. Maybe he should ask Frank about it, since he’s chock full of answers and won’t tip toe around giving them.

It’s not really fair, though, is it? All the adults have totems of their own. Dean knows because he’s seen the carvings. Everyone got their little totem and they carry it on themselves in some way. Most people wear it as a necklace, but Rowena keeps hers on a length of leather that she uses to tie up her hair or wears as a necklace. Rufus and Victor both wear theirs on the cords that keep up their leggings or loincloths.

The difference between the rest of the adults and Dean is that they all got their totems before they were brought here. It’s possible that they don’t want to hold a totem ceremony here because none of them are Shamans. They might not be connected enough with the spirit world to be able to run a ceremony properly. If they did it, Dean might end up with the wrong totem and that could seriously mess up the rest of his life.

A part of him thinks that they won’t do a ceremony here because the Vingkäitä are always watching. A totem ceremony is personal and probably unique to each tribe. He would hate for the Vingkäitä to learn about something they have no business knowing just because he was selfish enough to want to know his totem and spirit guide.

If he’s meant to have one, he’ll meet his totem someday.

For now, it’s probably best that he doesn’t mention it to the others. If he doesn’t bring it up, then there are no awkward questions to answer. May and Jo probably don’t even know what a totem ceremony is, since they were both born here. Dean can’t remember anyone ever actually saying anything specific about their totems, so May and Jo might not even know about them at all.

That’s kind of sad, actually. They’re both so disconnected from their people and culture because the Vingkäitä stole May before she was even born, and Jo was conceived and born here.

But, maybe it doesn’t matter in the end? Yeah, sure, totems are tradition, and, of course, he’s pretty worried about what will happen to him when it’s his time to cross over into the next world. But… What if it’s all just a silly superstition?

Your totem is your guardian, and they reveal themselves to you at the ceremony in your thirteenth year when you become an adult. They’re supposed to watch over you from the day you’re born, and well after you pass. If that’s the case, then why didn’t his totem protect him? Why didn’t everyone’s totems keep them safe? Where they always meant to be here, and that’s why the totems didn’t save them from being taken by the Vingkäitä?

Ugh, that’s not something he even wants to consider. What could possibly be the reason the spirits would let him be taken by freaky bird people? He’s trapped here, and what could the spirits do for him now? For all Dean knows, he might not even be a part of his world anymore. Maybe he died and this is his afterlife, and he’ll never be able to go back to his home because that was his last life.

It makes his head hurt, but he can’t really imagine any other reasons. The Vingkäitä have such strange things. They’re strange things. Everything here is like nothing he’s ever seen back home, or anything that anyone has probably ever imagined before. How can this possibly be the same world as where his tribe lives? It’s not like there are other worlds besides his own. This has to be a different life. But if that’s the case, then why can he remember so clearly the life he had back with his tribe? He can’t remember any lives before that, so… What’s the answer here?

If this is the same life, but not the same world, then where did the Vingkäitä come from? He’s never seen anything like them in the forest before, but they’ve been around for generations. Are they really something of his world, or are they from somewhere else? If they are, then where did they come from? Was it a part of the world he hasn’t seen yet? From across the ocean? The other side of the mountains?

Dean has so many questions piling up inside his head, and no one to ask them to. Once upon a time, he would’ve asked them to Cas, but they haven’t talked in ages, and they probably won’t ever again. Cas has kept his distance since Dean’s first exam. He never comes to the Alone Room anymore, and Dean can’t remember seeing him watching with the other Vingkäitä during his exams.

There have been a few times that Dean has seen Cas up on the see-through bridge. Occasionally, Cas is even one of the Vingkäitä who bring supplies to the camp. And there was that one time when Cas was the one who brought Dean back to the camp from the Alone Room. But he hasn’t spoken to Dean again. When he did speak, he used that stupid flat thing that all the Vingkäitä carry around with them.

It’s been a while since Cas started wearing the same kind of outfits as all the rest of the Vingkäitä that Dean sees here. And he carries the same kind of stuff as the others, like that weapon thing that they always use to put Dean to sleep. He’s gotten so tall, so maybe he’s not considered a kid anymore either? Cas is probably working at this place now, like the other Vingkäitä. Just another asshole controlling Dean’s life from a distance.

He doesn’t want to admit to it, but a small quiet little voice in the back of his mind admits that he’s disappointed. Dean thought Cas was different, but he’s not. He’s the same. He’s just another Vingkäitä.

Ow.

Dean rubs his jaw where it still aches slightly. Dick punched him pretty hard today. The Vingkäitä fixed up his split lip while he was unconscious, but they didn’t do much for the ache. At least it’s not bleeding, but it’ll probably bruise something awful before he goes back to camp. Will they fix it if they come pick him and notice that he’s all bruised up? Probably not. They might just let him suffer for it now because they’re sick of him getting in fights with Dick all the time.

Grumbling quietly to himself, Dean leans over the pond and splashes water on his face. It’s a comfortable temperature, though not cool. He hasn’t felt honest to goodness cold water in a really long time. Everything here is lukewarm at best, even when it sits in the shade in clay pots. Another tally in the basket for why this place sucks.

He rubs the water out of his eyes and shakes his head to get rid of the rest. Movement catches his attention off to the side of him and he glances up, blinking away the last drops from his bangs. Holy shit, that’s Cas isn’t it? Yup, sure is. Right there on the other side of the clear wall is the asshole himself. It’s been a really, really, really long time since he was there last, and Dean kinda doesn’t know what to do.

They stare at each other for a long moment. Cas has his head tilted a little to the side. All his wings are held close and prim, and he has that stupid flat thing in his hands again. There are more feathers on Cas’s face and shoulders now. He’s taller too, though Dean can’t tell if he’s even taller now than when Cas took him back to the camp that one time.

The Cas of his memories definitely didn’t fill out as much of the clear wall as this one does. Back then, Cas’s shoulders just barely were higher than the edge of the ground that Dean is sitting on. Now he’s practically eye level with Dean when he’s sitting up. Everything about him is bigger, and Dean really, really, really hates it.

Yeah, okay. He’s grown too, but definitely not that much. Bill says that Dean hasn’t had his growth spurt yet, but it’s probably coming. It better, especially since Dean’s otehkö was one of the tallest men in the tribe. Dean is fully expecting to be just as tall, if not taller than him some day. But that day feels like it’s forever away.

On the bright side, Dean is definitely aware that he’s growing. He’s getting hair in places he didn’t have it before, and Rowena has flat out refused to make him any more clothing. There’s no point, because they’re getting tight for him with a few moons anyways. At this point, all of Dean’s old clothing is getting repurposed for the girls if not being broken down into strips that can be used for something else.

Which means that Dean has no leggings to wear. He’s making do with a loin cloth which is just one long strip of fabric that’s tucked between his legs and folded over a stretch of leather around his waist. It covers his frontside and his backside, and that’s good enough for him. Though it does kind of make Dean feel like he’s a child again, running around in just a loin cloth. But he understands that it’s not practical to waste their limited materials on making him fitted clothing all the time.

Eventually, after they stare at each other for what has got to be way too long, Cas steps back. He doesn’t leave, like Dean half-expects him to. Instead, he steps all the way to the far side of the tunnel until he’s backed against the other wall. His eyes drop from Dean to the stupid flat thing, and then he’s dropping into the crouch that all Vingkäitä do instead of sitting like a normal person.

Way to emphasize the whole not normal-ness of your people, Cas.

But he’s just crouched there, same as he used to do all those seasons ago. Dean doesn’t realize that his jaw has dropped (even if only a little bit) as Cas just goes about tap-tap-tapping at the flat thing. It’s kind of disorienting, because there he is looking all adult like with no more of the baby fat in his face, but Dean can still see the smaller Cas doing that.

What’s the big deal? This doesn’t make any sense. What changed for Cas to come back and start doing the things he used to do?

Dean frowns and squints at Cas, trying to figure out what he’s actually up to here. But Cas doesn’t seem like he’s doing much of anything. It’s tappity-tap-tap and then the occasional glance up, as if he’s checking on Dean, and then back to tap-tap. Every time he looks up, he makes eye-contact with Dean, and that sets the hairs on the back of his neck on edge.

After three separate eye-contact occasions and absolutely nothing else happening, Dean sighs very loudly and ups his squint into a glare. “Go away, Cas.”

Cas’s head wings perk up slightly, angling a little as he tilts his head. There’s a twitch in his face. Just a little one that Dean might not have noticed if he wasn’t glaring as hard as he is. But the twitch makes it look like his eyes are smiling even though his mouth doesn’t move at all.

Instead of leaving, Cas balances the flat thing on his knees and crosses his arms over top of it. He doesn’t move beyond that. Just sits there and watches Dean, eyes bright and intense. Like a creep. That’s what Cas is. He’s a creep.

