SPN Regency Big Bang

“At the height of the season, Dean?” his stepmother had asked, her disapproval nothing new to him. 

At twenty-six years of age, Dean should be expected to make a favourable match and settle down, to take up the mantle of managing his father’s business and take his place in the world. Much to his stepmother’s despair, he much preferred to sample the delights of the season—the fine parties and social gatherings the Winchesters were fortunate enough to be invited to. The particular delight in this instance was the daughter of Robertson, Duke of Kent, whose sweet, brown eyes and pretty mouth had drawn Dean’s eye even before he’d heard Lady Cassandra speak. He smiled to himself as he remembered her sharp wit, and the way her soft lips had felt as they’d kissed on the shadowed balcony outside her father’s ballroom. Was the fault his, really? Could he be blamed for Cassie’s brother coming to find her, and discovering them? Dean allowed that he possibly deserved the punch to the face, and returning fire upon the man may not have been his finest hour, but he hardly felt he needed to be sent away for his crimes. 

Still, his stepmother had been adamant. “This could completely ruin your chances of ever securing a good match, you know. The only way we can salvage this is for you to lie low for a time.” At the time she had been embroidering something floral on a kerchief as they sat in the front drawing room at their house in Bloomsbury. As she spoke, she stabbed the needle into the fabric savagely. 

Dean had adjusted the cold compress over his bruised right eye, wincing at the ache. “What, stay at home and hide?” The idea had been preposterous. He’d felt like a naughty schoolboy, and the feeling still hadn’t faded upon hearing his stepmother’s plan. 

“No, that won’t be enough, Dean. You must go to the country for the rest of the season. Some fresh air will do you good, if nothing else.” 

“But Winchester House is let for the winter, is it not?” 

“What do you want to be when you grow up?” Dean asked. That morning Dean had been more quiet than usual and had asked Castiel to join his on a long walk. Castiel got the feeling that Dean’s motivation was to be away from his father who had undoubtedly been pressuring him about his education or his prospective marriage with Anna or both. The relationship between Mr. Winchester and Dean had always been complicated in a way where Dean wanted to please his father’s wishes but never felt that he could fulfill the expectations. Which is why they were now laying side by side on a field of grass and flowers a mile away from the main house and its occupants.

“I don’t know,” Castiel answered him. “I think I want to be happy. And free.”

“Yes,” Dean agreed. “Me too. Although it doesn’t seem like I ever will.”

“Why is that?” Castiel asked, raising his head a little.

“My father,” Dean answered, confirming Castiel’s suspicions. “He wants me to be a proper gentleman, go to Cambridge, and marry early. However, I’m not sure higher education is for me. Sam was always better at studying and manners, and I would see him getting married before me also, although he’s still so young.”

“I think I want to study,” Castiel pondered. “I would enjoy Cambridge.”

“You’re smart in that way, Cas. I’m not,” Dean said.

Castiel sat up.

“You’re incredibly intelligent, Dean. You have strategic thinking and I know you enjoy reading. You like machinery too. Maybe that’s not going to take you on a career of law or medicine, but don’t tell me you aren’t smart because I know otherwise,” Castiel said in a serious tone, looking down at Dean who was staring up at his face looking embarrassed at the praise.

“Stop that, Cas,” Dean muttered. “That’s nonsense.”

“It’s the truth. I’m sure you will find the right path for you in life. I have faith in you,” Castiel said, smiling slightly. Dean sat up too and pulled himself close to Castiel on the grass, looking at him intensely.

“Cas,” Dean said, putting his hand on Castiel’s collarbone. The small, gentle touch took Castiel’s breath away.

“Dean, what are you doing?” Castiel whispered.

“Something I have wanted for a while. Something I will probably regret,” Dean said and leaned close, keeping his lips only a breath apart from Castiel’s. “Tell me no.”

Castiel shook his head almost imperceptibly. His heart was hammering against his ribs.

His eyes gazed over the lovely, bare sight of him.  The flowers they’d been working with had been left in the bed, and one small pink petal was stuck to Dean’s mouth, just at the corner of his lip.  He breathed softly, his lips just parted.  Castiel’s gaze was drawn to the little scrap of flower silk, sharp as a blade.  He wanted to touch it, press against where it touched Dean’s skin.  He wanted to rub it off with the pad of his thumb, he wanted to trace the warm circle of Dean’s soft, pliant mouth, press his thumb inside—

He swallowed and did not move, save to touch Dean’s cheek with the backs of his fingers.  It would not hurt to look, he thought, to impress the sight into his memory for warmth in the cold, barren moments of his life to come.  There was a spray of freckles across Dean’s cheeks, pale but still visible, no doubt from his time as a sportsman.  His neck was strong, but with his head tipped back it made him look unexpectedly delicate.  In repose, Dean was lovely.  He was always lovely, but he did his best to counter that with his rough talk and rough hands and the abrasive, defensive way he approached the rest of the world.  And then, the dip of his clavicle, and—

Dean found Captain Novak’s house easily enough. It was small but trim, in one of the shabbier neighborhoods that was still trying to hold on to a modicum of respectability. Other houses crowded in on it on either side, separated by wooden fencing that had seen better days. There was no gate to the small yard in front of the captain’s house, and the flagstone walkway was rickety and uneven.