It’s almost like they’re having a staring contest. Dean doesn’t want to lose, but he also doesn’t want to give Cas the satisfaction of having even another moment of his attention. With a sniff, he turns away and flops down on the grass. Maybe he can just pretend that Cas isn’t there.

Dean gropes through the grass of a nice, thick blade. He brings it to his mouth, squished between his thumbs, and blows against it to make a grass whistle. It’s one of the few ways he can entertain himself here. Maybe he should start keeping whittling tools in his pouch, instead of just snacks. Except that he’s not sure if the Vingkäitä check him for weapons or anything before bringing them here. They might confiscate a whittling knife if they found it on him.

A grass whistle is only so entertaining, and it doesn’t take long for Dean to get bored of it. Eventually, he just turns on his side, making sure to put his back to Cas. Maybe he can fall asleep. Take a little nap to make the time in here pass by a little quicker. It’s either that or stare at the wall since it’s so damn boring in the Alone Room. Dick’s an asshole for making Dean come here as often as he does.

Time crawls by and Dean probably does fall asleep at some point. He’s not really sure, because one moment he’s bored out of his wits, and the next the door is opening and he’s jerking upright feeling groggy. Cas is standing in the doorway, the flat thing tucked into a wide, flat pocket hanging on his hip. He tilts his head down the tunnel and Dean scrambles to get up. Normally, he’d be annoyed by the lack of communication. But he can’t be bothered to care when it means that he can leave the Alone Room.

Cas has Dean walk ahead of him all the way back. Each step makes Dean angry, because why is Cas back if he’s just not going to speak to him ever again? He’s stomping by the time they reach the first door, and he stomps through the fur room, not looking at Cas once because fuck him, that’s why.

The door opens for him when he gets to it, but a quiet noise from behind him keeps Dean from going through right away.

“Have a good day, Dean.”

He turns around, quick as he can, but the tunnel door is already closed and Cas is gone. His voice is deeper than Dean remembers. Maybe it was because he seemed to be whispering? Whatever it was, Cas definitely spoke to him, right? That was – What? Why now? What’s changed? Dean is... Very confused. Cas stopped talking to him a long time ago, didn’t he?

Oh, Cas is in for it now. Dean is going to have some words for him the next time they see each other. Some very annoyed, very angry words.

“Hey, did you know that you’re an asshole? Figured you should know.”

Dean rocks his head to the side so he can see Cas’s reaction to that. One of Cas’s eyebrows twitches, and he looks down at the flat thing. After a moment of tapping at it, both eyebrows come together very slightly. He’s not as expressive as he used to be when he was a kid. Dean doesn’t like it.

Cas looks up at him again, expression just this side of vaguely confused. Dean flips him off, because what else can he do when Cas doesn’t understand that he’s insulting him. He turns away before he can see Cas look even more confused, or before he starts looking at the flat thing again. This isn’t sulking, but Dean is definitely pissed. They took his knife like he thought they would, and now he can’t whittle.

Donatello has been teaching him how to do that. Dean has been working on trying to make a flute for Cassie. She used to have one back in her tribe and she misses it. He really wants to hear her play, and they don’t really have any instruments here other than drums, so those are so easy to make. Someone could probably make a few different kinds of stringed instruments, but he hasn’t seen anyone do it and he definitely doesn’t have the know-how to do it himself.

Maybe Cas would know, but Dean would rather bite through his tongue than ask that asshole anything. Cas is such a jerk for visiting again and never saying anything. It’s grating on Dean’s last nerve, and he’s already yelled at Cas about it, shouting until his throat hurt. But Cas just stared at him from the other side of the clear wall, mouth shut, face blank, and eyes wide.

Now Dean’s tired and annoyed, and really confused. He didn’t do anything today that deserves time in the Alone Room. Cas brought him here for no reason whatsoever. Just waltzed right into the field and gestured for Dean to follow him. It’s not even time for Dean’s exam.

The only time Dean knows about where someone was taken outside of the exam time was before he came here, when Ellen was asked to say the words that the small-Ellen in the wall says to all the new people in the fur room. Dean thought that something like that would be happening now, but Cas just brought him to the Alone Room. Then he showed up on the other side of the clear wall, hunkered down in the tunnel, and didn’t say a damn word.

“Yeah, definitely an asshole.” Dean looks back up at the ceiling and grumbles mostly to himself.

Cas makes a soft snorting noise and Dean can’t not look at him when he actually makes a sound. He’s just crouched on the other side of the tunnel, feathers a little fluffier than they were a few moments ago. Dean wrinkles his nose and sticks his tongue out at him. All that gets is another stupid little head tilt, and then Cas looks back down at the flat thing.

Dean is going to break that thing if he ever gets his hands on it.

More out of frustration than any actual hope that Cas might answer, Dean gestures at the thing in Cas’s hands. “What’s so special about that thing that you’re always looking at it, huh?”

Cas isn’t going to answer him, of course. Why would he? This whole thing is some kind of weird torture method meant to drive Dean out of his mind. That’s the only reason he can think of why Cas would – Uh. Wait, what?

To Dean’s great surprise, Cas stands up. He crosses to Dean’s side of the tunnel and stands right on the other side of the clear wall. Dean turns around to face Cas properly, frowning just as hard as ever but watching him closely. What’s he up to?

The flat thing has always been blank, though just a little bit see-through on the bottom half of it. That’s the only side Dean ever sees. It’s always confused him, because if it’s see-through, then what is Cas always looking at on it? He never expected to find out without some act of violence being done to get one of these flat things away from a Vingkäitä. But Cas likes to pull the ground out from under Dean’s feet all the time, and he does it again now.

When Cas turns the flat thing around for Dean to see the top side, he’s not expecting the thing to have a faint glow to it, or for it to be covered in so many symbols and drawings. The symbols loop and swirl and connect to each other, just like the symbols on the backs of the necks of everyone in the camp. At the bottom of the flat thing is a very colourful painting with more detail to it than any painting Dean has ever seen before. It’s a forest, and a pulse of aching nostalgia ricochets through his chest as he’s reminded of home.

Cas turns the thing away, taps at it a few times, and then turns it back. Everything on it has changed and now there’s a very detailed, crisp painting of a person. He points at the painting and then at Dean, repeating the gesture a few times. It doesn’t take a genius to understand what he’s getting at, and Dean stares hard at the painting.

So, that’s what he looks like, huh? That’s kinda neat, actually.

Dean has his hands and face pressed to the clear wall, watching closely as Cas puts a finger to the bottom of the painting and slowly slides it up towards the top. He gets briefly distracted, because now he’s got an even more up close and personal view of the tiny feathers growing on the back of Cas’s hands. They spread thinly in little speckles of rainbow black up his arms.

Even his nails are different from Dean’s. They’re just a little longer than should be comfortable for anyone, and come to a point at the tip. It looks sharp, almost like a claw. He could probably do some decent damage with those, if he had to resort to his hands instead of the weapon that just puts people to sleep.

Those small differences between them only distracts Dean for a moment, because then he notices that everything on the flat thing is moving and holy shit. As Cas drags his finger upwards, the painting goes with it, sliding up and away into nowhere at the top of the flat thing. More symbols slide into view underneath it, taking the painting’s place.

“Holy shit.” Dean barely breathes the words. He sits up a little more, craning his neck to try and see where they went.

Cas moves his finger down again, and all the symbols disappear beyond the bottom edge. The painting of Dean comes back, looking for all the world like it never left. It’s really weird, and Dean is having a hard time trying to wrap his head around whatever this flat thing is. Where is everything going when it leaves? The best he can liken it to is a stretch of painted fabric or hide being rolled up or unrolled at either end.

But where does it all roll up? The flat thing isn’t that big. And it’s flat. Completely and utterly flat. There’s no space for fabric or hide or anything. It doesn’t make sense, but Dean can’t look away. He watches intently as Cas flicks his fingers and everything whips across the screen in a blur of different symbols.

And then it all disappears. Cas taps something on the edge of the flat thing, and all the symbols and drawings vanish. There are more left in their place, but it’s different. It’s more like little circles with tiny little symbols beneath them. Cas taps one of those, and it swells to fill the whole surface. And now there are so many paintings, all of which Dean recognizes.

The paintings are of the camp and the others. Cassie, Lily, May, Dick, Donatello, Dean. Cas slides his fingers from bottom to top, and there are countless paintings of everyone from the camp. But it’s not the same as the first one Dean saw of himself. These all look like they were painted while looking down from above. As if someone had been standing in a tall tree and painting what they could see on the ground below.

Who could have painted all of these? The lines are so crisp. It’s almost as if Dean was looking at them in real life. These are better than his memories, even. But then how did they get from whatever they were painted on into this flat thing? Are Vingkäitä able to paint multiple paintings on this thing? That’s... He knew they had things he could never even imagine, but this is... An infinite fabric full of paintings. Amazing.

Next, Cas puts two fingers together over one of the paintings. Slowly, he spreads them apart. When he does, the painter gets bigger and bigger until it fills the whole surface of the flat thing. It’s another picture of him, and Dean really gives it a close look this time. He’s been able to see blurry, shifting reflections of himself in water before, but this is different. This is exactly as others see him, isn’t it?

Dean always knew that he had sandy hair. It’s kept short all the time so it’s not something that Dick can grab if they get into a fight, and it won’t get caught on branches. Plus, short hair takes less effort to maintain. There are a few hairs coming in on his chin, but they must be too small to see in this painting. He can definitely feel them when he touches his face, and they’re kind of annoying. The painting also shows all the freckles he has on his face, chest, shoulders, and arms. They’re faint, but the painting is still detailed enough to be able to see them on his tanned skin.

That’s all stuff that Dean knew about himself, but this... Now he can see the shape of his face, the curve of his mouth, the line of his nose, the green of his eyes. He can see the cut of his shoulders and how he holds himself. He looks... angry. His eyes are hard, though he’s not sure what he’s looking at.

He touches his face and frowns slightly. Does he always look that angry? Yeah, he gets angry a lot, but he’s kind of scary. No wonder Jo doesn’t like playing with him very often. Cassie always tells him to lighten up, but... He can’t always just let it go. Most of Dean’s anger is towards the Vingkäitä and how much he hates this place, but Cassie is helping. She’s great to have around, especially because she hates this place just as much as he does.

Just like the totem ceremony, no one else wants to talk about it. They’ve all been here for so long that they don’t see a point in it anymore. Dean has tried telling them that they don’t have to live like this. They could try and escape like he does, but they’re all too used to it here. Even if some of them don’t particularly like it here, they’ve just... accepted it.

Half the fights with Dick are when he’s telling Dean to shut up about it all, but he won’t. He refuses to. He’s going to get out of here if it kills him, and –

“Holy shit.”

Dean gapes as Cas actually smiles at him again. It's close lipped, but the corners of his mouth twitch up enough to give him little creases that could somewhat count as laugh lines. It’s enough of a smile to make Dean’s whole brain grind to a halt because he can’t remember ever seeing a Vingkäitä smile. Maybe, when they first met, Cas might’ve smiled once upon a time, but Dean’s memories aren’t bringing anything up right now to confirm it because holy shit Cas is smiling.

The smile ends too soon and drops away. Cas stands to his full height and turns the flat thing back to himself. He starts tapping away at it, and Dean scowls again. This time, though, he’s not as annoyed. Now he understands why Vingkäitä are so obsessed with those things. They’re full of so many things that he’s barely even able to comprehend.

Well, if Cas is going to tap-tap on the flat thing, then Dean is going to do something to keep himself entertained too. He always keeps a piece of charcoal on himself, and he stands up while fishing it out of his pouch. Standing puts him taller than Cas, since the ground in here is higher than the floor outside. But it also puts him a lot closer to the ceiling, which is about the same as the tunnel.  Dean could touch the ceiling right now if he wanted to. In a few seasons, he’ll be too tall to stand comfortably in here.

Now that Dean’s on the move, Cas is watching him again. One of his eyebrows just slightly cocked up, and his head again tilted to one side. Doesn’t he know any other gestures than that?

Dean rolls his eyes and moves to the corner of the room. Creeping vines of ivy and patches of moss have made most of the other walls home, leaving only the door and the clear wall clean. He pushes some of it out the way so that he has the space to use his piece of charcoal. It’s been a long time since he first came here, and the first time he saw Cas, but Dean puts a mark on the wall about where he figures Cas reached in height back then.

Next, he measures Cas’s current height with his hand against the clear wall. He closes one eye and leans back a little, sits up higher, sits lower, gauging that he’s got the right height. Satisfied that he probably has it, he slides his hand along the wall until it reaches the corner and he can make a corresponding mark there.

Please with himself, Dean glances back at Cas to show him what he’s done. All of Cas’s wings have puffed up and almost doubled in size, which is pretty surprising in its own right. But now Dean also gets an up close and personal view of how Cas’s pupils expand wide through the blue of his eye. They get so big and round that the blue is almost swallowed by it, making Cas’s eyes nearly fully black.

It’s super creepy.

Cas looks back down at the flat thing and starts tapping away at it faster than before. He keeps glancing up at Dean and the marks, and then back to tapping. It’s annoying. Dean both does and doesn’t want to have Cas’s attention on him. He hates the feeling, but he’s bored. This is at least a little bit entertaining, right? He can put up with Cas until he returns him to the camp as long as he’s not being ignored.

Dean knocks repeatedly on the clear wall until Cas is looking up at him again. Great, now he’s got his attention again, but what’s he going to do with it? He still kind of wants to know more about the flat thing, so, yeah. Sure. Let’s start there.

He points at it, and Cas immediately turns it around to show him again. It’s just lines and lines of the swirls and strikes of symbols like what Dean sees everyone have on the back of their necks. But he doesn’t know what any of it actually is.

“What does all of that even mean?” Dean huffs and presses closer to the clear wall, squinting like that might help make sense of it all. “Just looks like a big ol’ mess to me.”

Cas turns so his shoulder is against the clear wall, and he holds the flat thing so that Dean can see exactly what he’s doing. The bottom half of the flat thing is filled with little squares that have single symbols on them. Cas’s fingers fly over the little squares, tapping at them lightly with just the pads of his fingertips. Every symbol that he taps in the square appears in a line above them. Lines and lines of them broken up by spaces here and there.

It’s kind of a little bit amazing.

“This is our written language.”

Cas speaks so softly that Dean takes a moment to even realize that he actually spoke again. Dean does a bit of a double take, because shit. Cas’s voice really has gotten deeper. There’s a little bit of a hint of the child that he used to be, but that’s not what matters most right now. He spoke again. He spoke.

He’s not even looking at Dean as he pulls a small, pointed stick out of the side of the flat thing. Dean wants to watch, but he also wants to stare hard at the side of Cas’s head until he talks again and explains why he’s talking again when he hasn’t said a word for so many seasons? Why is he back? Is he just going to piss off again, leaving Dean feeling… Fuck. He doesn’t even know what he’s feeling.

The small stick is used to tap on a few things, and then suddenly the flat thing is blank. Dean glances between it and Cas, and then decides that one is far more important than the other.

“Are you talking to me again?” Dean narrows his eyes at the side of Cas’s head.

Cas doesn’t look at him, but one of his ear wings flicks slightly. He also doesn’t answer.

Dean crosses his arms with a huff. “If you’re gonna be a dick again, just go away. I don’t wanna deal with you being all hot and cold with me.”

There’s a brief moment where Cas hesitates. The tip of the stick hovers just over the surface of the flat thing. And then Cas sighs quietly through his nose and looks up at him again. “It was never my intention to be different temperatures with you, Dean.” And then he glosses right over everything and holds the flat thing up again. “Would you like to see what else I can do on my PADD?”

Dean has dozens of questions, and a lot of angry things he wants to say. But the only thing that comes out of his mouth is; “What the hell is a PADD?”

It’s hard to tell, but Dean is pretty sure that Cas is looking a little amused. It’s just the way one side of his mouth kind of quirks that gives him that impression. Cas holds up the flat thing again. “PADD stands for Personal Access Display Device. It is an electronic device used to –”

“What do those words mean?” Dean doesn’t feel bad about cutting him off. It’s better to ask now before Cas uses a bunch more words that he doesn’t know.

There’s almost a gleam that fills Cas’s eyes. He’s getting really perky and Dean, for the life of him, doesn’t know why. “An electronic device is made up of many small components that control and direct an electric current.” He pauses and tilts his head. “You are aware of lightning, yes?” When Dean nods, he continues. “That is a form of an electric current.”

While he’s talking, Cas puts the end of the stick against the surface of the flat thing – the PADD. When he moves it, lines appear everywhere that it touches. Cas is going on and on about how the PADD is connected to a network and yadda yadda blah blah blah. More words and concepts and terms that Dean has never heard about before. He listens, of course, because this is the most that Cas has talked to him in ages, but he also doesn’t want to miss what he’s doing with the stick and the PADD.

It takes way longer than it should for Dean to realize that Cas is drawing. The PADD really is kind of like an infinite fabric, or hide, or whatever else people like to draw on. That’s pretty cool, actually. Dean picks up his piece of charcoal again, and he starts drawing on the clear wall between them. He copies the lines that Cas makes, and, sure enough, Cas’s feathers get all puffy and his eyes do that widening thing they did before.

Unfortunately, whenever Cas gets like that, he also gets wrapped up in the PADD. He turns it back to himself and starts tapping at it really quickly. The stick goes back into the little holder on the side of the PADD and his fingers are a blur over the surface of it.