A large, handsome bay gelding was tied up in front of the house. Dean paused to admire it, running an appreciative hand along the beast’s neck. It nudged him back with an indignant snort, and Dean had to laugh. His own mare was his prized possession, and he would rather resign himself to sleeping in the streets than give her up.

He strode up the uneven paving to the door and knocked on the unpainted wood. There was movement inside, and the sound of male voices, then sharp footsteps approached the door. Dean took a half step back as it swung open to reveal Lord Milton’s immaculate appearance, looking a bit out of place in the shambles of the house.

“Winchester!” Lord Milton exclaimed. “Good man, come on in. We’re meeting in the—Cassie! I told you to wait in the kitchen!”

Dean leaned to one side to look down the hall and got his first glimpse of his potential employer.

Castiel Novak was a tall man, though his frame and features seemed pinched thin from ill health. He limped heavily toward them, leaning on a plain wooden cane, and fixed Lord Milton with a dagger-like stare.

His eyes were what captivated Dean. Surrounded as they were by a face made pale and wan from life’s difficulties, shadowed from lack of sleep, they still burned with a bright intelligence that had not been diminished by his long convalescence. When those bright blue eyes met Dean’s own green gaze, he felt as though he’d been seen down to his very soul.

Then in the next moment the captain stumbled, and Lord Milton rushed forward to support him. “I told you to wait at the table, Cassie,” he murmured, taking a step back when the other man waved him off. “Winchester, come. Let’s talk back here.”

“Son of a bitch! You’ve gotta be shitting me.” Dean stared at the carriage, before someone yanked him out of the way when the coachman goaded the horses.

He turned around to realise that Cas had saved his sorry ass. Again.

Panic rose inside him because—because—

But this wasn’t the dungeon. Nobody banged at the door. There wasn’t black goo. Everything was fine. It was fine—

Fine.

Slowly, Dean’s pulse normalised. He still kept a close eye on Cas, but the memories dissipated and his attention snapped back to reality.

Sam looked as baffled as Dean felt. “Thanks, Cas,” his brother mumbled, clearly under shock, but his eyes flew back to the place the carriage had just vacated.

Dean followed his gaze, and gaped. Holy fucking shit!

Why did the hits never stop coming? This?

They definitely weren’t in Kansas anymore.

Right in front of them, countless carriages arrived at the brightly illuminated manor. People disembarked, wearing breeches, bonnets and dresses… Clothes Dean only knew from one period.

“This is fucking Jane Austen land.”

Sam’s eyebrows shot up in amazement.

“What?” Dean barked. “I read.”

“Jane Austen? Really?” Sam asked, frowning. His brother sounded as if Santa Claus just had told him that the Easter Bunny existed. Which, on second thought, would be nothing but another Tuesday for them. They had encountered weirder shit.

Speaking of weirder shit—

How did they end up in Pride and Prejudice?

“I must disagree,” Cas stated, deadpan. “This isn’t a fictional place.”

Just hearing Cas’ voice caused Dean’s heart to skip. For too long he thought he had lost him, for good this time. But they got him back. They got him back and he was really there. Here. And despite everything, he hadn’t vanished.

Emotions threatened to overwhelm him, so Dean chose the easy way out. Again. He rolled his eyes. “No shit.”

Sam ignored him. He seemed completely unperturbed by all of this. “So, where are we, Cas? Or rather, when are we? Any idea?”

Cas tilted his head. The accompanying squint on his face made Dean’s stomach clench in a familiar manner. By now, it had become second nature to him. After everything that had happened that cursed day in the dungeon, Cas coming back from superhell still hadn’t changed their status quo. Dean didn’t even know if Cas remembered that goddamn day at all. So, everything was back to the same old business.

Even when Cas finally nodded, a little almost there smile on his lips, Dean didn’t blink. Besides, Cas only confirmed his assumption. “Devonshire, 1814.”

“Congrats, Dr. Beckett. That means Napoleon is out of the picture. For now. Not that he would impact this place directly, but, yeah, good to know.”