“You are fascinating, Dean.”

“You’re a creep, Cas.” Dean makes a face at him and gets up to move to the far back corner of the Alone Room. It’s his favourite place to sulk.

He doesn’t like being called fascinating. It just means that Cas is probably only talking to him again because he’s studying him. That’s the only time Dean is ever fascinating. Fuck that. If Cas thinks he can study him, then Dean will just sit in the corner and be too boring to study until he’s allowed to go back to the camp.

“I said go away.” Dean is spread eagle on the ground of the Alone Room, staring straight up into the hole in the ceiling and the sky beyond it. One day, when he’s able to reach up into that space easily, he’s going to try climbing out through it.

This is, yet again, a day where Cas brought him to the Alone Room for now reason at all. Dean is really starting to get annoyed by it, even if it means that Cas talks to him again. “I didn’t even do anything wrong.”

“This is not a punishment for you, Dean.”

Sure as hell feels like it is. Dean groans and kicks his heels against the softer ground near the edge of the pond. “Then why am I here?”

Cas is standing on the other side of the clear wall, PADD in hand and just watching him. “Would you prefer another location? I could take you to the exam room instead, if you would prefer that.”

“Don’t you fucking dare.” Dean tilts his head just enough to level Cas with a glare. It’s bad enough that he has to go to the exam room every summer. The Alone Room still sucks, but at least it’s better than the exam room.

Cas just looks down and taps at the PADD again. Dean scoffs at it, glaring at it. He still hates the PADD, even if he has a better understanding of what it is now. There are still a lot of unasked questions about it, and still a lot of it that just doesn’t make sense to him. But he understands it enough, and that’s all that really matters.

Dean goes back to ignoring Cas. But the hole in the ceiling isn’t very interesting either, and Dean’s attention span is… not the greatest. He groans loudly, bored out of his mind and hating that he’s here. He could be working in his garden, or going over escape plans with Cassie, or climbing a tree to hide in the foliage and have a little personal time. Because that’s something that is becoming an increasing problem for him over the last several seasons, and it’s just as bad now that he’s entering his fourteenth summer.

Bill and Ellen sat him down with May and Cassie to explain to them how their bodies are changing. More body hair for one, but then there’s this whole thing about sex that sounds both gross and kind of awesome. And the only reason Dean thinks it might be awesome is because when he takes care of the rising problem on his own, it feels really good and he can only imagine that it probably feels even better when he does it with a partner.

And yeah, okay, no. He needs to not think about that, because literally any kind of thought along those lines gets him hard and it can be annoying. Plus, he really does not want to get hard when he’s being watched by Cas. It’s weird and uncomfortable, and it’s not going to happen. Ever.

Which means he needs a distraction.

Dean rolls his head to the side again to find Cas watching him closely. See? Case in point. He sighs loudly and follows it up with a good strong frown. “Why are you talking to me again? You haven’t talked to me in a really long time. What’s changed?”

To Cas’s credit, his wings actually droop a little and he looks down at the PADD. He doesn’t actually tap at it, but he fidgets a little with the stick and its housing. “I would like to extend my apologies for my previous silence.”

There’s no other explanation that follows that up, and Dean balls his hands into fists against the grass. He can feel the anger starting to bubble up again, making his chest and face feel hot. Cas cutting him out so suddenly like that before felt like being abandoned. Dean hated that feeling, and he hated it all the more that it was a fucking Vingkäitä that made him feel like that. You don’t just try befriending someone you stole, and then drop them like a hot potato. It’s rude, it’s mean, and Dean hates Cas for it. Hates him just as much as he hates all the other Vingkäitä.

Cassie tells him that all the hate is bad for him. She’s smart like that. Yeah, she doesn’t like the Vingkäitä either, but she doesn’t let it get her as mad as Dean does. It’s actually kind of creepy how calm she can be about it. That’s what makes her awesome, though. She’s calm and calculating. Cassie stops and thinks when things make her mad. It’s the kind of anger that Dean definitely never wants to get on the bad side of.

All in all, it’s one of the many reasons that he likes her. Cassie balances him out, and he’s been getting better about not lashing out so much in the camp. Dick will still set him off, because he’s a dick, but Dean is getting better about ignoring him. Slowly, but surely. But Cassie is, like, a – Well, it’s hard for Dean to describe, but he’s happy to have her. He wishes she’d never been taken and brought here, but he’s glad to have met her.

When she first got here, Cassie had a bunch of ideas about how to escape. Dean really didn’t like how he had to disappoint her when he shot down every idea because he’d already tried them all. They both felt pretty shitty afterwards when they realized how much Dean had tried and failed.

But Cassie taught Dean how to manage his anger, and he puts that to use now. He takes a few deep breaths and closes his eyes, counting in his head until he can will the anger away. When he’s satisfied that he’s not going to snap at Cas, he sits up and crosses his arms.

“Okay, but why?”

Cas tilts his head at him. “Pardon?”

Dean barely refrains from rolling his eyes. “Why did you stop talking to me?”

“Ah… I apologize, Dean. I incorrectly assumed that you knew the reason why I was unable to speak with you anymore.” Cas’s wings shuffle against his back and he glances up and down the tunnel. It’s not the same way that he used to. He doesn’t seem so afraid of being caught talking to him this time. “I got in quite a bit of trouble when you revealed to everyone that I had been speaking with you. My access was restricted to the observation bridge and, occasionally, the observation window of the exam room.”

Shit. Does that mean it was Dean’s fault this whole time? If he hadn’t insisted on Cas talking to him with his voice instead of the PADD for his first exam, then he never would’ve been abandoned?

“But… You’re allowed to talk to me now?”

“Yes.” Cas almost smiles at that, but again it’s only really in his eyes. The wings on his head flick upright and he straightens his shoulders a little. He’s still pretty monotone when he talks though, and that’s not something that Dean is used to. “When I spoke with you before, I was just a visiting child because my mother works here. Now I am an adult and I work here as well.”

Should he apologize? It kind of sounds like Dean’s the one who fucked them both over. But also, Cas is a Vingkäitä and Vingkäitä suck, so…? Nah. He won’t apologize, but he does feel bad about it.

Dean chews on his bottom lip a little bit and shifts slightly. “What kind of work do you do?” Besides studying people who just want to go home.

And, again, Cas’s wings droop. He might not have the most expressive face, but the rest of him really gets the point across. “Many boring things.” Cas almost sighs and he fidgets with the PADD again. “But I have been approved to speak with you again, which I am most gratified by. Since it has been so long since we last spoke, I have attempted to ease back into speaking with you. I did not want to overwhelm you with too much so suddenly.”

Okay, okay. That’s – Okay. Hm. Dean frowns and drums his fingers against one of his arms. “Why are you approved to speak to me now?” And if Cas says it’s for studying, Dean is going to punch him the moment they’re both in the tunnel to go back to camp again. Even if it means that he’ll probably be put right back into the Alone Room.

Cas has that fire in his eyes again when he looks up at Dean. Bright and burning. “Because I believe there are many things that communicating with you could teach me about you and your people.”

Fuck. Dean is so punching him later.

“So, you’re still just studying me?” His shoulders hunch forward and he crosses his arms a little tighter. He’s not even surprised by that. It’s all the Vingkäitä ever care about. Studying him. Studying the others. Checking how much they’ve grown.

Watching. Always fucking watching.

“Yes. That is the purpose of this facility.” Cas pauses there. “Is that a word you know? Facility?”

He should just ignore Cas. Flip him off, curse him out, and turn around. If he doesn’t give Cas what he wants, then he’ll stop being taken away from the camp. Or, he could entertain Cas for a little longer. Cas can learn about him, but Dean can learn too. He knows about the PADD now. Next, he can learn about this place, and maybe, eventually, that could lead somehow to him getting out of here.

Dean shakes his head.

Cas checks the PADD for a quick moment before he starts talking again. “A facility is a place used for a particular purpose. In this case, the Zoo is for housing creatures that we collect to study. There are many things we can learn about your world from them.”

That’s about what Dean thought it would mean. Fuckers.

“Yeah, well, I hate it.”

“I am aware.” Cas doesn’t look bothered by it, and that puts Dean’s teeth on edge. Does nothing he says or do bother Cas? Even just a little bit?

Cassie tells him that he needs to use his words more. Even though it feels like they’re caught in his throat, Dean forces them out. “I don’t like it when you study me.”

“I am aware.” It’s the same stupid answer, but this time Cas’s head wings angle down a bit and he looks down at the PADD instead of at Dean. “I am sorry.”

Liar.

“If you were really sorry, you’d let us go.”

“That is not something I am capable of doing.” Cas still doesn’t look up; still won’t look Dean in the eye. “It is not my decision to make and I would be heavily punished if I did.”

One guy getting punished is nothing compared to the entire camp and only the spirits know what else or who else is kept in other parts of this facility being stolen from their homes and brought here.

Dean sneers and turns away. “Well, I don’t wanna be studied, so you might as well take me back to camp because I’m not gonna talk to you.”

Cas doesn’t answer him. At least not right away, or so Dean thinks. When he looks back again, the tunnel on the other side of the clear wall is empty and Cas is gone. He didn’t even say goodbye. Just up and left? What an asshole! Dean is going to give him a piece of his mind the next time they –

The door opens and Cas is standing on the other side. “If that is what you wish, Dean, then I will return you to the enclosure now. Please come with me.”

That’s… suspicious. Dean hesitates before he gets up and shuffles after Cas. Part of him doesn’t believe that he’s actually going to be taken back to the camp, but Cas hasn’t outright lied to him before about anything. At least, he’s pretty sure he hasn’t.

Sure enough, Cas actually does take him back. He opens the door into the fur room for Dean, but doesn’t close it right away and he also doesn’t open the one into the field. Cas just stares down at him for a little bit, head tilted in that infuriating little way that he always does.

After a few long moments of neither one of them saying anything, Cas clears his throat. “Would you be more comfortable to speak with me in a different room?”

Dean rolls his eyes and crosses the room to the field door. “I don’t wanna talk to you at all.”

Cas sighs quietly. “Dean…”

“Go away, Cas.” He flaps his hand at him, half turned to the door.

The wings on Cas’s head droop just a little, and a small furrowed line appears between his eyebrows. And then it’s all gone; his face wiped clean of expression just like the PADD when he puts it on drawing mode. “As you wish.”

The door into the tunnels closes and the other opens immediately afterwards. Dean hums to himself and brushes aside the vines and ivy so he can get through to the field. Cassie spots him as soon as he’s through, and she jumps up from helping with dinner to rush over to him.

She’s not going to believe this when he tells her about it.

Okay, things are a bit different today. Cas called him out of the camp again, but they haven’t left the fur room yet. Which is weird. Are they not going to the Alone Room again? They just came through the field door and now they’re standing here, both doors closed, and… Dean doesn’t like it. His stomach feels tight with nerves, if only because this is different and he does not like it when things are different.

He puts on a brave face, though. Chin held high as he glares up at Cas. He’s not that much taller than him, but it does grate on Dean’s nerves. “I’m getting kinda sick of this, Cas. Stop taking me outta the camp for no reason.”

“I have a good reason.” Cas takes a step closer to him, and Dean immediately takes a step back to keep the same distance between them.

“What are you doing?” He squints at him, looking Cas over from head to his creepy bird feet and back. Cas is up to something and it’s putting Dean on edge.

Instead of answering, Cas just holds out his hand. “May I have your wrist, please?”

“No!” Dean tucks his hands into his pits, arms crossed tightly. “I’m not doing shit for you.’

Cas’s lips press together in a thin line, but that’s the extent of his frustrations that he shows. He drops his hand to his side again. “Would you be more amenable to my requests if I were to tell you what I am doing and why?”

Well, duh. “Maybe…”

“Are you willing to listen?”

“That depends…” On what, exactly, Dean isn’t completely sure. But he’d much rather Cas actually explain things instead of just dragging him around and forcing him to do things that he doesn’t want to do. It’s just another way for Vingkäitä to control him and he really hates it.

Whatever the case may be, Cas seems to take that to heart. He pulls a metallic ban out of one of the pouches on his belt. It pops open into crescent shaped halves, still connected on one side, and he holds it out to Dean. “I would like for you to wear this. It is a precautionary measure that would put you to sleep without having to use the darts on you should you get away from me. As well as to track your location if I am to lose sight of you.”

Damn. Vingkäitä really do think of everything, don’t they?

“But I haven’t run away from you guys in a really long time!” Not since he’s pretty sure that he figured out the layout of all the tunnels and their many dead ends. It would be a different story if he were able to open the doors, but only the Vingkäitä can control them.

“I am aware.” Cas hums, and he gets that little look in his eyes like he’s amused. “You have not run from us since you finished mapping out the corridors. Correct?”

Vingkäitä are definitely too smart for their own good.

Dean ducks his head slightly, strangely guilty for being figured out. “You know about that, huh?”

“I assumed as much.” One of the corners of Cas’s mouth quirks just briefly. “My colleagues do not give you the credit that you are due. I believe you are far smarter than they assume you to be.”

“Duh.” Dean sniffs and holds his head high again, shoulders straightening out. “I’m smart enough to know that I’m not going to put that stupid thing on.”

Cas looks down at the band and turns it over in his hands. “I do not intend to use its primary functions on you, as long as you promise to remain at my side and keep your word.”

Wait a second… Dean stares hard at the band as his brain makes connections between all the differences between this occasion and the other times Cas has taken him to the Alone Room. It all clicks into a place a moment later and he looks back up at Cas sharply. “We’re not going to the Alone Room again, are we?”

Again, another quirk of the mouth. This time, Cas almost looks pleased as the feathers of his head wings fan out a little more. “No, we are not. I have been granted permission to bring you to a different location. It is one that I feel will facilitate more open discussion between you and I.”

A new place? A new place! Holy shit. That’s – holy shit. The nervous sensation in his belly balloons up into his chest and Dean swallows hard against it. New is scary, but exciting, and he’s not sure if he wants to go or not. What if it turns out to be a bad new place?

He stares at the band again. “Am I always going to have to wear that? Even when I’m back at camp?”

“No.” Cas offers it to him again. “It will only be worn during our time together. If you try to run from me, it will administer the same compound used in the darts that will put you to sleep. I will remove the device when I bring you back here.”

Dean chews on his lip, thinking really hard about this. The pros and cons. Weighing his options. “Where are we going?”

Surprisingly, or maybe not that surprising since Cas is a Vingkäitä, he hesitates. Cas twists his fingers around the band a few times, staring at it, and then at the floor. “I find that I do not wish to ruin the surprise that I have prepared for you.”

Oh. Okay. Yeah, Dean can understand that, but there’s also a glaring problem with it that Cas seems to have missed. “You do realize that I don’t exactly trust you, right?”

That makes all of Cas’s wings droop again. Even his shoulders drop just a smidgen. Dean would like to think that’s because Cas is feeling guilty, or he’s hurt by those words. Good. He deserves it.

Cas sighs really quietly. More to himself than anything. “I am aware.”

“Then why should I –”

“Because you are so full of questions about things that are commonplace to me, such as the PADD I use.” Cas cuts him off and keeps talking right over the indignant noise Dean makes about being interrupted. “If you are willing to listen to me and wear this device, then I would like to take you to a new location where I can teach you more about me, my people, and this place. It is my hope that familiarizing yourself with the Aetherian way of life might make you more accepting of allowing me to learn about you and your people.”

That’s a lot of words from Cas, all in one go. He must be frustrated if he’s going to just dump all that on Dean. But, that’s interesting, isn’t it? They’re not going to the Alone Room, and it doesn’t sound like they’re going to the exam room either. They’re going somewhere new that Dean has never seen before. Something beyond the tunnels.

If he’s being honest, there’s a big part of Dean that really doesn’t want to go anywhere with Cas. It’s the stubborn and mean part of him that doesn’t want to give Cas anything because the Vingkäitä took everything from him. But… This is an opportunity that Dean can’t really afford to give up, isn’t it? It really does sound like they’re going to be leaving the tunnels, since Cas had to have something new lined up to control him in case he tries to run.

“Yeah, okay, fine.” Dean huffs and holds out his left hand. He’s better with his right hand at most things, so if that band messes anything up, he’d rather it be his left. “But I’m gonna kick your ass if you’re up to any kind of funny business, got it?”

Cas smiles again. Short lived and close lipped, but it’s there. “You can certainly try, Dean.”

He steps forward again, and it takes a lot of effort for Dean to not immediately move away again. Dean bites his bottom lip hard, but not hard enough to dry blood, and forces himself to hold still. His whole body trembles with the effort of it, and he doesn’t quite manage to suppress a flinch when the band clanks back together around his wrist.

The band shudders against his skin, and then it actually shrinks down to form around it. Snugger and tighter than anything Dean has ever worn before. It doesn’t hurt or anything, but it’s kinda warm and it just feels weird. He expected it to be heavier, but it doesn’t really seem to have a weight to it at all.

As soon as the band is on him, Cas is stepping away again and heading for the outer door. “Please follow me now. I have reserved a space for your surprise, so we do have a time limit we must adhere to.”

Dean shifts on his feet and flexes his left hand a few times. He rotates his wrist around in circles until he’s satisfied that this thing isn’t actually going to be a problem. At least Cas didn’t ask him to hold his hand or something.

He takes a deep breath before following Cas out into the tunnels. They’re going somewhere new, so Dean has to be on high alert. He’ll need to see and learn everything that he can if they leave the tunnels and go to a new room.

Cas wants to learn about him, huh? That’s a small price to pay if it could lead to learning about a way to get out of here.

Chapter Text

Castiel should not feel anything as he leads Dean through the corridors towards the elevator. Aetherians have feelings, but they are supposed to have complete control of themselves. They are taught almost from birth on how to compartmentalize their feelings and suppress them to the point that they should not feel them at all. To express emotions is akin to speaking with one’s mouth. Shameful and vaguely disgusting.

That is something that Castiel admires homosapiens for. The range of their emotions and how they display them is, for lack of a better word, amazing. At least to him it is. The freedoms they have in their expressions is something to be envied. If only due to how hard Castiel finds it to keep his own emotions under the strict control heavily encouraged within Aetherian society.

He has considered, on occasion, that perhaps he is flawed in some sense. Emotional control and suppression seems to come so easy to those around him. There is rarely a flutter of a wing or twitch of the lips that is not calculated as some part of limited Aetherian expression. Whereas for Castiel… He is very lucky that he has managed what little control he apparently has and his reactions have not incurred any reprimand from his superiors. Although Castiel has noticed the odd look from his colleagues when he does slip up on occasion.

It is unbecoming of an Aetherian. Castiel knows this, and he knows that he should be suppressing his emotions now until he cannot feel them at all, and yet… He cannot. There is the faintest bounce to his step as he is excited for this. Not only does he get to show Dean to parts of the complex that Dean has never been to before, but the anticipation for what Castiel might learn from him through today’s conversations is almost enough to make him salivate.

Of course, he manages to refrain from doing anything further beyond the slight pep to his step. Castiel also makes sure to maintain a close eye on Dean. It is well within the normal course of Dean’s action to still attempt to run, despite the device resting around his wrist.

For ease of access, Castiel summons the elevator with a command from his PADD before they even reach it. The door slides open shortly after the come to a stop, and Castiel is rewarded with a slight flinch before Dean stares in confusion at the small room on the other side. Well, it is small to Castiel’s standards, but most likely not to Dean’s. It is a compartment big enough to hold six adult Aetherians.

When Dean glances up at him, Castiel gestures forward with his hand. “Please enter. This will take us to another level of the facility.”

Dean still hesitates, likely uncomfortable with the thought of being in an enclosed space with him. Castiel decides to lead by example. He steps into the elevator, arm held out to keep the doors from closing again.

“This is called an elevator. I suppose you would liken it to something that you would ride as it climbs a tree for you.”

“Oh, we have something like that back home.” Dean leans forward, glancing around as if sizing up the space. It still takes a moment for him to gather the courage and step into the elevator, though he does stay closer to the door as Castiel moves deeper into the room.

Castiel is delighted to hear this. He always wondered how Dean’s people would get large items up into their tree-top camps. It always seemed like such a stretch that they would carry things up and down a set of ladders. It is fascinating to learn that they figured out their own way, and Castiel hopes that he can convince Dean to give him more information about it.

“Would you be willing to explain to me what you mean by that?” Castiel uses his PADD to select the level of the annex that he wants to go to. In this case, it is the very top floor.

Unsurprisingly, Dean’s lips press together into a thin line. He crosses his arms and turns his head away, glaring at the wall. It appears that he is choosing to be stubborn. Castiel anticipated this, and he knows that it will be quite a process to get any information out of Dean going forward. Luckily, Castiel is also stubborn. He will persevere.

To earn Dean’s trust will be a number of steps. The first step will be to give. This will be a time consuming process, but Castiel looks forward to every moment of it.

Dean begins to get fidgety when the doors close behind him. He flinches at the slight pull of gravity as the elevator begins to rise. One hand reaches out to touch the wall, and he frowns at whatever it is that he feels. Castiel wants to question him, but he chooses to simply observe at this moment. It will already be difficult to get answers from Dean, and he does not wish to push his luck – if he believed in such a thing, of course.

There are six levels from their destination when the elevator slows again. Someone else must have called it to stop, and two of Castiel’s colleagues are standing on the other side of the doors when they open. Muriel nods at him as she takes a step forward, and then pauses and looks down at Dean. If she is surprised, she does not show it. Dean stares back at her, and then to Ezra at her side.

He says nothing, but he does take a few steps back and to the side. Castiel fights with himself to maintain a calm, cool exterior. Inside, he is grinning. When seeking safety and comfort in the face of two unknown Aetherians, Dean chooses to stand closer to Castiel and hide slightly behind him. It is not much, certainly, but it is something, and Castiel is delighted by it.

Keeping the emotions he is experiencing from his thoughts, Castiel reaches out with his sha’ra to touch those of Muriel and Ezra. (If it is not too much of an inconvenience, please allow us to continue without your company for the sake of the specimen.)

(Of course.) Muriel responds with a subtle pulse of curiosity, but she nods and steps back again.

The doors close once more and the elevator engages again. Dean does not hesitate before he moves away from Castiel again, though he settles on a halfway point between Castiel and the door. “Why didn’t they come in too?”

“Because I asked them not to.” Castiel looks down at his PADD to ensure that no one else has requested the elevator to stop on their level. “I do not believe you would have been comfortable in an enclosed space with more of my kind.”

Dean blinks up at him, mouth partially open. Castiel studies his expression before deciding that it must be one of surprise. The other option is some form of awe and he doubts that Dean would ever look at him with such an expression.

After a few moments, Dean clears his throat and looks down. “… Thanks.”

Castiel can feel the alula feathers at the curves of his wings start to lift. He quickly squashes the display of emotion – of delight – to be thanked by Dean. Instead, he simply nods an acknowledgement. Castiel is not expecting Dean to continue talking while they are still in the enclosed space of the elevator.

“How...” Dean shuffles his feet and glances at the doors; his eyebrows pinched together. “How did you talk to them? You never said a word.”

Ah, yes. Castiel had been expecting that this question would come about one day. He gestures at the horned halo above his head. “Our halos enable us to speak with our sha’ra.” As predicted, Dean simply looks confused at the word. Castiel continues, “To put it in a way that I think you would understand, a sha’ra allows us to speak to one another with our thoughts.”

Dean stares up at Castiel, his eyes wide. “But you talk to me with your mouth. Why don’t all of you talk with your mouths? Isn’t that easier?”

“It is easier to share thoughts than to verbalize them with a spoken language.” Castiel twitches one of his shoulders in a slight shrug, utilizing homosapien body language specifically for Dean’s benefit. “My people consider it improper to speak with our mouths. Many of my people find it disgusting to do so.”

The only response that Dean makes to that is a small huff of noise before he looks away again.

The rest of the ride to the top of the annex is held in silence, though it is not a very long trip. When the doors open, the corridor beyond them is empty.

Castiel gestures forward. “This is our stop. If you would please follow me.”

He steps around Dean and out of the elevator. To his delight, Dean even follows, more or less falling into step next to him as he looks around.

The ceiling at the top of the annex is composed of quartz class and is clear from the inside. The bright blue of the sky with high wisps of clouds is fully visible. To the left of them, there are doors lining the hall as it curves tightly around the apex of the domed annex. The wall to the right of them is equally clear and looks out into the entry point of the building – a wide, hollow column that goes straight to the bottom floor. This is one of the few floors in the building that do not have an available landing.

Dean stops and stares out through the glass. From where they stand, they can see straight across the gap to the other side where the hall has curved back into view. There are two Aetherians standing outside one of the meeting rooms. Castiel can just barely feel their sha’ra from here, and only if he purposefully concentrates on it. He presumes that they are talking to one another – or, rather, were talking. Both have turned to look across the opening at him and Dean. Most likely they are surprised to see a homosapien out of its enclosure.

Perhaps it would have been prudent for Castiel to issue a facility-wide memo regarding his little trip with Dean today. It was incorrect of him to assume that the heads of the department would have done so of their own accord when they gave him the permission needed to bring Dean here. With that thought, Castiel quickly issues a memo from his PADD. He is not expecting anyone to disturb them in the room he has reserved, as that is visible for anyone to check on their PADDs.

Dean flinches back in surprise as an Aetherian circles past, spiraling downwards into the depths of the Zoological annex. He shies further from the sedge of the hall, almost pressing back against the wall of doors. Castiel glances up from his PADD to observe Dean and his body language. It is almost as if he is afraid of getting closer to the glass wall. Which brings to light the question of how much does Dean truly understand the concept of glass and a window?

“You can get closer and look down, if you would like.” Castiel gestures towards the wall. “There is no fear of falling for you here.”

“But it’s...” Dean glances at him, face pinched in a frown.

Castiel steps over to the glass wall and knocks a knuckle against it. “This is a window.  You should be familiar with a window from the isolation and exam rooms. A window is composed of glass, which is a transparent material, and it is quite solid.” He purposefully leans his whole body into it to show Dean what he means. “It is sturdy and you do not need to fear falling through it.”

That seems to have caught Dean’s attention. His body language relaxes somewhat, and he shuffles forward to reach out and touch the window. “Glass.” He mumbles more to himself than Castiel. “That’s a dumb word. Better than clear-wall though.”

Is that what he has been referring to it as? Fascinating. Castiel notes that down on his PADD and once again suppresses the urge to smile. He finds that he does that lot when in Dean’s presence.

Keeping a close check on himself, his emotions, and his expressions, Castiel stands by and watches as Dean presses both hands to the window and looks down. The moment he does so, Dean jerks backwards and stumbles away from the window. The colour has drained from his face somewhat.

Worry rises quickly to the surface of Castiel’s barely restrained emotions. He takes a step towards Dean automatically before he stops himself. “Is everything alright?”

“Y-yeah. It’s just... really high.” Dean swallows thickly and closes his eyes for a moment. “I... I wasn’t expecting that. Should’ve known though, I guess.” He moves across the hall back to the other side, as far from the window as he is able to get.

Acrophobia. How interesting, and not at all expected from one who lives in a jungle village located in the boughs of tall, thick trees. Even less expected from Dean, who has made it a point to climb the trees in his enclosure and has attempted to escape a few times now over the waterfall.

One of Castiel’s eyebrows ticks up slightly. “Are you afraid of heights, Dean?”

“Shut up.” Dean’s shoulders lift and he turns away from Castiel.

He will take that as confirmation, and also notes that down on the PADD. Amused, though certainly not showing it, Castiel starts down the hall again. He trusts that Dean will follow him. There is nowhere for Dean to run to, and that is disregarding the bracelet he is currently wearing.

Typically, the rooms on this level are reserved for meetings. As this could be considered as such, Castiel elected to bring Dean here. There is one other reason, and he hopes that Dean will like it. When they reach the door to the reserved room, Castiel opens it and gestures for Dean to go through.

The room itself is fairly simple. At its center is a high table surrounded by six perches. Against the wall to the left of the table are a few potted plants, all from the planet below. Plants from the Aetherian home world, Atan’eal, require a different atmosphere and would not survive outside the terrarium. There is also a replicator built into the wall, and a recycling disposal tube next to it.

On the right side of the room, the wall is largely occupied by a painting of a mua’bir pacing across a savannah-like setting on a world quite unlike this one. The species no longer exists outside of the few specimens kept in Ra’haya’s terrarium, and those on the sister cities of Ta’thani and Ba’thali. The mua’bir is a six legged animal native to Atan’ael. It vaguely resembles some of the larger feline species found on Har’adid, although it sports scales rather than fur, and has a few extra appendages.

While the painting is certainly impressive, the whole point Castiel chose this room is because of the far wall that is entirely composed of quartz glass. The view here is spectacular, and surely something that Dean will have never seen before. This room looks out towards Ra’haya’s edge. One of the rings is visible right now as it arches overhead, and beyond that lies the cloudscape. A few wispy cirrus clouds streak the sky above the bank of clouds below the city.

On either side of their view are the much smaller domes of the Psychology and Sociology annexes. A tunnel connects them halfway up both buildings. Beneath it all is the shallow sea of water that covers Ra’haya’s floor.

Once Dean is inside the room, Castiel locks it with a touch to his PADD. He could have used the control panel next to the door, but that would mean approaching Dean again and he would rather not spook him before they have a chance to settle and get down to discussing the topics Castiel has on the agenda today. It is unlikely that he will get any answers in their first session, but he is willing to book the room and bring Dean here – or to other locations within the annex – as needed.

After only a few steps into the room, Dean freezes in place with his eyes locked on the painting of the mua’bir. Castiel realizes what must be happening, and he opens his mouth to explain that the painting is not real. He closes his mouth just as quickly and holds his PADD at the ready, prepared to take notes on how Dean figures out this situation on his own.

Slowly, Dean turns his body, but his head and yes remain fixed on the painting. He takes a cautious step backwards in Castiel’s direction, until he is close enough that he can quickly glance at Castiel from the corner of his eye. Then he glances at him again, before frowning. The rest of his body language relaxes slightly. He must have noticed that Castiel is not displaying any sort of concern regarding the painting, thus it is most likely not a threat.

Castiel is pleased that Dean would use him as a gauge for safety. He considers that to be one of the first steps towards Dean trusting him enough to open up to him. The more Dean trusts him, the more Castiel can learn, and that is his goal.

Which is something Castiel should be troubled by how often he has to remind himself of that.

Still frowning, Dean turns to fully look at Castiel, and then at the painting once more. His body language reads that he is no longer frightened of it. Instead, he looks curious. There is still, however, a hint of tension to his steps as he approaches the painting. It is as if he is ready to spring back to the safety Castiel could give him should the mua’bir move.

Of course it does not.

Dean reaches out to touch it, dragging his fingers along the surface of the painting. “It’s not real?”

“It is a painting.”

“Is that like the ones your PADD?”

Castiel shakes his head, adopting the homosapien gesture to perhaps make Dean more comfortable with him. “The images on my PADD are pictures that are taken with a camera. This painting was made by an Aetherian artist using pigment infused oils.”

That earns him a flat, somewhat confused look. Castiel takes the moment to explain what pigments and cameras are. He even goes as far as to point out where the cameras are located in this room. They are fairly hard to spot, given that they are designed to blend into the walls. But there is a panel that is just slightly differently shaded than the rest of the wall. It is composed of glass that is opaque in only one direction, though he does refrain from explaining how that is made, if only because he believes that is too early in Dean’s education of Aetherian way of life for him to understand.

It ends up not being a problem. Dean does not question further, if only because his nose wrinkles sharply and he makes a face at the cameras. “Ugh, I knew it. You’re still watching us even when you’re not there.”

“It is for your safety.” And observation of his species, but Castiel knows better than to say that. Dean has a particular dislike for being observed.

Almost as if he knew Castiel’s thoughts, Dean confirms them shortly after having them. “I really hate that you watch us.”

With a huff, Dean turns on his heel and begins exploring the rest of the room. He touches everything, and Castiel makes no move to stop him. The replicator and recycler will not work for a homosapien without an identification chip in their wrist. Castiel elects not to respond to his comment, and moves to wait by the windows. Dean will make his way there eventually.

When he does, Dean hesitates at the edge of the table. “That’s a – that’s a windaou too, right?”

“Window, yes.” Castiel nods and proves it by knocking against it. “If this room was open to the air outside, it would be quite cold for you as we are much higher up than your species is used to. The air is thinner too, and you would find it hard to breathe for extended periods.”

Dean must accept the answer, and he edges closer. His hand trembles minimally as he reaches out to touch the window. Satisfied, he steps closer, and a look of what Castiel hopes is wonder fills his expression; eyes wide and mouth partially open. Dean presses his face against the window, tilting his head to look in as many directions as he can.

He looks straight up at the wide band of one of Ra’haya’s rings. Then he looks down at the curved edge of the building as it expands away from them. Then left and right, as if he could potentially peer into the rooms on either side of them.

Once or twice during his examination of the world beyond the window, an Aetherian enters the field of view. Either they are on their way up to the entry point of the building, or they are on their way to elsewhere. Each time, Dean tracks their movement until they are out of sight.

It is several silent minutes before Dean speaks again, turning slightly to regard Castiel from the corner of his eye. “What did you mean when you said that we’re high up?”

“Would you like to see?” Castiel will never miss an opportunity to educate Dean. His ability to understand things that are well beyond his ken is simply fascinating.

He crouches down with his PADD held out, and quickly pulls up images that have been taken of Ra’haya floating above a sea of clouds. The city itself has cloud generators built beneath it to help maintain coverage from the world below. It is all in effort to keep from spooking the homosapien population, as their earlier ancestors were found to panic when an Aetherian city passed overhead.

Dean does not sit down, and he keeps an arm’s length between them, but he does lean over to look at the PADD. When Castiel believes he is satisfied with the picture, he opens a video that plays silently, but it does depict the distance between the city and the ground. It shows the cloud layer below them, and though it is overlaid with Aetherian text detailing exact distances, Castiel believes that Dean still understands what is shown to him.

As the video plays, Castiel explains that all Aetherian cities are able to adjust the height at which they float. Primarily, it is to avoid storms, or potentially clipping any high mountain ranges. It is all taken care of by programs that plot the course of storms and the geography of the planet for them, but those programs are monitored and upheld by Aetherians.

“My people are quite resilient against the cold, and we do not require as dense an oxygen level as your people do.” Castiel closes the video and returns the PADD to balancing on his folded knees.

Dean looks like he wishes to question that, but what comes out of his mouth is not the question that Castiel was expecting. “So… this isn’t the afterlife?” He looks out at what small sliver of the city they can see from here. “We’re still in the same world that I come from?”

That is official confirmation that homosapiens have a concept of an afterlife. Thus far, that was only speculation based upon observations. Castiel desperately wants to ask more about it, but he quickly makes some notes and will follow up on that when his relationship with Dean has progressed to a point where he is certain he would be granted answers.

“No, this is not the afterlife.” Castiel looks up from the PADD to find Dean looking at him. “We are simply in the sky of your planet at the height of fifteen thousand meters above sea level.”

Dean’s eyebrows come together, and Castiel realizes that he may need to explain sea level, meters, and a number that large. Sure enough, the questions that follow are exactly that. Castiel is delighted to be asked so many. That means Dean is curious, and this is exactly what he wanted. 

“If you would like to sit with me, I can explain all of that to you.”

It takes Dean a moment to do so. He first glances at the window, watching another Aetherian glide by. When he sits, he drops heavily to the floor and crosses his legs under him. He is still facing towards the window, though, his head tilted back to watch the wisps of clouds and the slow drift of the ring.

They spend most of their time together today with Dean asking questions about Ra’haya and how it stays in the sky. Occasionally something else comes to mind, and he asks about that too. Castiel answers them all to the best of his ability. Anything that he might not know immediately, he simply looks up on his PADD.

Although time passes at the same rate as it always does, Castiel finds that it was not enough. It feels like they only just arrived in the meeting room when his PADD notifies him that their booking is nearing its end and he should return Dean to his enclosure. At the very least, he did learn quite a lot about Dean and the way he thinks, simply through the string of questions that Dean asked.

While he would not say that Dean relaxed with him, Castiel would like to believe that he did begin to grow more comfortable. It seems that the more that Dean realized that Castiel was willing to actually answer him, the more he had to ask, and he did not hold back. Some of his questions seemed to have no rhyme or reason, but it was quite interesting, nonetheless.

Shortly before the timer went off on the PADD, and after Dean had his fill of asking questions about Ra’haya, he turned his questions towards the mua’bir.

“I am afraid that we must return to your enclosure now.” Castiel stands up, taking a moment to stretch out his legs and wings. “If you would like, I can arrange for us to meet again like this. Next time, we can discuss the mua’bir and Atan’ael, my home world. That is the planet that my people come from.

Dean does not give him an answer then. He appears to be deep in thought the entire trip back to the enclosure. It is not until they are in the transition room and he is returning the bracelet that he finally speaks again.

“If we did this whole meeting thing again, would we be going back to the same room?” He looks up at Castiel, eyes narrowed. There are several centimeters difference in their height, and that divide will only continue to grow regardless of how much growth Dean has left.

“If you wish, we can.”

“And what if I wanted to see another room?” There is a dip to Dean’s tone that Castiel does not recognize, and he shifts his focus to a point off of Castiel’s side, breaking the eye contact they had been maintaining up until that moment.

Interesting. One of Castiel’s eyebrows arches slightly as he quickly filters through his knowledge of homosapien expressions to try and determine why. It is purely assumption at this point, but it would likely not be presumptuous of him to think that Dean’s query about further aspects of the annex would be for purposes of escape. How illogical of him. What does he expect to do to combat the thin air, cold temperatures, and fifteen thousand meters of distance to the surface? There is also a minimal chance that they would be anywhere remotely near his home, let alone over the same continent, whenever he should attempt his next escape utilizing that knowledge.

Perhaps those are questions that Castiel should ask another day.

“If you wish, I –” He pauses as an idea occurs to him. “You are interested in learning about the world where my people came from, yes? We have a building known as the terrarium. It is where we managed to save some parts of Atan’ael. Would you be interested in seeing that?

Dean looks him in the eye again, his own widening slightly. “Does it have a moo-beer thing in it?”

“Mua’bir. And yes, it does.”

If Castiel did not know any better, he would say that Dean is beginning to look excited. “Would it be able to get to us?”

“No. It is contained within a glass structure where the air is composed of different elements that would be fatal to you.” Castiel would pull up images of the terrarium on his PADD, but he finds that he would like to keep that all a surprise for Dean. “It has tunnels built throughout for observation. We could walk through and you would be able to see what Atan’ael was like without fear of interacting with the creatures we managed to save.”

Dean shifts on his feet, and one of his hands begins to fidget with a tie at his waist. “Would there be other Vingkäitä there?”

That is a good point. “I will see if I can arrange to get permission to take you to the terrarium, and in doing so reserve it for our sole use.” Castiel makes note of it on his PADD. “It may take some time, so it would likely not be for our next meeting, but I will endeavor to arrange an excursion to the terrarium for a future session.”

“Okay.” While Dean does not look thrilled about meeting again, he does not argue it. Castiel considers that progress.

“Then I will see you next week, Dean. That will be seven days from now.” From his PADD, Castiel issues the command to open the door into the enclosure.

Dean inclines his head with a distinct lack of his usual hostility from previous meetings. “See ya, Cas.”

He disappears through the hanging curtain of greenery and the doors close behind him. Castiel is, for lack of a better word, elated by that parting. There is a bounce in his step as he leaves the room, and he cannot be bothered to hide that expression of his emotions because the progress today has left him too happy to care.

Castiel arrives to work to what accounts for a flurry of gossip amongst Aetherians. There are several of his colleagues gathered around a terminal in the Alpha Sector monitoring room, and quite a few standing outside, their heads together as they discuss what has them all in a titter. Castiel has to pass that room on his way to the work space where his desk is located, but he is understandably distracted.

Hael waves him over. (Have you seen this yet? It happened eleven point four minutes ago.)

The closest thing that Aetherians have to excitement is thrumming through the room. Castiel can feel it with his sha’ra through the brush of every mind that he encounters.

(I have not checked my PADD since I left home.) Castiel approaches the desk everyone is gathered around, and they make space for him. He leans in, eying the screen of the terminal where one of the camera feeds has been pulled up and magnified.

Hael acknowledges him with a thought, and continues. (We had hoped that when 1-M-7 was first collected that he would form a bond with F-3 as they are of similar ages.)

(1-M-7 tolerates F-3, but he finds her lack of respect for his boundaries to be annoying.) He is the leading authority of all things Dean related, and has learned quite a bit about the relationships Dean has in the enclosure throughout their discussion sessions. (He is more fond of F-4, but regards her as a younger sibling.)

A curious lump seems to have formed in his throat and Castiel swallows around it. The camera feed is the one focused on Dean’s private camp at the back of the wooded section of his enclosure. It is empty, but notations along the edge of the screen tells him that a snippet of the feed has been set to loop, and the loop will be starting again shortly. A tight feeling fills his chest as he begins to theorize just why everyone is so excited.

Hael confirms his theory. (It is a good thing that we collected 1-F-6 during the previous sol cycle. 1-M-7 seems particularly fond of her.)

Evidently so.

The loop on the feed begins again. Castiel watches as 1-F-6, who Dean has identified to him goes by the name Cassie, pushes Dean up against a tree. Additional cameras were added to the enclosure when it became apparent that Dean would not be joining the rest of the camp. It was considered prudent to keep an eye on him. Dean is aware that there are cameras, but Castiel has made it a point not to mention the location of them in the case that Dean might take further precautions in avoiding them.

In that moment, Castiel vaguely wishes they had not decided to be so pragmatic.

He is given a full view of Cassie leaning in to kiss Dean after pushing him against the tree. Dean reacts accordingly, in what appears to be a fairly positive way. A few moments later, after the kiss breaks, the two of them disappear into one of the tents they have set up in the secondary camp.

The feed continues for a few moments, and then loops again. Castiel remains fixed in place, watching it all unfold for a second time, and then a third, and again a forth. Hael is excitedly discussing what this means for the enclosure with another of their colleagues. Castiel’s sha’ra is included, but he is only tangentially paying attention.

Dean is rapidly approaching his fifteenth year. Up until this point, it had been speculated that perhaps he might fall on the asexual spectrum as he had not shown any romantic or sexual interest in the other females of his enclosure. Castiel had not put much thought into it, and, currently, he cannot even begin to think of why.

It was observed that Dean has been particularly close with Cassie, the newest addition to the enclosure, but Castiel had not noticed or assumed anything other than a friendly relationship between them. Now that it is clearly something more, Castiel should be happy. This will be his first opportunity to observe, in real time, how a relationship between homosapiens develops. Not only that, but he has the unique opportunity to actually be able to question one of the members of the relationship.

The excitement of his colleagues is understandable. Castiel should be excited too. There is so much to learn from his conversations with Dean regarding this change. He believes that more will be interested in his reports going forward.

He should be excited about this opportunity.

So… Why is he not?